Chapter 192
Summer's POV
He stared at me, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide with something that looked like shock and disbelief and maybe—just maybe—hope. But then his expression shuttered, and I watched him retreat behind that wall he always built around himself.
"Summer, that's—I can't—" He shook his head sharply, taking a step back from me. "No. Absolutely not."
"Kieran—"
"No." His voice was hard now, that cold edge I'd heard him use with Tyler creeping in. "I'm not taking your money."
"It's not charity," I said, but he cut me off with a bitter laugh.
"Isn't it? You think I don't know what this is?" He gestured between us, his jaw tight. "Rich girl feels sorry for the poor kid, decides to throw some cash at the problem. Well, I don't need your pity, Summer. I've been taking care of myself and my family just fine without—"
"Just fine?" I interrupted, my own temper flaring. "You call working yourself to exhaustion 'just fine'? You call not having time to eat or sleep or study 'just fine'? Kieran, you're falling apart, and you're too stubborn to admit it!"
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I'm handling it."
"You're drowning!" The words burst out of me, louder than I intended, echoing off the brick walls of the alley. "And I'm not going to stand here and watch you go under because you're too proud to accept help!"
"This isn't help," he shot back, his voice rising to match mine. "This is you trying to fix me like I'm some kind of broken thing that needs saving. I don't need you to swoop in and rescue me, Summer. I'm not one of your charity cases."
That stung, sharp and deep, and I felt tears prick at my eyes. "Is that really what you think? That I'm doing this to make myself feel better? To play the hero?"
"Aren't you?" His eyes were dark, guarded, and I could see the fear underneath the anger—fear of being pitied, of being seen as weak, of owing someone something he couldn't repay.
"No!" I stepped closer to him, refusing to let him push me away. "I'm doing this because I care about you, you idiot! Because watching you destroy yourself is killing me, and I can't—I won't—just stand by and let it happen when I have the power to help!"
"I didn't ask for your help," he said, but his voice was quieter now, less certain.
"You don't have to ask!" I was crying now, hot tears streaming down my face. "That's what people who care about each other do, Kieran. They help each other. They support each other. They don't let pride get in the way when someone they love is suffering!"
He froze at that, his eyes widening. "Love?"
I took a shaky breath, my heart hammering in my chest. "Yes, love. I love you, okay? And I can't watch you burn yourself out trying to carry everything alone when I'm right here, ready and willing to share the load."
For a long moment, he just stared at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and I could see the war playing out behind his eyes—pride versus need, fear versus hope.
"And before you say it's charity," I continued, my voice steadier now, poking him hard in the chest, "it's NOT. I really do need help with physics. If I fail physics, the school won't let me compete in the national piano competition. This is a business transaction. You're providing a service, I'm paying for it, and I'm advancing you the money because I need you to be able to focus on tutoring me instead of worrying about where your next paycheck is coming from."
"Summer—"
"Listen to me," I said fiercely, grabbing his hand and holding it tight. "You're not taking a handout. You're earning this money by helping me pass physics, which, trust me, is going to require a miracle. You'll be working for every penny. And if it makes you feel better, we can draw up a contract. We can make it official. But please, Kieran, please let me do this."
His jaw worked, and I could see him struggling with his pride, with the part of him that wanted to refuse, that hated the idea of taking money from anyone, especially me. But I also saw something else in his eyes—exhaustion, desperation, and the crushing weight of responsibility that he'd been carrying alone for too long.
"You'd really do that?" he asked quietly, his voice rough. "Loan me that much money?"
"It's not a loan," I said firmly. "It's an advance on your wages. There's a difference. You're earning this money, Kieran. You're not taking a handout."
He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, and then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You drive a hard bargain."
"I learned from the best," I said, and I managed a watery smile in return. "My mom didn't build a fashion empire by being soft."
"Deal," he said softly, and he reached up to brush a strand of hair out of my face. "But you have to promise me something too."
"What?"
"Stop crying." His thumb traced the line of my cheek, gentle and careful. "I hate seeing you cry."
I laughed, a broken, hiccupping sound, and stood on my toes to kiss him. It wasn't like the kiss at the party—this one was slower, gentler, full of promises I didn't have words for. When I pulled back, I pressed my forehead against his.
"Promise me," I whispered. "No more secrets. No more hiding. We're in this together."
"I promise," he said, his breath warm against my lips. "Together."
We stood there for a while longer, wrapped up in each other under the dim glow of a streetlight at the mouth of the alley, until my phone buzzed with a text from my mom asking where I was.
"I'll take the T with you," Kieran said, his hand finding mine. "I'm not letting you ride alone this late."
I squeezed his fingers. "Okay. Let's go home."