53. Addy
Chapter fifty-three
Addy
T he final bell's shrill ring still echoes in my ears as I shuffle through the crowded hallways, my backpack heavy on one shoulder. Saint is by my side, a constant presence I’m starting to grow used to.
Dangerous.
"Come on," he says, his voice low and steady. "Dre's waiting for you."
"Waiting for me?" I repeat, surprised. My heart skips a beat at the mention of his name.
"Yep. Wants to take you home himself." Saint's dark curls bob slightly as he leads me towards the exit, his face unreadable. There's a protective edge to him, as if he's ready to shield me from anything, but it's not his protection I'm wondering about right now—it's Dre's intentions.
We push through the double doors and step outside, and there he is leaning against his motorcycle like some brooding hero straight out of a dark romance novel. His blonde hair brushes his shoulders, tattoos peeking from under his rolled-up sleeves. He's the embodiment of every reckless dream I've ever had, yet the vulnerability that flashes in his gaze makes him real.
"Hey," he calls out, lifting an extra helmet in his hand. A cocky smile plays on his lips, but as our eyes lock, I catch something else—a flicker of doubt.
"Hi," I respond, trying to sound casual, but my voice betrays me, quivering just slightly.
He steps forward, closing the gap between us, and hands me the helmet. I take it, our fingers brushing, and the simple touch sends a jolt of electricity up my arm. His smile widens, but that glint is still in his eye—he's putting on a show, acting unflappable, but the concern is still there. Will I accept this ride from him? Will I accept him?
As I step closer, the distance between us evaporates under the intensity of Dre's gaze. He reaches out, and his arm slips around my lower back with an unexpected tenderness. The world seems to hold its breath as he draws me in, and his lips brush against mine in a kiss that is paradoxically soft and powerful.
"Are you willing to take a chance with me?" His voice is low, almost vulnerable, despite the confidence that usually clings to him like a second skin. "I want to show you something."
The moment hangs suspended, his question lingering in the air like the final note of a song. Then, with a small nod, I whisper back, "Yes." It feels like a leap into the unknown, but with him, it somehow seems safe.
Dre's smile doesn't wane, but the relief in his eyes speaks volumes. He's got a tough exterior, but beneath it all, he's just as scarred, just as afraid of rejection as anyone else. Maybe that's why I'm drawn to him—because we're both fighting battles few people see.
He grins, the cockiness returning like a well-worn mask, and swings his leg over the motorcycle. Saint steps forward, his presence solid and reassuring. With a nod from Dre, he steadies the bike and helps me climb on behind.
"Got everything secure?" Saint asks, his voice carrying the faintest hint of concern beneath the stoic exterior.
"We're good," Dre responds with a wink, and I can't help but notice the silent communication that passes between them.
"Take care of her, Dre," Saint says, clapping him on the back before giving me a reassuring nod. "That's my fiancé, after all." He winks at me and I can't help but laugh.
"I will," Dre promises, and I believe him.
Saint hands me the helmet, and I pull it over my head, the click of the strap a tiny proclamation of readiness. I wrap my arms around Dre's waist, the leather of his jacket cool and smooth under my fingers. My heart hammers in my chest, not just from the thrill of the ride ahead, but from the closeness, the heat of him seeping into me.
"Ready?" Dre asks, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes seeking assurance.
"Ready," I confirm, my voice steadier than I feel.
He revs the engine, and it roars to life, a promise of raw power and freedom. As the bike lurches forward, I tighten my grip on him, my body pressed against his back. Every few moments, his hand leaves the handlebar to give my wrist a gentle squeeze. It's such a simple gesture an “ are you okay?” and my answering squeeze back tells him I'm more than fine; I'm alive in a way I haven't felt in years.
There's nowhere else I'd rather be than here, clinging to this damaged boy who's slowly chipping away at the walls I've built around myself. I'm terrified to trust, especially after getting burned with Chess. But Dre doesn't hide who is. There's a raw honesty to him. I always know where we stand and there's something comforting in that.
When we finally come to stop, we’re in a part of town I’ve never been to before. I’m not even sure we’re still technically in town.
"Come on," he says, sliding off the bike and offering me a hand to help me dismount. His palm is warm against mine, and I feel that heat searing right through me, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
"Wow," I breathe, taking in the view. The vastness of it all makes my problems seem minuscule, and for a moment, the weight of the world lifts from my shoulders.
"Thought you might like it," Dre murmurs, his voice low and close. He stands beside me, his presence a solid, reassuring force. "It's quiet here... just the two of us."
The intimacy of the statement sends a shiver down my spine. Just the two of us. Dre's gaze lingers on the horizon, but I can see the softening around the edges of his eyes, the way his guard drops when he looks at me.
"Thank you for bringing me here," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment.
"Anywhere you want to go, I'll take you there," Dre replies, turning those ice blue eyes on me now, and I swear there's a whole universe swirling within them.
"Promise?" I ask, teasingly, but my heart skips a beat waiting for his answer.
"Promise," he confirms, and the word feels like a pact. And somehow, I believe him.
I'm still taking in the view when Dre moves away from my side, heading back to his motorcycle. I watch, puzzled, as he kneels beside the bike and pops open a compact storage box I hadn't noticed before. He rummages for a moment before pulling out a folded blanket and a small cooler. My eyes widen in surprise; I didn't expect this sort of preparation from him—Dre, with his impulsive ways and reckless aura.
"You really planned this out?" I ask, incredulity lacing my voice.
"Maybe," he responds, a playful smirk lifting one corner of his mouth as he spreads the blanket on the ground with a flourish. He catches my gaze with those piercing blue eyes, and there's a hint of vulnerability in them that I've never seen before. "Come here."
I step closer, my heart pounding a rhythm of anticipation against my ribs. The grass crunches softly under my boots as I move to join him. As I sit, Dre wraps an arm around me, guiding me down between his legs, my back resting comfortably against his chest. His warmth seeps into me, and I can't help but lean into him, letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
He opens the cooler, revealing an assortment of sandwiches and drinks. I'm touched by his thoughtfulness. The Dre he shows me is so different from the Dre he shows everyone else. It's as if he's crafted this small pocket of peace just for us, and I can't help but feel cherished.
"Thank you," I murmur, accepting a sandwich. We eat in silence, the tranquility of the overlook wrapping around us like a cocoon. I'm content to let the quiet linger, but after a few minutes, Dre clears his throat, breaking the spell.
"Snowflake," he starts, and I sense the hesitancy in his tone. "There's something... I want you to know."
I turn slightly to look at him, my sandwich forgotten. "You don't have to tell me anything if you're not ready."
He shakes his head, a lock of blonde hair falling across his forehead. "No, it's not that. It's just..." He trails off, taking a deep breath, and I wait patiently, giving him the space he needs. "You're not the only one with scars, Snowflake. Mine are just more visible."
My heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. I reach back, threading my fingers through his, offering silent support. I don't need to know the details of his pain to understand it—we're both survivors, marked by our pasts but not defined by them.
The warmth from Dre's body bleeds into mine as he shifts behind me, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. "I was always the black sheep," he murmurs, and I can hear the smile in his voice, but it's tinged with old pain. "Never quite fitting the mold they wanted to shove me into. I’ve always been… different. Darker. I was definitely not the cookie cutter Roberts they were hoping for."
I nod against him, feeling the vibrations of his chest as he speaks.
"Things were always strained with my family. For as long as I can remember, I was treated differently," he exhales sharply, a self-deprecating chuckle accompanying the sound. "But, when they found out I liked guys, that was the final straw for them."
My eyes widen, and I twist slightly to catch his gaze. "Oh, I didn't realize that you were gay."
"Bi," he corrects softly, his ice blue eyes meeting mine in the fading light. "Obviously." He presses a kiss to my lips. I close my eyes, savoring the taste of his kiss.
"I prefer men, but only just." His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from my face, and his touch sends a shiver down my spine. "I've never wanted a woman the way I want you."
"That's okay, Dre. You don't have to... I understand," I say quickly, my heart hammering in my chest at the intensity in his eyes.
He leans closer, his lips grazing my ear as he whispers, "I don't think you do. I fucking dream of you." His words are a seductive caress, igniting a fire within me. "Of how you taste. Of how you'll feel wrapped around my cock. Of how pretty you’ll look pressed between me and Chess.”
I shiver at the thought, which earns me a predatory smile. “I prefer men because I like to dominate. I'm—I can be rough. I’m not sure I’m something you can handle, Snowflake."
A gasp escapes me, a mix of shock and a thrill of desire. The raw honesty of his confession leaves me breathless, teetering on the edge between fear and excitement.
“And, if I’m willing to try?”
“Fuck, I hope you are. I’m not sure I can let you go. Too far gone.”
His hands wrap tightly around my waist, pulling me closer as his lips press against mine. The kiss is passionate and intense, as if he wanted to devour me whole, consume me body and soul. It leaves me breathless and wanting more when he finally pulls away.
His arms tighten around me. "They tried to fix me," he continues, his voice lower now. "Sent me to all kinds of therapy, hoping to scrub away who I am. And, when that didn't work, they took things into their own hands and tried to bleed it out of me." A bitter edge creeps into his tone, and I can feel the scars of those memories etched deep within him.
"Saint and Mason," he says after a pause, his grip on me loosening, becoming more protective than confining. "They pulled me out of that hell. I moved in with them and embraced who I am—the good, the bad, all the dark, twisted parts my family couldn't stand to look at."
The wind picks up, wrapping us in a chilled embrace as I lean back into him, letting his story wash over me. Here we are, two souls battered by life, finding solace in our shared brokenness.
The silence hangs heavy between us. Dre's confession lingers in the air, bold and vulnerable all at once. It's only right I offer him something in return—a piece of my own fractured world.
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. "For trusting me with your past." His ice blue eyes meet mine, and I'm lost in their depth, like falling through the cracks in his armor. “I want—I want to…”
"Snowflake," he breathes out, and that's all it takes.
Our lips crash together, a collision of need and gratitude. His mouth is gentle against mine, dispelling shadows with every tender touch. The kiss deepens, and I thread my fingers through his shoulder-length hair, anchoring myself to the moment, to him.
My heart races as his hands roam, skimming down my back, drawing me closer. There's a heat building, an intensity that threatens to consume, but he pulls back just enough to keep us teetering on the edge. It's passion restrained, a promise of what could be.
"We should get you home," Dre murmurs against my lips, reluctance lacing his words.
"Okay," I agree, still dazed from the kiss, from the raw honesty that we've shared.
We pack the blanket and food away in silence, actions speaking louder than words. He helps me onto the bike, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary. The ride back is a blur of streetlights and wind, my mind replaying every second of our time at the overlook.
Before I know it, we're standing at my front door, and I'm fumbling with the keys, reluctant to end the night. I push the door open, turning to say goodbye, but Dre steps past the threshold, his presence filling the small space.
"I'm not leaving," he states firmly, removing his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.
"What?" Confusion mingles with a flutter of something else—apprehension or maybe anticipation.
"I promised," he says, meeting my gaze head-on. "One of us stays with you every night. Saint, Chess, or me. Tonight, it's me."