CHAPTER 29
"Get in."
Tony's voice wasn't unreasonably loud. It didn't need to be. It had that deep tone that went around your ears and settled firmly in your spine.
I stood on the sidewalk in front of my dorm, one shoulder humped with a backpack, earbuds in and half through a podcast about war journalism. The sun hit the edge of his black car—sleek, shiny, as at home on campus as a wolf in a petting zoo.
He leaned against the hood, dressed all in black. Black shirt. Black pants. Expressionless face.
"I can walk," I told him, taking out one earbud.
He opened the passenger door by swinging it wide.
"Tony."
His eyes moved across to mine, slow, deliberate. "Get in, Mackenzie."
And I did.
Because I was already too deep in this flame to turn away from how much I loved the warmth.
\---
The first few times he came out of nowhere like that—sudden, already there, as if he'd been waiting for me to make every move—I swore it was harmless.
Efffective, even. Adorable in a mafia-boyfriend kind of way.
I reminded myself it wasn't control. It was attention.
Until it wasn't.
\---
By the third ride, I did at last ask, "Is this going to be a thing now?"
Tony didn't look at me while he turned the wheel. "Do you not want it to be?"
"That's not what I said."
He turned the corner so hard I had to grasp the dash.
"Then don't complain about me doing something good for once."
I bit my tongue and stared out the window.
Because he wasn't wrong.
But he wasn't right either.
\---
The gifts came three days later. Small, precise, and personal.
A box of artisanal chocolate from a Manhattan corner shop I'd mentioned way back in the past—two years ago. A flash drive loaded with Adobe presets emblazoned with my dad's initials. A dog-eared anthology of photo essays from war zones, Unembedded—a type of photojournalism that used to be what I dreamed of before life turned me into a headline.
No name. No notes.
But I knew.
It was Tony.
He never said. Never even asked thanks.
And that made it worse somehow.
\---
The fourth ride, he drove me home from class.
"You were late," I said, getting into the passenger seat, attempting to suppress the skip in my heart when his hand touched my thigh as he adjusted the gearshift.
"Traffic."
"You drive like traffic should fear you."
He smiled but didn't answer.
We drove in silence for a little while. The tension between us thick and heavier still—like a secret we didn't want to verbalize.
My phone rang.
I glanced down.
Nate: Hey, that edit turned out amazing. You free to check it out later?
Tony leaned in, eyes narrowing. "Who is Nate?"
I held my phone away. "A classmate."
"He sends lots of messages."
I laughed, too loud, too forced. "Jealous much?"
Tony didn't smile. "Should I?"
"No," I snapped. "Because I'm not yours."
He turned into the parking lot and stopped. The engine died with a hollow clunk.
He looked at me. Not angry. Not amused. Just… unreadable.
"You're right," he said. "You're not."
And then he got out without saying another word.
\---
I didn't breathe properly for the rest of the day.
\---
Arizen noticed first.
"You've stopped walking to class."
I looked up from my computer in the student lounge. "Excuse me?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You used to always walk. Said it helped you think. I haven't seen you do it once this week."
I shrugged. "Tony gives me a ride. It's not a crime."
"It's not a favor either," she said. "It's a boundary check."
I rolled my eyes. "Not everything is a red flag, Arizen."
No," she murmured. "But some things are cages painted red."
That one stuck with me.
Long after she was walking away.
\---
The fifth ride, I tried to say no.
He was already waiting again, propped up against the car, arms crossed.
"I've got plans after class," I said. "Can't go straight back."
"I'll wait."
"I said I have plans."
"With Nate?" he asked. Calm. Cool. Loaded.
I bristled. "You don't get to ask that.".
He moved a step forward. "You keep letting me."
I hated how much that was so.
And yet—I got into the car.
\---
I sat on my bed one night, holding the copy of Unembedded, fingering the worn pages.
He'd found the very same edition my dad had had sitting on his desk. The same creased cover. The same marked-up passages in faded ink.
I opened to the inside flap.
A sticky note was stuck between the pages.
You see war in everything. But you forget—you were made to live.
No name.
But I knew.
\---
I started avoiding his eyes at school.
Started looking over my shoulder when I left the library.
Not because I didn't want to look at him.
Because I did.
Even when I knew I would be caught for it.
\---
He drove up to the curb again one day, window down.
I shook my head. "Not today."
"Mackenzie—"
"I need to walk."
He looked at me for a long time.
Then nodded once.
And drove away.
\---
It was meant to feel like freedom.
But what it felt like was withdrawal.
\---
It was late evening in the darkroom, and I developed the new picture I'd taken.
Tony. Side profile. Head leaned over steering wheel, as if praying or relief.
I hadn't even realized I'd taken it until the shutter released.
And even then—I didn't break my routine.
\---
My fingers trembled as I pinned it to the drying rack.
He was so vulnerable in that position. So true.
Not the storm. Not the smirking. Not the legend.
But a boy in a car who had no idea how to love without locking the door closed.
\---
I couldn't decide what scared me more.
The way he held me so tight I couldn't catch my breath…
Or the manner in which I kept returning to him, starved for the next suffocating kiss.
\---
I hadn't breathed since the rides began.
But every day, I still hung on the curb.
Still waited to hear the roar of tires.
Still longed for the heat.
Though I was well aware that I was already burning.