I nod, trying not to fidget. “I just… I don’t know. He’s been around more. And he texted me today.”
Kinsley blinks. “Wait, he texted you?”
“Yeah. His number’s in my phone now. I didn’t put it there.”
Her expression shifts, confused, then thoughtful, then something I can’t quite read. “I mean… I gave him the emergency key card a while ago. Just in case. I thought maybe if something happened and I wasn’t here—“
“I know,” I reply quickly. “It’s okay. I’m not mad. I just… I don’t get it. He never looked at me before. And now it’s like he’s everywhere.”
Kinsley is quiet for a beat. “He’s protective. In his own… intense way. But he’s not dangerous, Blair. He wouldn’t hurt you.”
I nod, but the words don’t settle. Because I’m not sure I want protection. I’m not sure if I’m afraid of being hurt. I’m afraid of what it means that I don’t want to pull away.
“Also, he’s a playboy, Blair. Every girl on this campus wants to be with him. The whole star quarterback has the school in a frenzy,” she mentions, then turns her attention back to the screen.
I swallow hard, eyes drifting back to the screen. Her words settle like static in my head, but they don’t match what I’ve felt. Kane hasn’t flirted. He hasn’t smiled. He hasn’t charmed. He’s watched. He’s entered. He’s changed things.
And it doesn’t feel like a game.
It feels like obsession.
Like possession.
Like something he’s never done before.
Kinsley doesn’t know.
She sees the version of him everyone else sees.
But I’ve seen something else.
Something darker.
I’m starting to feel safer in the chaos he brings than in the silence I built for myself.
Ten
Blair
The door to Meadow View clicks shut behind me, and I step into the morning light, still half-dazed from the movie night with Kinsley. My routines are fraying, my planner feels foreign, and my pillow still smells like him. I haven’t said anything. Not out loud. But it’s there. In my chest. In my throat. On the way, I keep checking my phone like it might explain something.
And then I see him.
Kane.
Leaning against the railing like he’s been there forever.
Hands in his pockets.
Eyes already on me.
I stop mid-step, heart thudding. He’s wearing black again, a hoodie, jeans, that quiet confidence that makes people stare without knowing why. I look him up and down, trying to mask the jolt in my stomach.He doesn’t smile. He just tilts his head and says, “Come on, sunflower. I thought I’d walk you to class.”
Sunflower.
The nickname lands like a fingerprint. Soft. Intentional. Possessive.
I hesitate. I should say no. I should ask why. I should demand answers. But I don’t. I nod. Small. Quiet. And fall into step beside him.
