Sunday, 4:12 p.m.
Me:Went to the beach. It was a Mom day. No explosions. Calling it a win.
Luke:Send a photo.
Me:No evidence.
Luke:Coward.
Sunday, 11:17 p.m.
Luke:Goodnight, Callahan.
Me:Night, King.
I hovered over a dozen other things that didn’t make it onto the screen—nothing about Friday, nothing about the way it rewired something I didn’t know how to name. We were careful. It kept us safe. It also kept us at arm’s length in the exact place I didn’t want distance.
By Monday morning, my limbs dragged as though they were made of lead. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, toothbrush dangling from my mouth, fighting to keep my eyes open, my chain with the star charm glinting above the deep v of my shirt. I brushed a fingertip over it without thinking.
It felt dangerous. A secret I couldn’t tell. A bruise I couldn’t stop pressing.
The metal was cool against my skin, and the memory flashed quick—his mouth at my throat, his voice wrecked, the way his hands didn’t push so much as hold. Friday wasn’t an accident. It was a choice. Mine. I’d told him no lies, no games, and then I asked him to stay.
Want wasn’t the scary part. I’ve always wanted him. The risk was what came after—the part where trust isn’t a vow but a muscle that needs reps and rest and the right kind of tension. He’d given me all the checks I needed—steady hands, the pause for my nod, and leaving before my mom pulled in. He didn’t take. He partnered.
The mirror held my gaze when I admitted it: something in me had shifted. Not back to before—there is no before—but forward into a thing I can’t define without giving it more power than feels safe. I’m not ready to hand it that name. I’m not ready to hand him that weapon.
But I also wasn’t ready for the way my body kept remembering him while the rest of me rehearsed reasons to slow down. Partners. Not lovers. Not publicly. Not yet. Rules were a fence, but they didn’t erase what was inside it.
I traced the star again, a pulse under metal. What was my choice, really? To align with Luke’s plans, to stay hidden even after everything had changed Friday night? If I accepted that logic, it meant letting the star necklace mean what it used to—trust in us, in our future. Not just a promise I’d broken but a decision to go slow—and about playing it smart.
“Stop it,” I muttered around a mouthful of toothpaste before spitting into the sink.
I knew better. I knew what happened when you let Luke King back in. Even if—for one night—he felt like home.
School hit me the second I walked through the doors—bright lights, voices bouncing off lockers, everything turned up too high.
I barely caught half of what Avery was saying when she joined me outside first period. Something about Elise whispering in corners again, someone’s name tossed around behind us, but it all slid past like background noise.
“You okay?” Avery’s voice cut through, softer than the noise. She slowed near my locker, her thick blond braid sliding over one shoulder as she looked at me.
“Fine.”
“Mila.”
“I said I’m fine.”
She didn’t push. But the silence that settled between us wasn’t natural. She didn’t believe me. And neither did I.
Second period was worse. The air in the classroom was too warm, pressing against my skin. My pen slipped against my notes, the ink smearing. My brain refused to hold on to dates and formulas, because all it wanted was to replay the night before.
My lips still tingled from the press of his; my heart sprinted with every glimpse of Luke in the hallways. The fragile truce. His crooked smile when he said it back. I’d meant it then, but that was before our so-called truth talk rewrote everything. And the worst part? I wanted to trust it again.
By lunch, I’d had enough of the cafeteria noise, so I ducked out under the oak tree on the lawn. The ground was cool, damp from sprinklers. My back rested against the rough bark, knees pulled tight as I picked apart a granola bar without tasting it.
Somewhere across campus, he was probably laughing with his friends. Hoodie thrown on after morning skate, hair still damp, pretending none of it touched him while I came apart at the seams.
But I knew better. Luke didn’t keep things shallow. He went deep, where it got complicated. And Friday night, he let me in.
