Never lose control.
Rowan’s forehead rests on mine, his breath mingling with my own. When he pulls out, the sudden emptiness jars me. Fluid trickles down my thighs, warm and sticky.
In the distance, music starts playing from Lena’s room, the bass vibrating through the thin walls. She kept her promise about headphones, oblivious to what happened in our kitchen.
Rowan’s lips trail along my jaw. “What do you say we move to your?—”
I plant my foot against his chest and shove. “Get out.”
His jaw sets. “So that’s how it’s going to be?”
With unsteady hands, I grab a towel to wipe the mess from my skin and yank my sweats back into place. “This was a mistake.”
The rules existed for a reason.
To keep us safe.
To keep Lena protected.
And I’ve broken every single one of them.
8
The key slides into the third and final deadbolt lock with a satisfying click. I jiggle the handle twice, confirming the door is secure, before dropping the keys into my jacket pocket.
Lena waits at the end of the hallway, her purple backpack hanging from one shoulder, scrolling through her phone.
“Ready?” I ask, adjusting the tool bag slung across my body.
“Yep.” She pockets her phone. “Ironclad today?”
“Yeah. Got a lock replacement job in Rockhaven.” I push the down arrow for the elevator to see if it’s been fixed yet. The button sticks under my finger, asmall annoyance that’s become part of our daily routine.
“Ugh.” Lena pushes through the stairwell door, her footsteps echoing in the concrete chamber. “When is Mr. Nguyen going to fix the elevator? It’s been two weeks.”
“Budget cuts.” I follow her down, staying close enough to catch her if she stumbles but not so close that I crowd her.
As we exit the building, the morning air hits us, cold enough for our breath to form small clouds in front of our faces. We had gotten ready early enough to walk today, saving on bus fare, and the stop next to her school will save me one transfer.
Lena pulls her scarf higher, covering her mouth and nose as we set off toward school. The sky hangs gray and heavy with rain clouds, though it holds off for now.
“Did you bring your umbrella?” I scan the street as we walk, noting the usual characters.
All normal. Nothing out of place.
“In my backpack.” Lena kicks at a crushed soda can, sending it skittering across the sidewalk. “Are you working late tonight?”
“I should be home by eight tonight.” I calculate dinner options as we walk. “Pasta with fried eggs?”
“And bacon?”
“If there’s enough left.” We’d stretched the package Rowan bought out over the weekend, savoring the unexpected treat.
A car alarm blares two blocks over, the sound bouncing between brick buildings. My muscles tense until I identify the source as not a threat and force my shoulders to relax.
Lena chatters about her upcoming history test, her words creating small puffs in the cold air. The sidewalk narrows as we pass a construction site, forcing us to walk single file.
The neighborhood wakes around us, shutters rolling up on corner stores, delivery trucks double-parking to unload, and crossing guards taking up their positions at busy intersections. Brickwell might not be much, but it has its rhythms, predictable as a heartbeat once you learn to read them.
