Chapter 16
The exhaustion from the day is slowly claiming me, too. I’ve been on this beach since early morning, running on sun, kids’ laughter, and exactly two sandwiches total. But my friends are here. Holden isn’t scowling at me. The fire is warm. I have a new hoodie. Honestly, what’s not to like?
“Summer,” he says flatly.
“What are you doing here, Summer?” Theo’s voice is a shock. Hard-edged and colder than I’ve ever heard him. I glance his way and blink. Maybe there’s more than just loyalty tying him to Holden, because right now he looks like a slightly different version of him.
“Ugh, will you shut it, Anderson?” she snaps.
My jaw actually drops. I flick my gaze to Holden, expecting him to step in—expecting something, anything—but his face is carved from stone.
No affection. No amusement. Definitely not the look of someone tolerating his girlfriend’s behavior.
If anything, he looks… done for the day.
“What do you want? This is a school event,” he says, already sounding tired.
She pouts in that perfect, deliberate way and points toward a girl laughing with an older woman near the snack table. “Is she a student? No? Exactly.”
No one answers. She smiles like she’s made a point.
“Besides,” she adds, flipping her hair off one shoulder, “I’m an alumni.”
Still, silence.
Theo cuts his friend a look that says: really?
Holden sighs once, a sharp exhale, then stands and tips his head toward the street. “Let’s talk for a second.”
Summer beams like she just got her way—which she did—and trots to keep up with his longer stride.
Theo watches them go, then shakes his head and lets out a low whistle.
He looks back at us. “And that’s why you don’t date people who peak in high school.”
Over the next few minutes, I keep having to resist the urge to glance toward the street—to check if they’re still there, still talking.
But eventually, the urge fades into something heavier.
My mood sinks, my limbs go leaden, and I’m stuck in a loop of yawning and blinking like I’ve been hit with a tranquilizer dart.
I nudge Maya. “I think I’m gonna head back.”
They all turn to look at me, visibly surprised. Soren’s the first to speak. “It’s barely nine.”
Maya frowns. “I’m crashing at Soren’s tonight. If you stay, you can just crash with us.”
I consider it for half a second. But knowing them, they won’t leave this beach before midnight, maybe later—and my battery is already scraping red.
“Thanks, but I’m running on fumes.”
Theo glances at me, concerned. “I don’t love the idea of you walking back alone.” His gaze drags over my outfit and his frown deepens.
I squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll be okay. If there’s a bus, I’ll catch it. If not, it’s forty five minutes tops. Besides,” I glance at Soren with a wink, “it’s only nine.”
They all grumble their goodbyes, still unconvinced, and I wave as I head off toward the main road—eyes fixed straight ahead. I don’t let myself look around in case Holden and Summer are still there.
I veer off Kalākaua Avenue after about ten minutes, and the crowd of tourists thins to a manageable trickle as I take one of the quieter, less glamorous streets that curve toward campus.
Despite the shift, I’m not exactly scared.
The lights are on in every direction, music leaks from open store doors, and people are all around—just in smaller, less photo-taking quantities.
If anything, it feels good to walk. To not rely on the bus for once.
To move at my own pace without anyone watching.
That is, until a black truck slows beside me.
Right. So that’s how I die? Not while saving an octopus from a shark? Not from plastic poisoning or aplastic anemia like Marie Curie? But here, on a side street, still sticky with bonfire smoke and marshmallow sugar?
I take two steps back, eyes flicking to the nearest lit-up storefront, ready to bolt.
Then the window rolls down.
And there he is, once more.
Holden.
The most handsome face I’ve ever laid eyes on, looking at me like I just personally offended his entire lineage. His frown is deep, his eyes darker than usual. Unhappy doesn’t begin to cover it.
“Get in,” he says. One hand on the wheel. The other crooking two fingers at me like I’m something he’s summoning.
My legs don’t move. My mouth, on the other hand, finds its footing. “I’m fine.”
He exhales—slow, like it takes effort to keep the rest of the words in. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose, unbuckles, and steps out of the truck.
He walks toward me. Measured. Controlled. But unmistakably annoyed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice is low. Rough around the edges.
“Walking back to my dorm?”
“Coralie, it’s late. In Waikīkī. On a Saturday night. And you’re—” His gaze drags across me. My face. My oversized hoodie. My bare legs. His jaw tightens like he’s clenching down on the next sentence.
“Just. Trouble. Please get in.”
Trouble?
Everything in me wants to push back. To say I don’t need rescuing. To snap something sharp enough to match the look on his face. But his tone isn’t bossy. It’s not even angry.
It’s… worried.
And for reasons I don’t have the processing power to unpack right now, that makes all the difference.
So I nod, swallow my pride, and round the truck to the passenger side without another word.
We drive in silence at first. The interior of his vehicle is just as precise and intentional as he is.
A rolled-up charger in the console, a metal water bottle in the cupholder, the faint scent of eucalyptus and something warmer, like cedar or cardamom.
Clean. Uncluttered. Not a single thing out of place—except maybe me, curled into the passenger seat, unsure of what to do with the way his knuckles are whitening on the wheel.
I shift slightly, bite the inside of my cheek, then ask, “Why did you come after me?”
He doesn’t look over. Just keeps his eyes trained on the road when he says, “I went back to the fire. Theo told me you were walking home alone.”
Ah. Theo. So that’s whose kneecaps I’m targeting tomorrow.
“I would’ve been fine,” I say. He doesn’t respond. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve stayed. You’ll miss the bonfire.”
“I don’t care about the bonfire.” A beat. Then: “Which dorm?”
“Johnson Hall.”
He nods, makes the turn onto Dole, and the silence stretches again. Everything about him is tense. His shoulders, his jaw, the way he exhales like every breath is something he’s working through.
When he finally pulls up, he shifts the car into park but doesn’t cut the engine. He leans back in his seat, head tilted against the headrest, then turns to me—and just like that, I forget how to breathe.
In the dark, he’s all shadows and soft lines. Hoodie, dark eyes, tired mouth. The kind of face that pulls you in and keeps you there.
Which is exactly why I get out of the truck.
Only—he does too. Of course he does.
He rounds the hood and stops at the side, leaning against the frame like he has all the time in the world. Arms folded. Ankles crossed. That posture that says nothing gets to him, even though I know better now.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He nods toward the front entrance. “Making sure you get in okay.”
The door’s maybe ten meters away. If that.
I cross my arms. “Why did you really pick me up?”
“I told you. It’s not—”
“Yeah, it’s not safe. I heard that already. And I don’t believe that’s true, by the way.” I step a little closer. My pulse quickens. “But why do you care?”
His eyes meet mine, something complicated behind them.
“Don’t say it’s because you’re my TA.”
He pauses. “I am.”
“Sure. But I saw Alexander from BIOL 403 walking alone too back there and I didn’t see you screeching to a halt in your truck to save him.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“So what is it then? You think I’m weaker? Or—what—na?ve?”
“Fuck no,” he says, a little too fast. He steps forward now too, close enough that I have to tilt my chin to keep looking at him. “I don’t think you’re weak. Or stupid. Or incapable. I think you’re—”
He cuts himself off, swallows hard.
I stare at him, heat crawling up my neck. “Tell me.”
His hand goes to the back of his neck again, fingers digging in like he needs the anchor. “Coralie,” he says, voice low, unraveling, “please don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“Harder for who?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
“I just wanted to make sure you got home safe. And you’re not inside yet.”
There’s a war in his voice. One much older than any amount of time we’ve known each other. He’s careful, yes. But he’s cracking, too. Splintering in places I don’t think he expected me to see.
So I take a breath, and a step back. Then another.
“Good night,” I say.
He nods—one sharp, measured dip of his chin—but stays where he is, watching.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, not even when I swipe my ID and disappear through the dorm doors.
When I glance back through the glass, he’s still there, holding that same line between restraint and something else entirely.