Chapter 20
Twenty
THEN | SISK
“What are you doing?” I ask as Jax starts stripping right in front of me. There’s anger in his movements.
He doesn’t answer me. He simply unbuttons, shoves his jeans down, and thrusts the balled-up denim into my hands like this is the most obvious, most logical solution in the world. “Put these on.”
I stare at the pants in my hands, then at him. He’s standing there in boxers, all lean muscle and simmering rage, like that isn’t somehow a bigger problem than me being half-naked in a parking lot full of people.
“I would tell you to go to hell,” I spit, “but walking home without pants feels a little too on the nose, even for me.”
He turns away like the conversation is already over and I tug the jeans on. They hang loose on my hips, pooling around my ankles because they’re obviously too long. The scent of him clings to the fabric, which feels unfair. “This is definitely not how you forget someone,” I say under my breath.
“I’m taking you home,” he says.
“Who said I’m going home?” I snap, my voice rising. “Who said I don’t have a ride?”
He turns, then. “Who said it was a question?” He grabs my arm, his fingers a steel clamp, and starts pulling me toward the tree line.
I rip myself free. “What do you think you’re doing?” I yell, shoving at his chest. “I don’t answer to you.”
I think he’s going to shout back. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a slow, shuddering breath, trying not to explode all over me. “You don’t have to like me,” he says. “But I’m not letting you tank your future just to make a point.”
“Oh, sure. Let’s pretend this is about my future.” I laugh sarcastically. “You really think everything revolves around you, don't you?”
“Of course not,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Good! Because—”
“I know exactly what you’re doing,” he cuts me off.
“And what’s that?” I challenge.
“You’re self-destructing. You’re trying to burn it all down so you don’t have to feel anything.”
I scoff. “You’re unbelievable. Have you ever considered that maybe—just maybe—the world doesn’t move around you? Of course not. You’re a St. Clair. You were born thinking you get to dictate the terms.”
His shoulders tense like I’ve just hit a raw, exposed nerve. “Say that again,” he warns.
“Why?” I fire back. “Truth bothering you? Or are you afraid someone might see you don’t actually get to control everything?”
A voice cuts in from somewhere behind us. “Damn, ballerina, why cover those pretty legs? We were just starting to enjoy the show.”
Laughter ripples through the trees, a chorus of hyenas. Jax’s head snaps toward the sound, his entire body going rigid. “Shut up,” he growls. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
“Relax, man,” someone else says. “Didn’t know she was property.”
My pulse stumbles.
“Jax, stop,” I say quickly, grabbing his arm. “Don’t—”
He’s already moving. I grab his arm again, my fingers digging in. “Don’t do this.”
He spins back to me instead, fury blazing, breathing hard like he’s got nowhere to put it. “You think I’m the problem?” he snaps. “You think they get to look at you like that?”
“I don’t need you to protect me!” I yell, my own voice shaking with anger.
“You don’t get to decide that,” he fires back, his face inches from mine.
“Yes, I do!”
“Not tonight,” he says. “Not like this. Not when you’re throwing yourself away.”
“You don’t own me!”
Something in his face breaks. He grabs me roughly and backs me against the side of a parked car before I can finish the sentence.
“Stop acting like you’re trying to disappear,” he forces out. “I can’t fucking watch you do this.”
My heart is pounding so hard it hurts.
“Let me go.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he kisses me. Maybe to punish me.
Maybe to steal the words right out of my mouth.
It doesn’t matter, because it’s the best, stupidest kiss of my life.
For one split second, my body betrays me, leaning into it, then I remember I have pride.
I shove him, hard, my palm flat against his chest.
“Don’t,” I breathe. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, his hands coming up in surrender. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” I say, my voice shaking with rage. “You don’t get to decide when I shut up.”
He steps back.
“I’m going home,” I tell him.
I step around him and start walking before my legs give out, before I can think about the fact that I’m wearing his jeans, that my lips are still tingling, that I can still taste him.
Behind me, I hear him swear under his breath. I don’t turn around, but I hear him anyway, “Car’s to the left.”
I take a pissed-off step toward it when I hear Lou call after me, his voice a familiar, welcome splash of color in this grim landscape. “Sisk!”
I barely turn around, not wanting him to see my face.
“What the fuck are you doing here? I thought you said this place was for people who peak in high school?” he says, finally catching up. “The fuck you come here without me! And why are you wearing that?”
“I’m leaving,” I say quickly.
“Why? What happened, I just got here…” Lou’s gaze drifts past me, and his entire face lights up with a wicked grin. “Well, hello Mr. Boxers. Is this trade outfit a new kink I haven’t heard of?”
Jax, who’s been walking behind me like a silent, brooding security guard, finally speaks. “She decided pants were optional. I’m making sure she doesn’t forget again.”
Lou grins. “You two are something else. And on that note, pretty sure I saw your boy Ivan running out of here too.”
“What?” I ask, my head snapping up. “Ivan? Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Think he saw the fun kiss and lost it. Kinda felt bad. Tripped over a cooler and everything. Looked like he was gonna cry.”
“I… I gotta go, Lou,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’m… we’ll talk tomorrow…”
I don’t wait for his goodbye. I just turn and walk faster than before.
“Only you could make those straight-leg jeans look like a fashion statement, bitch! Pitfire—boyfriend jeans. I just invented that!” Lou calls after me.
* * *
“How did it go last night?” Becca’s voice carries across the classroom while I’m still copying notes I won’t remember. I don’t say anything.
“I saw you getting into St. Clair’s car,” she pushes. “Whistle was pissed.”
A few heads turn, drawn by the scent of blood in the water.
“He gave me a ride home.”
“That’s generous,” Jason mutters behind me.
“That’s it?” Becca presses. “After you gave him that show? After he fought for your honor?”
“Guess Tar City finally has a patron saint,” Lisa adds, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “A knight in shining boxers.”
Her friends laugh.
I keep writing, my pen digging too hard into the paper, threatening to tear through the page.
Becca leans back in her chair, twisting around to face me, her eyes hungry for details. “Relax. We’re just saying—Whistle doesn’t get mad unless—”
“I don’t care about Whistle,” I cut in.
“Damn,” someone near the window says. “Someone woke up spicy.”
Before I can respond with something that will definitely get me detention, the classroom door swings open with a sharp click. “Sisk Zaitseva.”
“Yes?” my teacher says, already annoyed at the interruption.
“Office,” Mrs. Adler says. “Now.”
A current ripples through the room. “Ooooh.”
Becca’s eyebrows lift. I stand without a word, sling my bag over my shoulder, and walk out. Whatever this is about, it’s better than being interrogated about last night. The truth is, I’m pissed. I’m pissed at Jax for that kiss, and I’m pissed at my own stupid heart for wanting more of it.
The whole point of that stupid party was to forget him and his amazing, stupid lips.
The exact opposite happened. I got in his car and stared out the window, refusing to look at him, secretly wishing he’d just pull me close and make me forget it all with another kiss.
He did none of that. He just dropped me off at home like a perfect good boy, which was a thousand times worse than any argument.
It just proved I’m a dumb girl who fell for a bad guy.
And the worst part? Turns out he was telling the truth. He’s an actual fucking gentleman.
Mrs. Adler closes the door behind us. “Sit,” she orders.
I do.
She opens a manila folder, straightens the papers inside with meticulous precision.
“We received confirmation this morning from the Atlantic Ballet Academy.”
My pulse kicks. My breath stops.
“You’ve been accepted into their residential program,” she continues. “Full scholarship. Housing included.”
I can’t breathe.
“You’ll start this fall. This is not an offer extended lightly, Sisk,” she says, assessing. “This is a life-changing opportunity.”
I grip the edge of the chair.
“They cited your discipline, control, and emotional range,” she adds. “You stood out.”
Mrs. Adler studies me as if she’s waiting for a reaction. “Congratulations. This is a rare opportunity. Don’t let distractions cost you everything you’ve worked for.”
She slides the folder across the desk.
My ticket.
Out.
Of.
Tar City.
I nod because it’s easier than speaking, because words feel like they would shatter the fragile shell holding me together.
When I step back into the hallway, the bell rings and the school explodes into noise. It’s a chaotic symphony of normalcy, and I’m standing on the outside of it.
At the other end of the hall, Ivan looks up from his locker the second he sees me.
“Well?” he asks as I walk by. “What was that about?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I got in,” I say.
“The Academy?”
I nod.
His face changes but I can’t stay to hear what he has to say. I’m already walking past him, fleeing before I have to explain my tears.
I shouldn’t be crying. I should be screaming in excitement. I got what I wanted. What I always wanted. The one thing I’ve ever wanted. Now that is here, it doesn’t feel like winning. It feels like the settled knife in my chest just inched deeper as I got handed the keys to my gilded freedom.