Chapter 2
NATALIE
I didn’t know this was a setup.
Ruby handed me a tray of cookies shaped like pumpkins, winked, and whispered something about cinnamon and cider.
That’s what I thought this party was—costumes, bad punch, a sendoff for Miles and Kinley before they head to that vineyard life they’ve always wanted.
I thought it was about nostalgia and town gossip and avoiding eye contact with the man who haunted my high school years.
Not a sting operation. Not deputies cuffing Doug Hendricks by the snack table while Hades growled like a movie villain’s pet.
So, no, I didn’t know.
But I’m not surprised.
This is Mustang Mountain, after all. Nothing stays simple here. And of course, Ruby’s party would be laced with some kind of drama. She probably planned the playlist and the arrest timing in the same breath.
By the time the shock has worn off and people start buzzing again, the room feels too small.
My wings bump into someone, my dress feels too tight, and my skin itches with the kind of attention I don’t want.
I need air. I grab a drink from the bar, not the punch—Ruby said Hades stuck his nose in it—and head for the back porch.
The cold hits me like a reset button. I take a deep breath and stare out at the town where I’ve lived in my whole life. It’s still the same. The mountains cradle the skyline. The wind sings through the pine trees. And somewhere behind me, I can still feel his eyes.
I’m not surprised when the door creaks open again.
“You always this quick to disappear after chaos?” Kacen asks, his voice warm and rough like gravel in a coffee mug.
I don’t look at him. “Only when I’m not in the mood to be interviewed.”
He steps up beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne—clean, a little woodsy, a little dangerous. “I didn’t know either,” he says quietly.
“I figured. You looked just as shocked as everyone else.”
He nods, and we stand there in a silence that prickles.
Sipping my beer, I try not to think about how his shoulder is inches from mine.
Try not to remember the smile he gave me earlier when he tried to say hi.
Like we were old friends. Like he didn’t humiliate me back in high school to keep his place at the top of the food chain.
“I meant what I said inside,” he adds. “You look good.”
I arch a brow and glance at him. “Flattery’s not going to earn you forgiveness.”
“I’m not asking for that.” He exhales slowly. “I’m just trying to talk to the girl I never got the guts to be decent to.”
I take another sip. “You missed your chance about ten years ago.”
He leans forward on the railing. “Yeah. I know.”
The moonlight catches on the stubble along his jaw, and I hate the part of me that still notices things like that. That he smells good. That his voice does something strange to my body. That even after everything, he still feels familiar.
I glance over at him again. “Why are you really here?”
“My brother needed help,” he says simply. “And maybe I needed a reset.”
I laugh, but it’s not a kind one. “You think Mustang Mountain is where people come to fix themselves?”
“It worked for Kingston.”
“You and I both know Kingston was never the problem.”
He flinches a little at my words, and I almost feel bad. Almost.
He turns to face me. “I know I was cruel to you. I’ve carried that around for years. You didn’t deserve it.”
“No,” I say, swallowing hard. “I didn’t.”
There’s a pause between us, thick and heavy like fog on a morning you don’t want to get out of bed. I should walk away. Tell him to enjoy the rest of his stay and remind him I’ve got nothing to say to the boy who made me feel small when I was already shrinking.
But I don’t move.
And neither does he.
Instead, he reaches for his beer, takes a drink, and then sets it down. “Do you ever think about it?” he asks. “Back then?”
I do. Too often. “What would be the point?”
“Maybe to finally say the things we didn’t say.”
I meet his eyes, and there’s a flicker of something there that unravels me a little. “You want honesty?” I ask.
He nods.
“I wanted you to like me,” I admit. “And when you didn’t—when you laughed with your friends instead of standing up for me—I thought there was something wrong with me.”
His jaw tightens.
“But now I realize you were just a coward,” I add. “And I was collateral damage.”
“I was hurting too,” he says, voice low. “It’s not an excuse. But I need you to know that it wasn’t about you.”
“That’s the thing, Kacen. It was about me. Because I was the one left with the fallout.”
There’s a long pause where neither of us speaks. Somewhere inside the community center, Ruby’s playlist shifts to something slow and nostalgic. The kind of song that makes you feel seventeen again in the worst way.
I don’t know who moves first.
Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s me.
But suddenly we're close enough to touch, our breaths mingling in the chilly night air. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape, to run back inside where it's safe from those dark eyes that see too much.
"I never forgot you," he whispers, and the words hang between us like smoke.
I want to step back. I want to remind myself of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. But my body betrays me, leaning toward him.
"Don't," I manage, but my voice lacks conviction.
His hand brushes my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Don't what?"
"Don't make me forget why I hate you."
He studies my face, and I see something crack behind his expression. "Is that what you feel? Hate?"
I wish it were that simple. Hate would be cleaner than this complicated mess of emotions that tangles inside me whenever I look at him.
"I don't know what I feel anymore," I admit.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile. "That makes two of us."
In the next moment, his mouth brushes mine, tentative and soft, as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind. But I don’t.
I kiss him back.
The kiss deepens, and I'm drowning in a decade of what-ifs and might-have-beens. His hand slides into my hair, careful not to disturb my costume wings, and I grip the front of his shirt like I'm afraid he'll disappear if I don't hold on tight enough.
When we break apart, I'm breathless and confused. My lips tingle, and my heart hammers so loudly I'm sure he can hear it.
"I shouldn't have done that," I whisper, but I don't move away.
"Do you regret it?" His voice is husky, his eyes searching mine.
The truth sits heavy on my tongue. "No."
Kacen leans his forehead against mine, and for a moment, we breathe together. The sounds of the party fade into background noise, unimportant compared to the roaring in my ears.
"We should talk," he says.
I laugh softly. "Now you want to talk?"
"Better late than never?" He offers it like a question, uncertainty in every syllable.
“Okay, but not here,” I say, looking back toward the door, thankful no one is watching us.
“Kingston is out of town this week. Come back to my place?” he says.
I want to say no. Let’s go to mine, but everyone will see his truck there as they head into town. Not to mention if things go south, it will be much easier to leave his place than try to kick him out of mine. So, I agree.
We don’t speak as we leave the porch. Or crossing the parking lot, getting in our cars. I follow him home in silence. Not a word when he unlocks the door to Kingston’s cabin and lets me step in first.
Kingston's place feels cozy. Photos line the mantel—mostly of his family. I notice a few with the Mustang Mountain Riders mixed in.
"You want something to drink?" Kacen asks, shrugging off his jacket.
"No, thank you." My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
I reach back to unfasten the fairy wings that are now uncomfortable, wincing as one of the wires catches in my hair.
"Here, let me help," he says.
I freeze as his fingers work gently at the tangled strands, careful not to pull. The proximity is almost unbearable—his breath warm against my neck, the slight tremor in his hands betraying that maybe he's not as confident as he seems.
"There," he murmurs as he lightly kisses my neck. I gasp softly, my body tensing at the unexpected touch of his lips against my skin. The wings slip from my fingers, forgotten as they flutter to the floor.
"Kacen," I whisper, his name both a warning and a question.
His hands settle on my waist, turning me slowly to face him. In the dim light of Kingston's cabin, his eyes are darker, hungrier than they were on the porch. I should step away. I should remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
Instead, I reach up and trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips.
"We were supposed to talk," I remind him, but my voice betrays me, husky and wanting.
"We will," he promises, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip. "But I've been thinking about kissing you again since the moment we stopped."
My heart hammers against my ribs as if it's trying to break free. "This is a bad idea."
"Probably," he agrees, and I can feel his smile against my palm. "Tell me to stop."
But I don't. I can't. Instead, I pull him to me, crushing my lips against his, pouring years of frustration and longing into a kiss that leaves us both breathless. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me flush against him as we stumble backward until my back hits the wall.
"I've thought about this," he confesses against my neck, his voice rough with desire. "More than I should admit."
"Shut up," I whisper, threading my fingers through his hair and tugging him back to my mouth. "Just shut up."
We're a tangle of limbs and want, his hands exploring the curves of my body while mine push his shirt up, desperate to feel skin on skin. When he lifts me, my legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and he carries me down the hall to what must be the guest bedroom.
He lays me on the bed with surprising gentleness, hovering above me with a question in his eyes.