Chapter 18 #3
He steps closer. The rain’s picking up, droplets streaking his face, turning his eyes the color of deep earth. Still, he doesn’t blink.
“I didn’t know I had a weakness,” he says quietly, “until you walked into my class and flipped my world inside out.” The breath leaves me. “But it’s not right, Coralie.”
I almost argue—it’s only not right because you decided it’s not—but he sees it coming, shakes his head before I can speak. I close my mouth.
“I keep waiting for you to walk away,” he says. “To get tired of the push and pull. To realize I’m difficult. And complicated. And not worth it. But you don’t. You never do. And that scares the hell out of me.”
“Why would you want me to walk away?”
“Because we can’t be together. Not really.” He steps closer again, brushing wet strands of hair from my face, his fingers featherlight against my temple. “God, you have no idea what you do to me. How hard it is to be around you and not touch you. Not have you.”
“I think I do.”
His jaw tightens. His fist clenches at his sides, knuckles gone pale. His shirt—white, soaked through—clings to every lean muscle of his torso, and the storm-wet curls falling across his forehead make him look devastating in a way that should be illegal for just about anyone’s sanity.
“What is it, then?” I ask, breath hitching. “Would it be trouble because you’re my TA? Or… is it my friendship with Theo?”
At the mention of his best friend, his expression hardens. He leans in closer.
“What does Theo have to do with this?”
I shrug, helpless. “I’m trying to understand what’s stopping you, Holden. Because it’s not me. I told you. I told you months ago—I have feelings for you. You’re the one who told me to get over it.”
“I did,” he admits. “I still mean it.” He exhales like it physically hurts. “It would be easier if you did. If I did.”
“Can we just… not, for once?”
“Coralie—”
“Please.” I cut in. I finally meet his gaze again, and there it is—restraint, taut and trembling under the surface. His eyes move over my face, tracing every drop of water sliding from my lashes to my lips to my throat.
“Look around,” I whisper.
He doesn’t. His eyes stay locked on mine.
“There’s no one here. Unless you’re worried about the sea lions, there’s no audience. No consequences. No rules but ours.” The rain is a downpour now, drowning my voice so I have to raise it.
“I want you, Holden. And unless this is some cruel game you’re playing, I know you want me, too. So can we please—just for now—stop pretending we don’t?”
It’s reckless. It’s wrong. It’s everything I want. And yes, maybe I’m lying—because I don’t just want now. I want always. But if now is all he’s brave enough to give me, I’ll take it.
This time, he doesn’t stop an arm’s length away. He steps in until the toes of his shoes press into my bare feet, until the rise of my chest meets his and there’s no room left to breathe without breathing him in.
With his thumb and forefinger, he tips my chin up—slow, deliberate, as if he’s giving himself time to stop and chooses not to.
“I will not mess with your future, Coralie,” he says, voice low, unyielding. “I won’t be the reason doors close in your face.”
I don’t answer him. I don’t even fully understand what he means—not like this, not when the storm is breaking around us and the scent of rain and salt and him has tangled into something intoxicating.
The heat coming off his body is relentless, stealing the air from my lungs, pulling me closer without him moving an inch.
“Do you understand?” he presses. “I can’t let myself do that to you. I can’t—”
“Only today,” I whisper now, because anything louder would shatter me. “Just… today.”
The word hangs between us, fragile and dangerous.
He nods once. Just once.
The hand at my chin slides, knuckles tracing my cheek before settling at the nape of my neck, fingers firm, possessive. His other hand finds my hip and pulls me in until we’re flush, until I can feel the hard line of him through soaked fabric. A breath slips out of me before I can stop it.
His fingers thread into my wet hair and tug—not hard, but enough to tilt my head, enough to make my pulse spike. He leans in and stops so close our lips almost brush, close enough that when he speaks, the warmth of the words ghosts my mouth.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs. “You know that?”
I smile—barely—and nod.
That’s all it takes.
His mouth crashes into mine, hot and sure, like he’s been holding back for months and finally lost the war. The kiss starts controlled—measured—but the sound I make undoes him. He groans, low and rough, and his tongue presses at the seam of my lips, asking.
I open for him.
He kisses me like he’s been starving. Like restraint has finally snapped clean.
His tongue sweeps in, confident, devastating, and I meet him just as fiercely, tasting mint and rain and something unmistakably Holden.
Every sharp word he’s ever thrown at me, every carefully chosen sentence, every look he’s held back—it’s all there.
His grip tightens. My hands slide under his shirt, palms mapping heat and muscle and the frantic beat of his heart. He breaks the kiss just long enough to swear, breath ragged.
“Fuck, Coralie.”
Then I’m airborne.
He lifts me onto the slick boulder like I weigh nothing, steps in close, and nudges my knees apart with his thigh as he settles between them. His hands clamp onto my hips, anchoring me, and my arms loop around his neck, fingers digging into wet fabric and skin.
He kisses me again—deeper, harder—while thunder cracks overhead and lightning fractures the sky, the storm roaring like it’s cheering us on.
Every passing second pulls something loose in both of us—thread by thread, breath by breath. His hands roam my sides, slow one moment, urgent the next, gripping my hips like he’s barely controlling himself, pulling me closer even though there’s not a single inch left between us.
His mouth is ruinous. Controlled, practiced, and yet completely wrecked—like some carefully buried part of him has clawed its way to the surface.
And I’m not any better. My hands are in his hair, tugging, framing his face, trailing down the ridges of his neck, his back, his chest. He said I was his weakness, but I’m starting to think this goes both ways.
Because right now, with his taste still lingering on my tongue and his body pressed entirely against mine, nothing else exists.
Nothing could ever come close to the electricity ripping through my skin under Holden’s hands.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to breathe, and I chase his mouth without thinking—my body protesting even the tiniest distance. He chuckles, low and ragged, and brushes his lips against mine before nipping at my bottom lip, swollen and aching.
“Trouble,” he murmurs, breath warm and laced with something dangerous, “you’ll be the death of me.”
“I’m too young to go to jail,” I whisper, still dizzy from all of it.
He shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth—a real one. Then he’s kissing me again. Slower this time, like he can’t help himself. His lips trace my cheek next, my jaw, the soft hollow of my neck, and the sound that escapes me is nothing short of shameful.
But I don’t care.
My hands dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, tighter. Like if I hold him hard enough, he won’t ever pull away again.
Long minutes pass, until our breaths come in sharp, uneven pants, and the thunder begins to fade—each strike farther away than the last.
I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to give him space to rebuild the walls I’ve spent weeks chipping at.
But I’m shivering now, both from the cold and from the aftershocks of adrenaline still dancing under my skin.
He’s shaking too—not from the chill, but from the same unspent electricity that’s coursing through me.
“Holden?”
“Mmm?” He kisses me again, and I let him. Every time, like it might be the last.
“I know I said only for today, but…”
“No, Coralie—”
“Just—listen. For once.” I pull back far enough to look him in the eyes. They’re hooded, unfocused, a little wild with everything we’ve just unraveled. “If when we go back, you don’t want to be with me, I’ll accept it. I’ll… switch TAs, or figure out a way to put distance between us.”
The words feel like broken glass in my throat, but I push through.
“I don’t want that. God, I don’t. But if that’s what you want, I’ll respect it.
Just… please—before I walk away, I deserve to know exactly why you’re holding back.
Because none of it makes sense, and the not knowing is worse than anything else. ”
He doesn’t speak right away. He just watches me, his jaw tight, his shoulders still heaving with breath. I see the moment he softens. When he lets it all drop.
His hands come to either side of my face, thumbs brushing gently over my wet cheeks. He leans in and kisses me once more—softer than before, slow and sure. Like he’s memorizing me.
“You do deserve that,” he whispers. “It’s complicated, Trouble. I’m not sure this is a good idea, still. But we can at least talk about the why.”
I nod and swallow hard past the knot rising in my throat, thankful for the rain that hides the tears now slipping down my face.
Because today, we blurred the line.
Washed it away entirely, like stormwater running over sand. And I know what I want now. I want more than stolen time and guilt-softened kisses. I want him, not hidden behind rules or roles, but real and mine.
Everything I’d managed to keep safely theoretical has stopped being theoretical at all.
And I refuse to let it be again.