"I made it worse."
"You were a kid trying to save another kid. That's not playing God. That's just… giving a shit."
My throat closes. I look at the ceiling. Blink hard.
"And now you're scared you'll do the same thing to me," he says. "Mess it up. Make it worse."
"Yes," I say. Barely a whisper. "Ignoring you was the dumbest thing I've ever done. I'm sorry. For all of it. You drive me fucking nuts. I've never felt like this, and I can't cope."
Liam's eyes widen. His expression shifts, softens.
"Took you long enough," he murmurs, and before I can respond, he surges forward and presses his lips against mine.
Pain flares from the split lip. I don't pull away. I deserve it. I release his wrist to cup the back of his neck, drawing him closer, deepening the kiss despite the metallic taste of blood. His body pushes mine back against the sink. His hands find my shoulders, slide up to frame my face. I kiss him harder, ignoring the sting, wanting to erase Reed whispering in his ear, Reed's hand on his waist, every day I wasted being cold to him. Wanting to replace all of it with this: my mouth on his, my hands in his hair, the sound he makes in the back of his throat when I bite his lower lip.
When we break apart, his breathing is ragged, pupils blown. My blood on his face. His fingers, faintly red, rest against my neck. I can feel my pulse against his palm. Too fast. Too hard.
"I wanted to do that since the first day I saw you," he whispers.
"Liar. You hated me."
"I wanted to punch you and kiss you. Still do. It's confusing." His thumb traces my bottom lip, careful around the split.
The door could open any second. A guard, anyone. See the two of us pressed together between the sink and the wall, my hands in his hair, his fingers on my face. The end of everything I've worked for.
I can't bring myself to care.
"I'm sorry," I say again. "For pushing you away. I thought I was protecting us both. When you took the blame for me that night… no one's ever done that. I couldn’t cope. And I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't." He laughs, quiet. "Well, the spankings hurt. But I like that."
Something loosens in my chest. I laugh.
I kiss him again. Softer. Careful of the lip. His hands slide down to my chest, palms flat against my heartbeat.
"This is a terrible idea," I say against his mouth.
"The worst," he agrees. Smiling. "We're going to get in so much trouble."
"Definitely." I brush his hair back from his forehead. "I don't care."
And it's true. For the first time since I arrived at Aspire, I don't care about the rules, my record, or my future beyond this moment. All I care about is the way Liam is looking at me like I'm worth something. When he's the one who's worth everything.
Chapter 20. Ethan
I spot Bill emptying his locker at the end of the hall, transferring fifteen years of memories into a cardboard box. Three years ago, when I first arrived, terrified, alone, Bill was the first person who treated me like a human being instead of another troubled kid. Now he's leaving, and something tightens in my chest at the thought of one more person walking out of my life. My eyes sting.
Since Liam, I can't think straight. Everything feels too much, and I’m on the verge of tears at all times. It’s so annoying.
I hesitate, watching Bill fold a photograph and tuck it between the pages of a book. My lip still throbs from last week's fight with Reed, faded to a dull ache. What hasn't faded is the memory of Liam's mouth against mine, the taste of blood, his fingers on my jaw. I touch my split lip, I've been doing that all week, then straighten my shoulders and approach.
"Need a hand with that?" I nod toward the box.
Bill turns, his face lighting up, crow's feet deepening. He doesn't have much hair and hasn’t been eating too well lately, but he looks happy, healthy, ready for retirement. "Ethan, boy! Was hoping I'd see you before I clocked out for good."
"Couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye." I reach for a stack of paperbacks on the edge of his box. "Fifteen years is a long time."
"Too damn long in this place," he says, but there's no bitterness, just the tired satisfaction of someone who's done his time. I wonder if I'll ever be done with mine. "Retirement's going to feel strange after all these adventures."
