“How?” she asked, mouth tipping up like she knew exactly how.
“This way,” I said, turning to her again, taking in the line of her throat, the pulse under it, the way her sweater slipped off one shoulder.
I met her halfway. Her mouth brushed mine once, tentative, before she leaned in again with more pressure. Each shift of her lips felt like a decision—choosing me, choosing this. Her fingers slid into my hair, tugging just enough to pull me closer, and I set my hands at her hips, holding steady.
We didn’t push it as far this time, but we didn’t need to. It was enough to feel the way she softened—and then didn’t, enough to know she was choosing me again and again.
When we finally pulled apart, the room felt cooler, as though the air had shifted around us. I pressed a kiss to her forehead then another to the corner of her mouth because I could, because it was allowed, because herno second thoughtshad undone something I hadn’t admitted was still knotted.
“We’re going to be careful,” I said.
“I know.”
“We’re going to be smart.”
“Sometimes.”
“We’re going to be partners.”
Her eyes were steady. “Always.”
Headlights swept across the living room wall through the half-open blinds, gravel crunching in the drive. I’d parked farther down the street not to be noticed, and I was glad I had.
We moved on instinct. She straightened the blanket, crossed to the door with a practiced ease that almost looked natural. I stood, grabbed my keys, and hesitated anyway, not ready to be on the other side of the threshold.
She paused with me, hand on the knob, eyes lifting. The star at her collarbone caught the overhead light in a sharp flare.
I moved quietly through the kitchen and slipped out the back door just as her mom’s car rolled to a stop in the driveway. She shifted so her body blocked the view inside from the street, and it should have been the smallest thing, but I felt it—protection both ways.
I didn’t look back until I hit the path. When I did, she was still in the doorway, half-shadow, that star glowing beneath her collarbone, a small lighthouse in the dark. She didn’t wave. She didn’t need to.
The evening air carried the salt of the ocean. The cypress shifted in the wind. My SUV chirped as it unlocked, steady and familiar.
I got in, shut the door gently, and sat with my hands on the wheel for a beat, mirroring the stillness I’d felt in the rink lot. The porch light glowed behind me. Her mom’s car doorthunked, soft. Voices, low. Normal.
I wanted to shout she was mine, carve it in ice, set it on fire in the language this town understood. Instead, I put the SUV in drive. Not yet. Not until it was safe. But as I pulled away, I knew the truth anyway—Mila was it. The measure of every choice I would make, whether I said it out loud or not.
I glanced at my phone where it sat in the cup holder, screen black, my reflection faint in it. I imagined her sketchbook again—the side portrait, the distant determination carved in my expression. The proof.
The road opened ahead, dark-mirrored where the last sun still clung west. I pressed the pedal and the SUV responded, steady and fast and mine. I drove the coastal road back, palms bending above, the ocean slipping in and out between houses.
And for once, the want didn’t eat me alive. It lit me from the inside and dared the world to try me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MILA
By Wednesday night, the quiet had started to feel dangerous. Even under the hockey arena lights, it felt as though something was hiding in the dark.
Elise had been suspiciously silent. No more hovering near the guys’ row of lockers or draping herself across the cafeteria tables as if she owned them. Apparently, the freeze-out had mostly worked. I suspected it was more her biding her time for the perfect open than anything else.
But the rest of the school hadn’t gone that far. No one shunned her the way they had initially. No whispers when she passed. No pointed looks. Instead, people gave her space. Conversations hushed when she passed, eyes sliding away too fast. Not loyalty. Just fear.
Because her dad wasn’t the Kings, not even close. But he had money, influence, and connections. And in Blackwood, that counted. Enough to keep Elise relevant. Enough to make her untouchable to anyone who wasn’t already brave—or stupid—enough to cross her.
She and her minions had been too quiet. Even Logan had gone still. Too still.
I knew Luke was keeping watch. But so was I. The silence didn’t mean surrender. It meant planning. Waiting. They would try something else, soon. We had to be ready, several steps ahead.
