Chapter 15
JADE
By the time I reach Shani’s street, my hands are still shaking.
She’s already outside waiting, pacing the driveway with her arms wrapped tight around herself like she’s cold, even though she’s wearing one of her dad’s oversized fire department hoodies.
The moment I park, she’s yanking the door open.
“Girl. Get inside. Right now.”
I follow her, still rattled. My nerves are shot, my heart won’t slow down, and everything inside me feels like it’s melting together.
Shani’s dad, stands in the hallway with a dish towel over his shoulder like he was in the middle of doing something extremely domestic before his home turned into a celebrity hideout.
He takes one look at me and sighs in that dad-way that means I knew the world was going to hell eventually but I didn’t expect it tonight.
“Alright, Jade,” he says calmly. “Breathe. You’re safe. I texted your aunt. I’m heading to your place to grab your overnight stuff.”
“Oh no—really, I can do it later, I don’t want you dealing with—”
He raises a hand like he’s stopping traffic.
“I’m a grown man. I can handle a few nosy neighbors and teenagers with camera phones.”
He grabs his keys. “Also, your aunt said the cats are staging a coup.”
I half-laugh, half-wince. “That sounds about right.”
As he leaves, he calls out, “You’re staying here tonight. No arguments. And no school tomorrow. Sleeping in is mandatory.”
I blink. “Right. It’s Thanksgiving break tomorrow. I forgot.”
“Of course you did,” Shani mutters, tugging me inside. “Your life is a telenovela now.”
We collapse onto her giant sectional couch.
She tosses me a fuzzy blanket, the kind that makes you feel six years old and safe.
“My parents are so going to freak when my mom gets home,” she says. “Wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Because she watches those crime documentaries and thinks every paparazzo is actually a serial killer who targets teenage girls.”
I groan into the blanket.
“This is too much, Shani. I wanted to speak out, not turn into… I don’t even know… whatever this is.”
“A movement?"
“Don’t.”
“A trailblazer?”
“Seriously, stop.”
She smirks. “An overnight TikTok star?”
I pull the blanket over my head.
She yanks it back down. “Jade, honey. No. You’re not just trending. You’re a thing. Like, an actual cultural moment.”
“That’s worse!”
“No, sweetie, that’s iconic. People want to be you. You’re someone’s idol now.”
I stare at her like she just told me I’ve been drafted into Congress.
“I’m—what? No. No. No. I’m a girl who got slimed at homecoming and kissed the most confusing boy alive in a locker room last week.”
“And now you’re hot, dramatic, traumatized, and empowering. The perfect combo.”
“Shani!”
She kicks her legs up on the couch and shrugs.
“I’m just saying… celebrities don’t get to pick when the fame train hits the station.”
I bury my face in my hands.
“This is insane. I need coffee. Like, life-or-death coffee.”
“Why do you think we live near the barn?” she says. “The polo people keep an espresso cart on-site.”
I snort. “You’re making that up.”
“Am I?”
She grins, and I grin back despite everything.
Then my phone buzzes.
It’s Aunt Susan.
Susan: Don’t worry about Thanksgiving. I have Instacart. That’s what Instacart is for. You just get yourself through the night, honey.
Another message pops up.
Susan: And I’m ordering a guard dog statue for the porch. It’s decorative. But it’s something.
I laugh through the ache in my chest.
Then another text:
Susan: Your parents land tomorrow afternoon. I’ll meet them at the Cape house. Don’t you dare stress about helping.
“Great,” I whisper. “I’m officially useless.”
Shani elbows me. “No, you’re officially famous. Different thing.”
“Shani… I need to see my therapist. This is too much. I’m not built for this.”
“Yes, you are,” she says softly. “You just don’t know it yet.”
She leans back, arms behind her head.
“So, what’s the plan tomorrow? Therapist appointment… then?”
“I’m heading up to the Cape to see my parents.”
“Your aunt said the new rental is nice?”
“Waterfront, apparently.”
“Ooh, love that for you.”
She wiggles her brows. “Maybe you can relax. Maybe have a moment. Maybe figure out your shit with—”
“Don’t say Leo.”
“I wasn’t going to say Leo.”
“You were absolutely going to say Leo.”
She shrugs. “Yeah. Guilty.”
I groan again.
“I’m going to sleep after therapy,” I say. “Then head up. Hide from humanity. Reset my brain.”
She nods solemnly.
“Great plan. Very anti-celebrity of you.”
I throw a pillow at her.
She catches it without flinching.
We both laugh.
And just like that, the world feels a little less terrifying.
A little less heavy.
A little more survivable.
At least for tonight.
Shani fell asleep first, sprawled out like a starfish across her half of the bed, clay mask flaking onto her pillow, one Twizzler still in her hand.
I laughed and snapped a picture.
But when the room finally went dark, and the sugar crash hit, and the buzz of movies faded—
My mind didn’t quiet.
It drifted.
Uninvited.
Uncontrolled.
Straight to him.
The dream didn’t start like a dream.
It started like memory.
The locker room.
The smell of sweat and winter air trapped in his hoodie.
Leo’s hands on either side of my face—
Warm.
Certain.
Dangerously familiar.
His breath brushing my cheek.
The way he said my name like a secret he wanted to swallow.
His lips skimmed mine—not kissing, not yet—just hovering in that space that makes your whole body tighten in anticipation.
My stomach dipped.
My pulse stuttered.
He whispered something against my skin—something I couldn’t make out—but the sound of it sank into me like heat.
And then the dream tipped.
Shifted.
Turned molten.
His hands slid down my waist, fingers tracing the hem of my shirt, leaving a line of fire in their wake.
My breath caught.
His forehead pressed to mine, his nose brushing my cheek, slow, soft, aching.
I felt the warmth of his chest against mine.
The steady rise and fall of his breathing.
The way his thumb skimmed my bottom lip, gentle and reverent, like he was memorizing me.
His lips moved to my neck—light, slow, maddeningly soft.
My knees weakened.
My fingers curled into the fabric at his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing him closer.
Heat spiraled low inside me.
The kind that scares you and pulls you in at the same time.
I whispered his name—barely a sound—just a breath.
And he answered it with a low groan that went straight through me.
Everything blurred—
Hands.
Warm skin.
His mouth at my throat.
My pulse pounding in my ears.
That overwhelming feeling of wanting something I denied myself when awake.
Wanting him.
My eyes snapped open.
Heart racing.
Skin flushed.
Every nerve on fire.
The dim morning light seeped through Shani’s curtains. She was snoring softly beside me, blissfully unaware.
I buried my face in my pillow and let out a muffled groan.
Because holy hell.
I was turned on.
Frustrated.
Angry at myself.
Angry at him.
Angry at my subconscious for betraying me like that.
Of all the things to dream about—
of all the versions of Leo Montgomery to show up while I slept—
It had to be that one.
The one who touched me like I was something precious.
The one who kissed me like he remembered every second of us.
The one who made my whole body hum with want.
I flopped onto my back and stared at the ceiling, cheeks burning.
“Seriously,” I whispered to myself, “can I just have ONE night without Leo invading my brain?”
But my body was still warm from him.
Still buzzing.
Still aching with that confusing, maddening mixture of hatred and longing and everything in between.
I pressed a hand to my chest.
And admitted, at least silently, what I refused to say out loud—
I wasn’t over him.
Not even close.
The saddle felt foreign beneath me, and the horse even more so.
“Loosen your legs,” Shani called from the rail, “You’re riding, not squeezing a watermelon.”
I laughed, breathless, trying not to topple off the tall gray gelding. The air smelled like leather and hay, and I’d just started getting the hang of trotting when I caught the flicker of black near the barn.
Leo.
Dark shirt. Wind-tossed hair. Walked like he owned the ground under his boots.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
“What the—” I whispered under my breath, heart slamming sideways. I dismounted faster than I probably should’ve, muttering something to Shani about a break before vanishing behind the stalls. He followed. Of course he did.
I barely made it into the musty old tack room before I felt the heat of him fill the space.
The air was thick with dust and the rich scent of worn leather, but all I could smell was him. Spice and sweat and temptation.
He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at me with those eyes, the storm already brewing. His jaw clenched. Then his hand was on my face, tilting my chin up like he’d done a hundred times before—like no time had passed at all.
His lips hovered a breath away, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. His voice broke on a groan.
“Gitanilla…” he whispered like a vow. “I miss you.”
F-me, I missed him too.
But I twisted out of his grasp like he burned me. Backed up until my spine hit the wooden wall behind me.
“Don’t,” I breathed, my voice shaking. “I can’t give you my heart again, Leo.”
His eyes darkened. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
Then he stepped closer, real slow, until there was nothing but air and regret between us.
“That’s funny,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “I don’t remember ever giving it back.”
My breath caught.
And just like that, I was drowning all over again.
His words hung between us like smoke, curling into every crack of my resolve. I should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve run. But my body betrayed me, leaning into the gravity of him, the pull I’d never escaped.