Chapter 52
Summer's POV
The Dunkin' Donuts was getting louder. I could feel the shift in the air—the after-school rush flooding in, a group of kids from some tutoring center arguing about their exam at the table next to us. The overhead speakers switched from soft instrumental music to Top 40, the bass thumping against my ribs.
But all I could focus on was my right index finger.
It was still tingling. Still warm. Like Kieran's lips had left a brand on my skin.
I pressed my hand against my chest, right over my heart, and tried to remember how to breathe.
Across from me, Kieran was staring very intently at his coffee cup. His ears were bright red. The flush had crept down his neck, disappearing under the collar of his hoodie, and I could see the faint tremor in his left hand as he brought the cup to his lips.
He'd actually done it. He'd leaned forward and taken the fry. With his mouth. From my fingers.
I could still feel the warmth of his breath. The soft press of his lips. The brief, impossible scrape of his teeth.
Oh God.
"Summer?"
I blinked. Lily was holding up her notebook, her head tilted like a curious puppy.
Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost.
"I'm fine," I squeaked. My voice came out way too high. "Totally fine. Just—warm. It's warm in here, right?"
It wasn't warm. The air conditioning was blasting.
Kieran made a sound that might have been a cough. Or a laugh. I couldn't tell.
I grabbed a napkin and pretended to wipe my hands, even though they were already clean. My fingers were shaking. I could still feel the phantom sensation of his mouth on my skin, and it was driving me absolutely insane.
What was I thinking? I'd fed him a fry. Like he was someone I wanted to take care of. Someone I wanted to be close to. Someone I wanted to touch.
And he'd let me. No—he'd done more than let me. He'd leaned in. He'd met me halfway.
"You should go."
I jerked my head up. Kieran was looking at me now, his expression carefully neutral. But his jaw was tight, and there was something guarded in his eyes.
"What?"
"It's getting late," he said quietly. "Your aunt's probably waiting for you."
He was right. Maya was definitely still outside somewhere, probably checking her watch and mentally calculating how much longer she'd have to babysit me. But I didn't want to leave. Not yet. Not when Kieran was finally sitting next to me, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of coffee and laundry detergent on his hoodie.
"I don't care about Maya," I said before I could stop myself.
Kieran's eyebrows rose slightly. "Summer—"
"I want to stay." My voice came out firmer than I expected. "If that's okay. I mean—if you don't mind."
He didn't say anything for a long moment. Just looked at me with those unreadable gray eyes, like he was trying to figure out if I was serious.
Lily solved the problem by pushing the fries toward me and writing: You should eat too! You didn't have any.
"I'm not hungry," I lied.
Lily frowned and underlined the word "should" three times.
Kieran let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. "She's not going to let this go," he said. "Trust me."
"Fine." I picked up a fry and took a bite, even though my stomach was doing gymnastics.
Lily beamed and gave me a thumbs-up.
Kieran was watching me. I could feel his gaze on the side of my face, heavy and intent. When I finally worked up the courage to glance at him, he looked away quickly, his ears still red.
The silence stretched between us, thick and charged.
I cleared my throat. "So. The posts on The Whisper. About your arm."
Kieran went very still. "You saw them."
It wasn't a question.
"Yeah," I admitted. "I saw them. And I reported it to Ms. Thompson. She said she'd bring it up at the next faculty meeting."
His head snapped up. "You did what?"
"I reported it," I said again, my voice steady even though my hands were shaking under the table. "Because what they're saying is disgusting and cruel and you don't deserve it."
He stared at me like I'd just told him I'd flown to the moon.
"You didn't have to do that."
"I know. But I wanted to." I leaned forward slightly. "I'm not going to let people hurt you if I can stop it."
His expression flickered—something raw and unguarded crossing his face before he could hide it. "It won't matter," he said, his voice flat. "People are going to talk no matter what."
"Maybe. But that doesn't mean they should get away with it."
He looked down at the table, his left hand clenching and unclenching. "You don't get it, Summer. With you, when they posted those photos—it was mean. It was cruel. But it wasn't true." He stopped, his jaw working. "With me, half of what they're saying is real."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and painful.
I reached out without thinking and placed my hand over his left one on the table. He flinched, but he didn't pull away.
"Kieran," I said softly. "I don't care."
He looked up at me, his eyes searching mine. "You should."
"Well, I don't." I squeezed his hand gently. "Whatever they're saying—it doesn't change anything. Not for me."
His throat bobbed. "You don't even know what you're saying."
"Yes, I do."
"Summer—"
"Tell me," I said quietly. "Tell me whatever it is you think is going to scare me off. Because I promise you, it won't."
He stared at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he pulled his hand out from under mine and pushed up the sleeve of his hoodie.
I'd seen his right arm before—in gym class, when Mr. Davis had forced him to strip in front of everyone. But this was different. This was Kieran choosing to show me.
The scars were worse up close. Thick, ropy lines crisscrossing his forearm. Some old and faded. Some newer, still pink and raised. There were burn marks too—small, circular ones.
My stomach turned.
"So yeah," Kieran said, finally meeting my eyes. His expression was hard. Guarded. "That's the truth. And if that's too much for you—if you want to walk away now—I get it."
He said it like a challenge. Like he was daring me to flinch.
But I didn't flinch.
Instead, I reached out and gently took his scarred right hand in both of mine.
Kieran froze.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
He blinked. "What?"
"Thank you for telling me." I ran my thumb lightly over one of the scars on his wrist. "I know that wasn't easy."
His breath hitched. "You're not going to ask me about it?"
"Do you want me to?"
He stared at me, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "No."
"Then I won't." I squeezed his hand gently. "You can tell me when you're ready. Or never. It's your choice."
For a long moment, Kieran just looked at me. And then, very slowly, his shoulders sagged. Like something inside him had finally let go.
"You're insane," he whispered.
I smiled. "Maybe."
"Summer—"
"I'm not going anywhere, Kieran," I said firmly. "So you might as well get used to it."
His eyes searched mine, like he was trying to find the lie. The trick.
But I wasn't joking.
And slowly—so slowly I almost didn't notice—his hand relaxed in mine.