Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
SIERRA
I HATE SUNDAYS. Not only is it the day before another week of what feels like endless classes, but it’s a rest day.
Lying on my back with my legs propped against the wall, I take a few breaths, letting the wind rattling the windows and The Paper Kites fill the silence. Lidia is very serious about rest, so off days mean no cardio, because she thinks I’m incapable of taking a break.
I am, but it’s not fun being called out for it.
Closing one eye, I count the dots on the ceiling, but my bedroom door pushes open and makes the three-digit number fall off my lips.
I hear Scarlett call out that she’s leaving.
She’s probably also the reason I see Dylan standing at my doorway.
He’s wearing a gray Carhartt hoodie and black pants, both a little wet from the rain that hasn’t stopped since last night.
Dylan tilts his head, assessing, before he comes to lie on the floor too.
No words pass between us as Dylan stretches his legs way past mine and stares up at the ceiling. We lie on the floor together like this is normal. Like he didn’t make me see stars in this very room just a week ago.
Something soft starts to play from my speaker, but I don’t register the song over my beating heart.
“Are you into weathermen or something?” Dylan asks, looking over at my laptop screen.
They’re showing the lantern festival again. “Oh yeah, Dale Thunderman is exactly my type.”
“Bald?”
“Charming.”
“You must love me, then.”
I snort. “Not the verb I’d use.”
“Why do you watch it? Isn’t it just a loop?”
“It’s comforting. And it’s all I could watch in the hospital without having a panic attack, so it kind of stuck,” I admit, then quickly change the subject. “Did you just come here to check on me? Texts exist, you know.”
“But then I wouldn’t get to see your face. And all the little wrinkles you get in between your eyebrows and around your eyes when you glare at me. It’s extremely attractive.”
I scrunch my face away when he tries to boop my nose. “Don’t make me injure you before the competition.”
He drops his hand gently on top of mine. I’ve held his hands countless times before, but this feels different. Especially when his pinkie curls around mine. “I’d still perform,” he says.
“While you’re injured?”
“For you, I would.”
Suddenly, this feels foreign, and I need words to fill the uncomfortable pit in my stomach. “I’m assuming you didn’t come here to lie on the floor with me,” I say.
“Maybe I did.”
I bite my lip, turning to stare at the side of his face. His hair has grown longer, his skin is smooth, and I’m glad for his hand by mine, because I’m not sure if I could keep myself from reaching out and touching his face.
“It’s Lidia, isn’t it? She told you to check if I’m resting.”
He shrugs. “Not in so many words.”
I can’t help that nudge of disappointment that he’s not here because he wants to be. “You’ve confirmed I am, in fact, resting, so you can go.”
Dylan’s nose hovers mere inches from mine, so close I can almost feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.
“Resting doesn’t mean you have to lock yourself in your room.”
“Since my life revolves around skating, I don’t exactly have any plans outside of it.”
“Then it’s a good thing you have me.” He stands and extends his hand for me to take, just like he does on the ice. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Let me worry about that.”
I put my hand in his, not wanting to focus on the mess my brain is constantly spinning.
And in the quickest almost imperceptible move he flips it, looks at my palm—at the faded smiley face—then back to hold it in a firm grip.
One that doesn’t loosen, not even when he asks if I’m ready to sprint to his car in the pouring rain.
We bolt across the rain-soaked pavement.
My hair is wet even after he tries to hover a hand over my head.
I almost slip, but he’s quick to steady me.
I don’t recognize the laugh that spills from my lips.
As soon as we’re in the car, I carefully gather my hair, mindful not to let the droplets touch his leather seats. He, however, has no such concern. With a carefree grin, Dylan shakes his head, sending water splattering across the bright display and onto me.
Is it bad that I want to lick the water droplets off his face?
“It was supposed to be clear skies tonight,” Dylan says. There’s a crease on his forehead as he looks at the darkening sky.
“It’s only supposed to rain for a few more minutes. Why? Do you have somewhere to be?”
He looks at me then, the crease disappearing. “Yeah.”
Oh.
A jolt of disappointment torpedoes into my stomach, and I hope it doesn’t show on my face.
In the short time I’ve been outside the stuffy dorm, I’ve relaxed.
Rather than obsess over my routine and relive flashbacks of a certain competition, I’m occupied with each smirk Dylan gives, and counting how many shades of brown his eyes are.
A part of me wishes it would stay gloomy all day, so he’ll have to cancel.
The radio is tuned to the hockey game, Toronto versus Los Angeles. For some reason, I thought after we started skating, hockey kind of blurred away for him. He never talks about it, never mentions it. But right now, I realize how much of it is still inside of him, how much he must miss his sport.
“Do you miss it?” I blurt.
He tenses, but then he shrugs, eyes still on the road.
“It was a part of me for so long, I don’t think I ever thought I’d lose it.
It’s like a limb. You take it for granted, and one day maybe it aches, gets injured, or you lose it altogether, and you realize how much you relied on its function.
But I guess that’s how most things go. You only appreciate them when they’re gone. ”
I’m taken aback by the sudden insight into his head. “I get that.”
He glances at me. “Yeah, I guess you do.”
Still lost in my thoughts, I jump when he drops his phone in my lap. “Here, play whatever you want. It’s unlocked.”
I pinch it between my fingers. I can only imagine the kinds of things this gadget has seen.
“It doesn’t have a disease, Sierra.”
“You sure?” I don’t have to look at him to see his glare. “I mean, you could have pictures and other … things on here.”
“Just play the music,” he orders.
Well, there goes my innocence. What was left of it since the other night anyway.
When I scroll through his favorites, I’m met with an endless stream of country music—playlists upon playlists, mostly shared by his friends.
But then, one catches my eye, standing out from the rest. A playlist titled Firefly.
“Find something?” he asks when he merges onto the highway.
I’m still scrolling through the songs, my suspicion growing with each one I recognize. It’s eerily similar to the music I skate to—disjointed yet perfectly suited to my moods. Somehow, every one of those tracks is here.
“Do you ever make your own playlists?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
He glances at me, then back to the road too quickly. “If I’m inspired enough.”
My heart flips. The next question lingers on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. Instead, I shuffle his favorite songs, letting the first one play, as a swirl of thoughts bubbles.
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to steady my voice. “I’d prefer to know the location so I can tell Scarlett. You know, just in case.”
“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Romanova. We’ve got a competition to win, remember?”
When he says it like that, the competition doesn’t sound so scary. Neither does the prospect of going for a win. It feels so certain on his tongue.
It isn’t long before the rain patters to a stop and we’re past the infamous Connecticut scenery—dying trees and yellow grass—to pull onto a crunchy gravel back road that leads to a parking lot. There are people carrying their kids, couples hand in hand, and friend groups.
Dylan parks and is already out of the car to open my door. I’m wearing mid-length rain boots, and I’m glad for it when I step on the muddied gravel with patches of grass poking through. Dylan doesn’t seem to mind that his white shoes will get dirty.
We approach the tent, and that’s when I see them. Lanterns.
I freeze, but Dylan places a hand on my lower back and ushers me forward. I barely notice him greet the cashier and pay until he hands me a lantern.
We make it to the field with the crowd, and Dylan pulls the Sharpie from the items we got. He’s focused as he scribbles on the thin lantern paper. When he finally turns it my way, my heart constricts.
Dylan + Firefly
Seeing it written there makes my face flush. The playlist on his phone feels like so much more now. But with that heaviness pressing on my chest, I roll my eyes half-heartedly before taking the lantern from him to write on both sides.
Dylan + Firefly Sierra
“That’s better.” The countdown clocks loom on each side of the area, so we wait to light our lantern. “Have you been here before?” I ask Dylan.
“Every year with my parents. Ada loved it. But after a while, it felt like going with strangers.” He clears his throat like he’s revealed too much. “You’ve never been?”
“Time was of the essence. I couldn’t spend it on a farm lighting lanterns,” I say. “But my parents would go.”
“Without you?” he asks. “That’s kind of messed up.”
“They weren’t sneaking behind my back. They just knew I was exhausted after practice.”
“I’ll gladly take your firsts then, Romanova.”
I laugh. “I’ve only got a few of those left.”
He cocks his head. “Yeah? When was your first kiss?”
“Freshman year of college. First time at a real party and first time being drunk.” I glance at him. “I know, incredibly late and lame.”
“Not lame,” he says. “I’m pretty sure Kian and I had our first kiss with the same girl. Think we lost our virginity to the same girl too.”
I burst into laughter. “You dated the same girl?”
“Nah, I’ve never been in a relationship.”
“Me neither,” I admit.
He raises his brows. “What about Justin?”
“Uh, no. I suppose we would have, but after the Olympics, I realized he didn’t want me. He just wanted my accomplishment. I gave him every ounce of myself, and he just tossed it aside like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.” I pause. “Sorry, that was a lot.”
Dylan holds my gaze. “You could never be nothing, Sierra.”
I try to bite my tongue, stopping myself from asking, “How do you know that?”
“Because I know you.”
The silence stretches like an elastic thread. All I can think of is how he may not think I’m nothing, but I’ve felt like that for so long, it’s how I see myself.
“It feels true, though,” I admit. “I gave my entire life to skating only to end up as this inexperienced, broken girl. Even with Ajay, I can’t help but think that if he got to know the real me, he wouldn’t even want to kiss me.”
Dylan goes almost completely rigid. “You’re not his to kiss,” he says.
I chuckle. “And I’m yours?”
“If you want to be.”
My heart lurches. “Lucky me,” I try to joke, my voice wavering. “W-what would that entail?”
“I kiss you.” He leans down to barely brush his lips to the corner of my mouth. “Whenever.” On my cheek. “Wherever.” My chin. “You want.”
When he pulls away, the silence hangs like a wet coat on a hook.
“I only have to ask and you’ll give it to me?”
“You only have to look at me and I’ll give everything to you, Sierra.”
I forget how to breathe. “That’s quite the contrast to the first time we kissed.”
“Oh, you mean the first time you attacked me?”
“I did not! You kissed me back!”
His eyes flicker. “Your hips rocking against me made it pretty damn hard to resist.”
“So you were just overcome by lust and didn’t see past my lips or legs.”
“I didn’t see past you, Sierra. Still can’t.”
I hope I don’t blush, because I never have before, but for some reason with Dylan I’m always glowing red like fucking Rudolph. “So, what? You’re going to give me lessons? A how-to guide for your local prude?”
Dylan chuckles, so close I think he might kiss me, but he doesn’t lean in. “Whatever you want, Sierra. You know that no one else can teach you the way than I can.”
I suppress the bodily reaction his words cause and try to appear casual. “I’ll think about it.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and I watch his expression fall the tiniest bit.
The lights around us glow, casting a soft warmth over the crowd.
One by one, people light their lanterns, and we follow suit.
The pretty flicker of orange surrounds us, creating a warm bubble of light.
Dylan’s gaze is so intense, it feels as if he’s lit the fire in my chest rather than the lantern.
Above us, the sky stretches in a deep, velvety blue, eager to be painted with light.
I remember when Scarlett and I planned on attending this event. But our first year at Dalton, September was nothing but rain, and it got canceled. Never did I think I’d be here with Dylan Donovan.
There’s a round of cheers from the front of the group, but I’m too focused on Dylan to hear it.
Then the first lantern rises, a single golden orb lifting into the night.
Then, one by one, hundreds follow, soaring upward in delicate arcs like fireflies, transforming the sky into a sea of floating lights.
It looks like those glow-in-the-dark stickers on my ceiling.
I steal a glance at Dylan. “We make a good team,” he says.
I let out a noncommittal sound.
“Admit it. We do,” he presses.
“Yeah. We make a good team,” I say.
My gaze falls back to the lantern as we lift it together. Just before we release it, Dylan’s brown eyes focus on mine. The lantern catches the wind, billowing happily as it floats upward. I watch it spin slowly, our names etched on either side, both of us, up there, in the stars.