Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Hayden
She was fucking laughing. Not the kind of polite laugh people throw around to fill silence, but something soft and real, a sound that moved through the air and settled under my skin until it hurt to breathe.
It curled around the room in slow spirals, sweet and careless, and every second of it wasn’t mine.
I stood at the far end of the breakfast hall, still half-drenched from the storm outside, my coat heavy with melting snow, the scent of cold clinging to me like a second skin.
The chatter, the scrape of chairs, the clink of mugs, none of it mattered.
Because she was there, right in the middle of the noise, the only goddamn thing I could see.
Edwina Carter. Head tilted just enough for a strand of hair to fall forward over her shoulder, lips curved around that laugh that shouldn’t have belonged to anyone but me.
And sitting next to her, the boy. The one with the ridiculous smile and the kind of confidence that only came from never having been hit hard enough to lose it.
He was grinning, teeth too white, posture too easy, eyes lingering where they shouldn’t.
He said something, and she looked at him, that smile softening, her hand lifting just slightly toward his plate.
Something twisted deep in my chest, dark and hot.
I watched his hand graze hers, that small, insignificant fucking movement that sent heat tearing through me so fast it felt toxic.
My fingers curled inside my coat pocket, every instinct screaming to cross the room, drag him away from her, and make sure he never touched anything again without trembling.
I wanted to hear his breath crack under my palm, wanted to see the blood bloom against his lips when I told him to keep his distance.
But I didn’t move. Not yet. I stood there, forcing myself to breathe while my control shredded thin.
My jaw was tight enough to ache. My pulse hammered so hard I could feel it in my teeth.
The entire hall had turned into white noise, professors murmuring over coffee, students laughing, the smell of burnt toast and sugar thick in the air. It all blurred into nothing.
She was wearing a green sweater, soft and fitted, sleeves pushed up just enough to expose her wrists, the same wrists I’d once imagined beneath my hands, the same wrists that now rested on the table between her and that fucker who didn’t know what he was playing with.
Her jeans clung to her hips, and I hated myself for noticing, hated that I couldn’t look away.
I should’ve stayed home. I’d told myself that a hundred times on the drive up here, the snow coming down so thick I could barely see the lines on the road.
But I couldn’t stop. The thought of her here, away from the university, surrounded by boys who still thought desire was harmless, had sunk its claws into me until I was already too far gone.
I’d packed at two in the goddamn morning, thrown my coat over my shoulders, and driven through three hours of ice and silence, chasing something I told myself was reason but felt more like need.
And now she was smiling at someone else.
I watched her lean in when he spoke, her shoulder brushing his for a fraction of a second, and something inside me snapped so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.
I wanted to grab that table, flip it, drag her out of that fucking chair, press her against the nearest wall, and remind her who she was dealing with.
My blood was a steady roar, every muscle wired tight.
I could taste her name at the back of my throat, bitter and sweet in equal measure.
Then she looked up.
Our eyes met, and the entire goddamn world froze. That laugh died on her lips, replaced by something smaller, something that made my stomach clench. Surprise. Maybe guilt. Maybe heat. Whatever it was, it hit her hard enough that I felt it from across the room.
Good. Let her feel it. Let her remember who the fuck was standing here watching.
I didn’t smile. I didn’t move. I just stared until the space between us went taut and electric, until I could see her breathing faster, her fingers tightening around her cup, her throat shifting as she swallowed. And then, slowly, I let my gaze drop, to him.
That boy. Noah. That pretty, smiling little piece of shit who thought her attention was his to earn.
He was still talking, still oblivious to the way her entire body had changed the second I walked in.
His hand was too close to hers, his eyes too bright, his voice too confident.
I wanted to break every single one of those things.
She didn’t push him away. That was what gutted me. She didn’t fucking move.
It wasn’t jealousy anymore. It was darker than that.
It was something older, meaner, a hunger twisted up in violence.
I wanted to touch her so badly it hurt, but I wanted to hurt him more.
I wanted to make him understand that she wasn’t for him.
That she was already claimed, even if neither of us had the courage, or the stupidity, to say it out loud.
I stayed until the crowd started to thin, until the hall quieted and the timing belonged to me again. Then I turned, every step deliberate, every thought coiled tight in my chest.
She’d let him close once.
It wasn’t going to happen again.
I took her in one unbroken motion, my hand closing around her wrist and my body following the pull.
It wasn’t rough, not enough to leave marks, but there was no gentleness in it either.
It was need stripped of manners. The door shut behind us with a dull, final click that seemed to echo inside my ribs, and in that instant the space became ours.
She stumbled once, caught herself against the wall, her pulse already alive in her throat. Her mouth opened, a tremor on the edge of words that would’ve ruined everything before it even began, but I didn’t let them come.
“Pro—Prof—”
“Shhh.”
It left my throat in a sound that wasn’t quite a whisper, wasn’t quite a command, but carried the weight of both.
I lifted my hand and placed one finger against her lips, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop the air from leaving her body.
Her skin was warm, softer than I remembered, and when her breath broke against my fingertip, it seared.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It pulsed, steady and consuming, coiling tighter with every breath she tried to take.
I could feel the tremor in her body, could sense the fight between instinct and restraint building in her chest. Her heart was pounding fast enough that I could trace every beat through the air between us.
That fucking sweater she wore, green, soft, the color of calm she never really owned, didn’t hide a goddamn thing.
I could see the uneven rhythm of her breathing, the subtle shiver in her shoulders, the way the heat gathered in waves around her.
Her scent hit me again, the same sweet, maddening undertone that had haunted my sheets, my hands, my nights.
I’d caught it once on her scarf weeks ago, and since then I hadn’t been able to wash it out of my head.
I’d spent too many nights jerking off to the memory of it, chasing a ghost that never came close to the real thing.
“You shouldn’t have said yes,” I said finally, my voice rough enough to scrape. It came out lower than I intended, half threat, half confession. “To him.”
Her brows drew in, confusion shadowing her face, but I didn’t give her a name to hang it on. That fucker didn’t deserve to exist between us.
“I didn’t—” she started, and I cut her off without a word. I leaned in until the space between our foreheads was nothing, until her breath collided with mine, warm and shaking.
“You did,” I said, the words grinding out between my teeth. “Doesn’t matter if it was shy or polite or fucking innocent. You said it. You gave him a yes that was never his to have.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed, and I could see the argument forming behind her eyes, could see her fingers twitch against the wall, caught between wanting to push me off and wanting to grab hold.
I wanted her to do both. I wanted her anger under my hands, her defiance in my mouth, the taste of her resistance turning into something filthy and raw.
“You don’t smile at boys like that,” I muttered, each word slower, heavier. “You don’t let them think they can touch what isn’t theirs. You don’t pretend to be just another pretty face sitting in a fucking classroom. You’re not. And we both know it.”
Her lips parted, the beginnings of a retort caught between pride and breath.
It never made it out. I stepped in closer, my body pressing the air from her lungs, trapping her between the door and the heat rolling off me.
My palms braced against the wall on either side of her head, the motion instinctive, possessive, my eyes locked on the shape of her mouth.
She tilted her chin up just slightly, enough to make it worse, enough to make it impossible to think about anything but the way her lips glistened in the low light, soft and parted, her breath trembling through the small space that still separated us.
“Say something,” I murmured, not sure if I meant it as a challenge or a plea.
But she didn’t.
She just stood there, her body caught in that same magnetic pull that had been unraveling both of us for months, and I knew in that moment that if I kissed her, really kissed her, nothing on this fucking mountain would survive the fallout.