21. Rose #2
Her throat tightened. She took a sip of her malt just to keep talking.
“By the end, I didn’t see my friends anymore.
He said they were a bad influence. We fought that night—the night of that photo where I’m dancing.
It was his best friend’s party. I was uncomfortable; he’d chosen my outfit, and I got a lot of attention.
So I drank. I didn’t realize something was wrong until it was too late.
I barely remember anything. It’s all flashes until it’s not. ”
She stared at the distant lights below, tracing the edges of the lake where the darkness met the lights of houses and decks, forcing the words out.
“When his buddies got too handsy, I pushed one off. Preston said I embarrassed him, so he dragged me out of there. I questioned him in the car. That should have set off a warning somewhere in my head, but I was so out of it from whatever they slipped me. I think my filter just stopped working. I wanted to know why—” She stopped, pressing a hand to her mouth.
“I don’t remember him pulling over, just the flashing lights as we drove down the road.
He slammed my face into the dashboard, probably more than once, but I can’t be sure. ”
Kirin went still, his gaze trained on the lake.
“I must’ve fallen out of the car. Maybe I caught the handle on accident and fell out, or I could have been trying to get away.
I don’t remember that part. Just him appearing in front of me, towering above me, kicking me enough times that it was hard to breathe, then he slammed his boot down on my wrist. I woke up in the hospital with a grade three concussion that caused memory issues I’ll probably struggle with for the rest of my life.
A broken cheekbone, several broken ribs, and a wrist they had to piece back together.
” She breathed shallowly, forcing composure.
“Doctors said I was lucky. He could have punctured my lung or heart. The charges vanished. His family buried it. I was in the hospital for weeks. I got a restraining order, transferred, and completed my spring semester from Arizona, which you already know.”
When she finally looked at him, he was still as stone, jaw tight, hands fisted on his knees.
“There’s more,” she whispered. “He’s been messaging me again. Since the first party. There’s been mail without a return address showing up at my place, photos of us from when I was at Westmont. And I thought I saw his car the other day.”
His head snapped toward her. “Because of that photo I shared?”
“Maybe it started there. But it’s not your fault,” she said quickly, seeing panic flash across his face. “You couldn’t have known.”
He raked his hands through his hair, muttering a low curse. “I didn’t know, Rose. If I’d known, I would never—”
“I know, but I posted a photo of us after he reached out. It definitely didn’t help.” She sucked on her lower lip, the last thing she wanted was for him to feel guilty. “I mean it, it’s not your fault. And this doesn’t fall on you alone.”
Their eyes met. Kirin exhaled slowly, his voice rough. “We can change the project. Talk to Professor Nadae. We’ll explain what’s been happening—just enough to make her understand. I don’t care about the grade. I just want you safe.”
Rose shook her head. “No. I agreed to this project, and I’m finishing it. I’m done letting Preston dictate what I do.”
“But he’s still out there, Rose. He’s harassing you—posting private photos.” His hands flexed helplessly. “I can’t stand knowing that and doing nothing.”
Her chest ached at the helpless anger in his tone. He wasn’t threatening or overbearing. She reached for his face without thinking, fingertips brushing his cheek.
“You didn’t know,” she breathed. “You couldn’t have known.”
He leaned into her touch, eyes closing. When he looked back at her, there was determination in his expression. “You take the lead. Whatever you need, I’ll follow.”
It hit her—the care in that simple promise. No pity. No control.
“I’m glad you told me,” he added quietly. “It explains a lot. You’ve been keeping me at arm’s length since day one, making me work for every second of your attention.”
Her laugh was watery. “My therapist would call that a fear response.”
“Then we’ll work on that,” he said, a ghost of a smile curving his mouth. “If you want to, like I said, you lead.”
Rose swallowed. The steady weight of his gaze did strange things to her heartbeat. The world outside the windshield was still and silent, the lake glinting below, and in that hush, she wanted to believe him.
“I’d like that,” she whispered. Then, before her nerves could stop her: “I’m going to kiss you, okay?”
His lips parted in surprise, then softened into a small, crooked grin. “Yep.”
She almost laughed at his enthusiasm. Her hand slid into his hair, the motion tentative at first, then sure. He met her halfway. The kiss started slow—sweet and unhurried, but deepened as he shifted. His thumb brushed the edge of her ribs, careful, reverent, and she arched into it.
Her pulse thrummed. She felt herself leaning in, drawn toward him. He made her forget, just for a second, everything that came before him.
Three sharp knocks on the driver’s window had them jolting apart. A harsh beam of light cut through the dark, revealing a sheriff’s deputy peering in with the unimpressed expression of someone who’d interrupted too many couples on this ridge doing far worse.
“Take your make-out session somewhere else,” the deputy said flatly.
“Sorry,” Kirin replied, his voice calm though his ears had flushed crimson. “We were just leaving.”
Rose covered her face, shaking with quiet laughter and embarrassment. The deputy lingered a second before walking back to his cruiser. When she finally risked a glance at Kirin, he was already watching her, trying not to smile.
“We should probably go,” he said, voice low again. Gentle. Then, after a beat, “Can I stay with you tonight? Just to make sure you’re okay. Couch, floor—whatever’s fine.”
Her heart jumped. “Just to sleep?”
“Just to sleep,” he promised. “No pressure. I just don’t like the idea of being away from you right now.”
The honesty—the lack of agenda—made something deep inside her glow and unfurl. He didn’t need to promise anything more than that.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” He exhaled, a small, shaky sound that might’ve been relief. His hand found her thigh. His fingers curving as if he needed the reminder she was there with him—safe. It stayed there as she started the car.
The drive back to Kismet was quiet except for the hum of the tires and the low whisper of her playlist. Kirin didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions. Every few minutes, she caught herself glancing over, half afraid he’d vanish.
When the campus lights came into view, she realized she hadn’t felt panicked or uncertain on the drive back. For the first time in a long time, the silence didn’t feel dangerous—it felt safe.
Still, her chest ached.
A fresh fear reared its head—the fear of wanting this.
Of wanting him.
They had an end date.
That hadn’t changed.
Right?
She parked in her assigned spot, the engine ticking as it cooled. Kirin’s hand lingered on her thigh for a second longer before he pulled away, his voice quiet in the stillness.
“Come on, let’s get you inside.”
She hesitated only a moment before opening the door.
As they walked toward her apartment, Kirin wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. As was becoming habit, his lips found her temple, and she leaned into it. She felt lighter—hope once again buoying her. And that terrified her more than anything.