Chapter 88

Chapter 88
ADRIEN

The cool night air cuts through my jacket as I walk back across campus, but I barely feel it. All I can focus on is the lingering warmth of Kaia's hug, the way she melted into my arms without hesitation. My lion pin rests against her heart right now, and that thought sends something fierce and protective surging through my chest.

I push open my dorm room door and collapse onto the bed, my mind still reeling from how perfect tonight was. But underneath the euphoria, there's this constant ache—the memory of how close I came to losing her completely just days ago.

The contrast is almost unbearable. Tonight she looked at me like I hung the stars, but not so long ago, those same eyes held nothing but suspicion and doubt. The whiplash of it all makes my head spin.

I close my eyes and I'm back in that library, watching her reach for a book she couldn't quite grasp. The split second when our hands touched, when something flickered in her eyes—hope had exploded in my chest like a supernova. She was going to remember. She was going to remember us.

Then Callum's voice shattered everything, and I watched that light die. Worse than the disappointment was seeing the suspicion creep into her expression, the way she started looking at me like I was hiding something terrible. Which I was, wasn't I? I was hiding everything—the fights, the jealousy, the stupid argument that led to that night. The weight of all those unspoken truths felt like it might crush me.

The guilt nearly ate me alive those next few days. Every forced smile, every careful distance she maintained between us felt like a knife twisting deeper. I'd lie awake replaying his words—This is how you take care of her?—and wonder if he was right. If I was just fooling myself thinking I could be what she needed when I was the one who'd failed her so catastrophically.

God, the rage I felt. Standing there watching him plant those seeds of doubt, wanting to tear him apart with my bare hands but knowing I couldn't. Not in front of her. Not when she was already so fragile, so lost. The helplessness was suffocating. I'm used to being able to fix things, to fight for what I want, but how do you fight an enemy you can't even acknowledge exists?

I remember drafting that text about the hockey game, my hands actually shaking. Delete. Retype. Delete again. Because what if she said no? What if I'd ruined everything beyond repair? What if Callum's poison had already done its work? When her response came through—when she actually said yes—I sat there staring at my phone for ten minutes like it might disappear, hardly daring to believe I still had a chance.

The game itself was a blur of violence and vindication. Every hit I took, every goal I scored, it was all for her. Proving something, maybe. That I could be strong enough to protect her, that I could fight for what mattered. The ice was my battlefield, and for once, I could channel all that rage and frustration into something productive. When Callum tried his dirty tricks, tried to get under my skin with his whispered taunts, it only fueled my fire.

And when she hugged me afterward on that ice, when she started asking about our past... For those few moments, I thought we'd made it back to each other. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure she could feel it through my gear. Then I realized she wasn't remembering—she was just trying to solve a puzzle, and the pieces didn't fit the way she wanted them to. The disappointment should have crushed me, but instead there was this strange relief. Maybe we didn't need the old us. Maybe we could build something better, something without all the baggage and mistakes.

Watching her before that exam, seeing her doubt herself so completely, made every protective instinct I had roar to life. She was brilliant—anyone with eyes could see that—but the accident had shaken her confidence to its core. When I pinned my badge to her sweater, when my fingers brushed her skin and she looked up at me with those wide, trusting eyes—I felt like I could take on the world for her. Just me and her against everything that wanted to tear her down.

The symbolism wasn't lost on me. My lion, my strength, my protection—all of it pressed against her heart. I wanted to be her anchor, her safe harbor in the storm of confusion and fear that had become her life.

The bookstore. Jesus, the bookstore. Seeing her come alive like that, watching her laugh and blush and be completely, unselfconsciously herself... it was like watching someone discover color for the first time. She'd been so careful, so guarded since the accident, but surrounded by those romance novels she just lit up. It was the first time I'd seen the real Kaia shine through the careful politeness she'd been maintaining.

And when she got embarrassed about what she was reading, when she looked at me with that mix of shyness and heat—I knew. I knew she was starting to see me differently. Not just as the helpful guy who brought her coffee and helped with homework, but as a man. As someone she could want.

The shift was intoxicating. Every blush, every stolen glance felt like a victory. Like proof that whatever we'd lost, we could build something even better.

Last night feels like a dream now. Her hand in mine under the stars, the way she whispered about feeling like she was home. Every careful touch, every shared glance felt like we were writing our story fresh. Not recapturing what we'd lost, but creating something entirely new. Something built on who we are now, not who we used to be.

I roll onto my side and stare at my phone, fighting the urge to text her. She's probably asleep by now, my pin still clasped to her sweater, and that image does something dangerous to my composure. She chose to keep it. Chose to wear it close to her heart. That has to mean something, right?

There's this constant fear underneath everything—that I'm living on borrowed time, that someday she'll remember the mess we made of things before and realize I'm not worth the effort. That she'll see through this careful facade I've built to the jealous, possessive guy who couldn't keep his mouth shut when it mattered most.

But tonight, holding her, feeling her trust me completely... maybe the past doesn't matter as much as I thought it did. Maybe who I was then is less important than who I'm becoming for her now.

The guilt is still there, will probably always be there. But it's not drowning me anymore. Instead, there's this fierce determination taking root. I want to be the man she sees when she looks at me now—patient, careful, worthy of the trust she's rebuilding piece by piece. I want to earn every smile, every laugh, every moment of peace I can give her.

I think about texting her anyway. Something simple. Sweet dreams. But I resist. Tomorrow I'll find some excuse to see her, some way to make her smile. I'll keep earning those moments of trust, those flashes of heat in her eyes when she thinks I'm not looking.

She's learning to love me again, and this time I'm going to do everything right. This time, I won't let anything—or anyone—destroy what we're building.

Because she's worth fighting for. She's worth becoming better for.