Luke:Because I know you. You sketch when the world gets too heavy.
My throat tightened. I didn’t respond. If I did, it would let him in further than he already was. And that part of me—the part wrapped in charcoal lines and oil paint—wasn’t just a hobby. It was my core. My truth.
Luke:I saw you. The other night. At the boardwalk studio.
My stomach dropped. The boardwalk studio was the only space in this town that felt like mine—rich with color, untamed waves visual through the windows, and canvases stacked higher than my shoulders. A place I could breathe without someone watching.
Me:You followed me?
Luke:Yeah. After the Grill Shack. After the parking lot.
The night of that kiss. The one that still burned when I let myself think about it too long. I’d been at the Grill Shack with Avery and her friends, doing my best to fit in when Simon, one of Chase’s buddies, slid into the booth beside me. Across the restaurant at Luke’s table, Elise pressed herself against him as if she owned him, her hand bold on his thigh. I’d bolted before I could stomach another second of it. He followed me out into the dark lot, words clipped, anger taut—until all of it snapped and his mouth crashed into mine.
Me:You’re insane.
Luke:I was worried. You disappeared fast. I just… needed to make sure you were okay.
I chewed my lip. That was Luke, too. Protective to a fault.
Me:And what did you see, exactly?
Luke:The sea. The storm you painted. I could feel it from the doorway. As if you’d poured yourself into the canvas. It was…
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. The fact that he admitted he’d been standing there, watching, meant more than the words.
Me:You don’t get to spy on me, King.
Luke:Then show me what you’re working on. No spying. Just you and me.
I hesitated. Then I snapped a picture and sent it before I could second-guess. The sketchbook lay open on my bed, pencil smudges across the page. Not the storm. Not the sea. Luke’s hand. Holding the star necklace—my star.
Three dots blinked again. Then stopped. Started. Stopped. Finally?—
Luke:Mila…
The single word carried too much. Memory. Longing. Promises made on the roof that felt as if they were a lifetime ago. I shut the sketchbook as though that could stop the ache. It didn’t. The graphite came off on my fingers anyway.
Me:Don’t read into it.
Luke:Too late.
My fingers froze, hovering, but I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because he was right. For both of us, it was already too late. Telling him about Lorne had been dangerous, but this—letting him see the part of me that breathed through charcoal and canvas—felt as if I was handing him my unguarded heart. And that was a risk I wasn’t sure either of us could survive.
CHAPTER FOUR
LUKE
Icould feel Mila watching me before I even turned around. It wasn’t the usual kind of glance—the quick ones you clock in the corner of your eye and dismiss. This one cut through hallway noise, branding the back of my neck with heat and suspicion.
I didn’t move. Just leaned casually against the locker bank outside Econ, as if I wasn’t breaking the fragile trust between us. From her angle, I was.
Elise stood two feet in front of me, flipping her dark, glossy hair as though she still ruled this place. Her voice was lower than normal. Less shrill, more deliberate. Calculated.
And Mila saw all of it, even the brush of Elise’s hand on my forearm. I didn’t need to see Mila’s face to know the gears were already grinding. If I’d watched that scene from thirty feet, I would’ve walked over swinging too.
The guys and I iced Elise out after she had Logan lay hands on Mila. That was the line, and it was non-negotiable. She’d already been setting people up, trashing reputations. Rachel—a girl in our grade last year who’d since transferred out—almost hadn’t survived Elise’s bullying. But this was different. Exilestood. If keeping her within arm’s length got us information, I’d stomach it. The mandate didn’t change. The method did.
Not that Mila would see it that way.
