Chapter 17
Olivia
“Idon’t know what brought you here, Liv… but I’m real damn thankful it did.”
Those words play on a loop in my head.
I want to believe him.
That maybe I ended up here for more than just survival. That maybe something good can grow out of everything I lost.
And when I look at Kade, when I see the honesty in his eyes, the steady patience in the way he waits for me to say something—I almost do.
The weight of the past presses at the edges of my ribs, but it doesn’t crush me the way it used to. Not here. Not tonight.
I take a slow breath, my fingers tightening around the bottle in my hands. “Me too,” I say quietly.
It’s not much. But it’s true. And right now, it feels like enough.
I notice the closeness in how we’re sitting—his thigh pressed against mine, warm and steady. A flicker of heat coils low in my stomach. I shift slightly, trying to slow my pulse, and let my gaze drift toward the dance floor.
Aubrey’s gone. So is Trent. The crowd is still going strong, but our little group has started to thin.
I glance back at Kade. He’s already watching me, that same quiet attentiveness in his eyes.
“You ready to head out?” he asks, voice low, like he doesn’t want to break whatever’s settled between us.
I nod, then add, “I should probably text Aubrey and let her know.”
Kade’s smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You two must read each other’s minds. She just texted me to ask if I could give you a ride home.”
I blink at him, surprised. “She did?”
He nods, lifting his phone and turning the screen so I can see the message. Sure enough—Aubrey’s name at the top, and a simple ’Can you take Liv home? I’m catching a ride with Trent’.
A small smile tugs at my lips. Of course she is.
“Guess that settles it,” I say quietly, standing up as Kade does the same.
He steps aside to let me go first, his hand brushing the small of my back as we weave through the tables. It’s a simple touch—barely there—but it sends warmth curling through me all the same.
Outside, the night air is cooler than I expected, a soft breeze brushing over my skin. The music from The Rig fades as the door swings shut behind us, replaced by the hum of crickets and the distant rush of passing cars.
Kade unlocks his truck with a quiet beep, and I climb in, settling into the passenger seat while he rounds to the driver’s side. The cab is warm and still, a sharp contrast to the noise and chaos we just left behind.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. He starts the engine, his hand resting casually on the gear shift.
“You good?” he asks, voice low in the dark.
“Yeah,” I answer, just as he pulls out of the parking lot.
The car ride hums with electric tension. I keep my eyes on the road ahead, afraid that if I look at him, I’ll say something I’m not ready to act on. That I’ll ask for more when I’m still trying to make sense of what I already feel.
When we pull up outside my house, he hops out and walks around to open my door, helping me down like it’s second nature. His touch is warm, steady—and every brush of his fingers pulls me in deeper. He walks me to the front step, an electric silence creeping between us.
“Thank you for the ride,” I whisper, eyes lowered, afraid I’ll unravel if I meet his gaze.
But Kade lifts my chin with a single finger, coaxing my eyes to his—and when they meet, the air between us sparks.
“I want to kiss you so bad,” he groans, leaning in until his forehead rests against mine. His voice is rough with restraint. “Tell me to walk away.”
“I can’t.”
He draws a slow breath, like he’s barely holding himself back.
“Then you’ve gotta tell me what you want,” he says gently, like it’s costing him everything not to close the space between us.
I breathe in slow, grounding myself in the truth, his patience, his steadiness, the way he’s seen me without ever asking me to be anyone but myself. I close my eyes and whisper, “Kiss me.”
His forehead stays pressed to mine, our breaths mingling in the quiet space between us. My heart pounds in my throat, and I know he can feel the way I tremble—not from fear, but from how much this matters.
His thumb brushes my cheek — a slow, grounding touch that stills everything inside me. Then he leans in and kisses me.
It’s soft at first. Barely there. His lips brushing mine like a question he already knows the answer to. He lingers in that lightness for a moment, savoring it — savoring me.
Then he shifts. His mouth presses more firmly to mine, deepening the kiss with quiet certainty. His other hand comes up, cradling the side of my face, thumb grazing the curve of my jaw.
And then — slowly, deliberately — his lips part. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth, coaxing me open. It’s not demanding. It’s not rushed. It’s just intentional. Like he’s been waiting a long time for this — not the kiss itself, but what it means.
When I respond, his hand slides from my cheek, fingers trailing down the side of my neck, my shoulder, until he finds my waist. He pulls me closer — gently but firmly — like he needs me against him. Like space between us is no longer acceptable.
There’s no chaos in it. No clumsy rush of need. Just heat, steady and focused. Just him — us — finally giving in.
I melt into him, hands finding his sides, needing something to hold onto. I anchor myself there, clinging not just to the moment, but to him — like he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
When he finally pulls back, it’s barely an inch. His eyes stay closed, his hand still gently cradling my face like he’s not ready to let go.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I met you,” he admits.
My heart aches in the best way as I smile and whisper, “I think I’ve been waiting for you.”
He groans softly, his thumb grazing my bottom lip like he’s trying to memorize it. “You don’t know what saying things like that does to me.”
A breathless laugh escapes me, nerves bubbling just beneath the sound. My heart is still racing, my lips still tingling, and I can barely look at him when I speak. “That was my first kiss.”
Kade stills.
For a split second, the air feels too quiet, the weight of my confession hanging between us. Heat creeps into my cheeks, self-consciousness rushing in before I can stop it. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything—
But then he moves.
He pulls me into his chest without a word, arms wrapping around me like he’s shielding something fragile. Like he understands. And just like that, the embarrassment melts away—dissolving under the warmth of his embrace.
I press into him, breathing him in, fitting perfectly into the space he makes for me like I’ve always belonged there.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head — soft, reverent — and when he speaks, his voice is quiet, rough around the edges. “Thank you for trusting me enough to give me that.”
When we finally pull apart, Kade doesn’t let go of my hands. I’m glad, grateful for the anchor. My fingers tighten around his instinctively as nerves flutter in my stomach. I bite my lip, unsure, then look up to meet his eyes.
“What does this mean?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.
“It means that I like you,” he says softly, without hesitation. “And I think it means you might like me too.”
A breath catches in my throat. I nod—just a little—because it’s true. Because it feels like more than that, even if I’m still learning how to name it.
He watches me carefully. “We don’t have to rush anything, Liv. I’m here—for whatever pace you need.”
Something loosens in my chest, the pressure I didn’t realize I’d been holding easing at his words.
“I don’t want to rush,” I admit. “But I don’t want to pretend this didn’t happen either.”
A smile flickers at his lips. “Good. Because I’m not planning on forgetting.”
I huff a quiet laugh, the weight in my chest lightening just a little more. Kade squeezes my hands once, then lifts one to his mouth and presses a kiss to my knuckles, soft, careful.
“I should go in,” I say reluctantly.
“Yeah.” He nods but doesn’t move. “Make sure you lock the door once you're inside.”
“I will.”
We both linger, like neither of us wants to break the moment.
“Goodnight, Liv.”
“Goodnight, Kade.”
And for the first time, it feels like the beginning of something I get to choose.