Chapter 100
Summer's POV
"Can I—" My voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper. "Can I hug you? Just once?"
He froze. His eyes went wide, and for a moment he looked almost panicked, like I'd asked him to do something impossible. He opened his mouth, closed it again, but no words came out.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, "I can't."
The silence was answer enough.
"I don't need your pity!" The words burst out of me before I could stop them, sharp and bitter. "I don't need you to—to stand there looking at me like I'm some kind of charity case!"
Kieran's jaw tightened, his gray eyes flashing with something dangerous. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Then what are you doing?" I stepped closer, my voice rising despite the echo in the empty lobby. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across his sharp cheekbones, making him look almost cruel. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're just—just tolerating me. Like I'm this annoying obligation you can't shake off."
"Summer—"
"No!" My hands clenched into fists at my sides. "You don't get to 'Summer' me right now. You don't get to use that voice, that—that tone, like you're trying to calm down a scared animal. I'm not scared, Kieran. I'm angry."
He took a step back, and I saw his throat work as he swallowed hard. The rain had plastered his dark hair to his forehead, water still dripping down the sharp line of his jaw, and even now—even furious and hurt and trembling—some traitorous part of my brain registered how unfairly beautiful he looked. The wet fabric of his shirt clung to his lean frame, and his eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them, storm-cloud gray and turbulent.
"What do you want me to say?" His voice was low, controlled, but I could hear the edge beneath it. "What do you want from me?"
"I want you to stop lying!" The words came out strangled, raw. "I want you to stop pretending like you don't—like we don't—" I broke off, my breath hitching.
"At school, you barely look at me," I continued, the words spilling out faster now, fueled by weeks of confusion and hurt. "You act like I don't exist. Like I'm just—just another face in the crowd. But then we're here, or in the library, or anywhere where no one else can see, and suddenly you're—you're you. The real you. The one who actually talks to me, who actually seems to care—"
"I do care," he said, and there was something raw in his voice now, something breaking through that careful control.
"Then show it!" My voice cracked. "Stop hiding behind this—this wall you've built. Stop acting like you're afraid of—"
"I am afraid!" The words exploded out of him, loud enough to make me flinch. He took a sharp breath, his chest heaving, and I saw his hands tremble before he shoved them into his pockets. "You think I'm not terrified every single day? You think I don't know exactly how pathetic I am?"
"You're not—"
"Yes, I am." His laugh was harsh, bitter. "I'm the kid from Southie who can barely afford lunch, who works at a restaurant just to keep the lights on, whose right hand is so fucked up he can't even hold a pen properly half the time. And you're—" He gestured at me, something desperate and almost angry in the movement. "You're Summer Hayes. You're perfect. You're everything I'm not, everything I'll never be, and you want me to—what? To parade that around? To let everyone see that somehow, for some insane reason, you've decided I'm worth your time?"
"Stop it." My voice was shaking now. "Stop talking about yourself like that."
"Why? It's the truth." He ran his left hand through his wet hair, making it stick up at odd angles. "I'm not good enough for you, Summer. I never will be. And the sooner you realize that—"
"You're a coward." The words came out quiet, deadly. "That's what you are. You're not afraid of what other people think. You're afraid of yourself. You're afraid of wanting something good, of letting yourself have anything that might make you happy, because then you'd have something to lose."
His eyes blazed. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" I stepped closer, close enough to see the water droplets caught in his dark lashes, close enough to see the muscle jumping in his jaw. "You push everyone away. You keep everyone at arm's length because it's safer that way, because if you never let anyone in then they can never hurt you. But you know what, Kieran? That's not strength. That's just—it's just being a coward."
"Summer—" His voice was strained, warning.
"You're so busy protecting yourself that you don't even see what's right in front of you!" My hands came up, shoving against his chest—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him stumble back a step. "I'm here. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere, and you're so terrified of that you can't even—"
He moved before I could finish. One moment he was standing there, rigid and defensive, and the next his arms were around me, pulling me against his chest so tightly I could barely breathe. His heart was pounding against my cheek—fast, frantic, like he'd been running—and I felt his breath hitch as he buried his face in my hair.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and his voice was broken, shattered. "I'm so sorry. You're right. You're right about all of it."
My anger drained away like water through a sieve, replaced by something softer, more terrifying. I could feel the lean strength in his arms, the way his whole body was trembling, the way he was holding me like I was the only solid thing in a world that was falling apart. Slowly, carefully, I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his waist, pressing closer.
"I don't understand you," I whispered against his chest. "I don't understand why you won't just—why you keep pushing me away when I'm trying so hard to—"
"Because I'm selfish." His voice was rough, muffled against my hair. "Because every time I'm near you, I want things I have no right to want. Because you make me forget—" He broke off with a shaky breath. "You make me forget all the reasons why this is a terrible idea."
I pulled back just enough to look up at him, and what I saw in his eyes made my breath catch. They were storm-dark and desperate, filled with something so raw and hungry it sent heat flooding through my veins. This close, I could see every detail of his face—the sharp angle of his cheekbones, the straight line of his nose, the way his wet lashes clumped together in dark spikes. He was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at, all sharp edges and controlled intensity, and the way he was looking at me now—like I was something precious and dangerous and utterly forbidden—made my heart stutter in my chest.