God knows, I should be used to this feeling. No one has ever met me halfway.
Not my mom, who disappeared without a trace and left me with the devil in a father’s skin. Not my father, who saw me as a paycheck more than a daughter. Not Taylor, who literally tried to have me killed with her psycho boyfriend and still has the nerve to keep reaching out like we’re not past forgiveness. I’vespent my whole life trying to be enough for people who were never enough for me. And all I want—just once—is to know what it feels like to be chosen completely. Not for my money. Not for what I win in a card game. Not for my body. For all of me, every fucked-up, broken piece.
Someone calls my name from somewhere behind me. Once. Then again, louder. I don’t turn around. It’s not Damian’s voice—low and rough, like asphalt and thunder. So I keep walking. They’ll take the hint.
But as I round the curve toward the entrance of the Steel Pier, I slam straight into a solid wall of warmth and muscle. My shoulder collides with a chest, and before I can stumble, strong arms reach out and catch me.
“Hey—whoa.” The voice is familiar, and it hits me a second too late that it’shisvoice—the one that was calling my name a second ago. Nathan.
He steadies me, hands warm and strong on my arms as I stumble back, heart thudding. The paper bag in his hand crinkles sharply between us, the sound loud in the quiet space between our bodies.
I blink up at him, breath catching. He looks just as surprised as I feel.
“I just stopped by the bakery,” he says, smiling as he lifts the bag like proof. “Wanted to see if you were around.”
I stare at the bag. My logo’s printed on the front. The branding is on point. It looks like it belongs to someone who has their shit together.
“Thank you for your purchase,” I mumble, voice low and dry. “I appreciate your support.”
Nathan’s smile falters. He studies my face, his own expression shifting. “Hey. Oh God—what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I try to shrug off the question, but Nathan’s eyes stay on me, soft and probing, waiting for an answer I’m not willing to give, not to him.
“Where are you heading?” he asks gently, like I’m a wounded animal he doesn’t want to startle.
“I wanted to get high,” I mutter, brushing a loose strand of hair off my face. I dart my gaze toward the Ferris wheel.
“You, high?” His gaze follows mine, toward the slow-moving spin of the Ferris wheel catching the early evening light, and his expression tells me he immediately understands.
The Wheel keeps turning, smooth and silent, like it’s never once stopped for anything—not for heartbreak, not for me. I lock my eyes back on it. I don’t know why I want to ride it. Maybe I just need something to feel like it’s lifting. Like I could float for a second. Be above it all.
“You want to go for a ride?” Nathan says, following my line of sight again. “I’ll take you.”
Before I can protest—or even make a decent excuse—we’re already walking, his hand gently guiding me by the elbow like I’m not thinking clearly, which, honestly, I’m not. Maybe a bit of company wouldn’t be so bad.
We stop at the booth, and Nathan buys two tickets without asking. It’s automatic, familiar. Too familiar. That’s when it hits me—how many times I’ve done this exact thing with him. The Ferris wheel. The small talk. The part where he thinks he knows me.
As we walk to stand in line, I glance at him, and really look. I have no idea how I ever thought he was attractive. Or fun. Or even all that kind. He’s nice, sure. Safe. Soft in the way a faded sweatshirt is soft—something that used to fit but doesn’t anymore.
He’s nothing like Damian.
Damian is loud in my blood. He’s danger and tension and a heartbeat I can never ignore. He makes me feel like I’m spinning even when I’m standing still.
He makes me feelalive.
Nathan is… muted. And I’m standing here beside him, clutching a ticket to a ride I don’t want to be on with him, wondering how I got here.
The line moves faster than I expect. Too fast. My pulse trips over itself.
What the hell am I doing?
I keep thinking it when the gate swings open and the operator waves us forward. I keep thinking it as I climb into the seat, the metal cold and unwelcoming beneath me, the air suddenly too sharp against my skin.
Nathan slides in beside me, and the bar locks into place.
I sit there stiffly, too aware of how little space there is between us. And even more aware of how badly I wish someone else were sitting here.
I just wanted to be alone. Now he’s sitting beside me, and I don’t know how to ask him to get off the ride he just paid for without sounding like a bitch.
