Chapter 5

I don't walk to my last class. I run.

My sneakers pound against the linoleum as I sprint down the emptying hallway, earning confused looks from stragglers heading to their final period. I don't care. All I can think about is Ethan's words: three guys waiting for him after school.

I burst through the double doors to the parking lot, scanning the rows of cars for Luca's black Jeep. It's not there.

My phone is already in my hand, fingers shaking as I pull up his contact. We never text unless it's about household chores or dinner plans, but I tap out a message anyway:

Where are you?

Three dots appear, then disappear. No response.

I call him and it went straight to voicemail.

I try again. Same result.

Panic rises in my throat as I race back inside, heading for the senior hallway where his last class should be. The door to AP Physics is open, students filing out. I grab Tyler by the arm as he exits.

"Have you seen Luca?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Aren't you guys not supposed to know each other at school?"

"Just answer the question."

"He left early. Coach wanted to see him about something." Tyler's eyes narrow. "Why? What's going on?"

I don't bother answering, already turning away. I check the gym, the locker rooms, the athletic office. But there’s no sign of him.

By the time I make it to the east parking lot, it's deserted except for a few underclassmen waiting for rides. If there was an ambush planned, it either hasn't happened yet or I missed it entirely.

I stand there with my heart racing, scanning the empty spaces where cars should be. Where is he? Did he somehow avoid them? Or did they catch him somewhere else?

With no other option, I start walking home, half-jogging in my anxiety. Our house is only a mile from school, but it feels like ten as my imagination runs wild with scenarios of Luca outnumbered, Luca hurt, Luca bleeding—

I round the corner to our street, relief flooding through me when I spot his Jeep in the driveway. He made it home. He's safe. The tightness in my chest eases slightly as I run up the porch steps and burst through the front door.

A dark smear across the hardwood entryway stopped me cold in my track. Blood. Not much of it, but enough to form a trail leading toward the stairs. My relief evaporates instantly.

"Luca?" I call out, dropping my bag. "Luca!"

No answer.

I follow the blood trail up the stairs, heart in my throat. It leads directly to his bedroom door…my old bedroom.

I hesitate outside, knuckles raised to knock. What if he's seriously hurt? What if he needs a hospital? What if—

Screw it. I push the door open without knocking.

At first glance, the room appears empty. The bed is rumpled but vacant, afternoon sunlight streaming across the navy blue comforter. Before I can process this, something moves in my peripheral vision, a blur of motion that ends with me flat on my back, the breath knocked from my lungs.

Luca looms above me, his body pinning mine to the floor, one knee between my thighs, hands gripping my wrists above my head. His face hovers inches from mine, eyes wild and unfocused, pupils dilated to almost eclipse the amber irises.

"What the hell are you doing?" he growls in a voice I've never heard before.

I stare up at him, too stunned to speak. He's shirtless, bare chest rising and falling with rapid breaths that wash warm across my face. This close, I can see the light stubble along his jaw, the faint scar above his eyebrow from a bike accident, the flecks of gold in his eyes that seem to glow.

My body registers his proximity before my brain can catch up. My heart is hammering, my skin heating up and my breath becoming shallow.

"I—saw blood—!" I finally manage. "You weren't answering, I thought you were dead, you jerk!"

I kick at him, trying to break free, but he shifts smoothly, dodging my attempt without loosening his grip. A low laugh rumbles through his chest, the sound vibrating against me where our bodies touch.

His weight shifts, pressing his thigh more firmly between mine. The friction sends a jolt of electricity up my spine, and my breath catches. His hands slide down, still gripping my wrists but gentler now, thumbs grazing the sensitive skin where my pulse jumps wildly.

For a moment….the longest, most confusing moment of my life—we stay frozen like that, staring at each other, breathing the same air.

Then everything hit me at once. I wrench my hands free and scramble away, putting as much distance between us as possible. He stays on the floor for a second, then rises to sit on the edge of his bed, watching me with unreadable eyes.

"I'm fine," he says quietly.

I swallow, trying to compose myself. "Then whose blood is that? Downstairs?"

"Not mine."

If it's not his blood...

My eyes sweep over him, searching for injuries. His torso is bare, olive skin stretched over lean muscle without a mark or bruise. His knuckles, though... I notice now they're raw and split, dried blood crusted in the creases.

"What happened?" I ask, rubbing my wrists where I can still feel the phantom press of his fingers. "Ethan—I heard him saying he had guys waiting for you after school."

"Palmer should learn to keep his mouth shut."

"Did they jump you? How many were there?" The questions tumble out before I can stop them, betraying more concern than I want to show.

"Why do you care?" he asks, head tilting slightly. "Worried about me, Lilypad?"

"No," I snap automatically. "I just—if they hurt you because of me—"

"They didn't hurt me." His mouth quirks up at one corner. "Can't say the same for them."

I stare at him, taking in his unmarked skin, the relaxed set of his shoulders. Three guys against one, and he's sitting here without a scratch. It doesn't make sense.

"What did you do to them?" I whisper.

"Nothing they won't recover from." He shrugs. "Eventually."

"This isn't funny, Luca. You could go to jail. You already broke Ethan's nose—"

"He deserved worse."The words come out in that same strange growl I'd heard before, deeper than his normal voice.

I blink at him, confused by the sudden change in his attitude. "Since when do you care about defending my honor?"

"Don’t be too conceited." He stands abruptly, pacing to the window. "It's not about you."

"Really? Because it sure seems like it is." I cross my arms. "First carrying me home from the party. Then making Ethan apologize. Now this. You're acting like—like—"

"Like what?" He turns to face me, eyes flashing. "Like I care? Like I give a damn what happens to you?"

"Yes!" I throw my hands up in frustration. "And it doesn't make sense! You hate me. I hate you. That's how this works."

He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Is that what you think? That I hate you?"

"Don't you?"

He moves closer until he's standing directly in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.

"You really have no idea, do you?" His voice drops lower.

My heart hammers against my ribs. "What are you talking about?"

"There were three guys with baseball bats," he says switching topic instead of answering. "They thought they could take me by surprise in the parking lot. Poor planning on their part."

I swallow. "How did you..I mean, how are you not hurt?"

"I'm stronger than I look. "And faster."

"There's more to it than that." I take a step closer. "Your knuckles are the only part of you that's hurt, but there's blood all over the hallway. Too much blood for just split knuckles."

He glances down at his hands, then back at me. "You should go."

"No." I plant my feet. "What aren't you telling me?"

Luca's jaw works, muscles tensing. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Trust me, Lily. You don't want to know."

"Try me."

He stares at me for a long moment, then turns away, walking to his dresser. He pulls out a T-shirt and yanks it over his head, but not before I notice the faint scars across his back….thin, silvery lines I've never seen before.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he says, back still turned.

"Try me," I repeat.

When he faces me again, his expression is closed off. "We should talk about this another time. You need to get out of my room."

"No." I cross my arms. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Damn it, Lily!" He slams his fist against the wall, the sudden violence making me jump. When he pulls his hand away, there's a dent in the drywall. "This isn't a game!"

"I never said it was!" I step forward, fueled by a courage I didn't know I possessed. "And breaking walls isn't going to scare me away."

His eyes flash, and for a second, just a split second—they look different. A shiver runs down my spine.

"What are you doing?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

His laugh is bitter. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yes, I would. That's why I'm asking."

He looks at me then, really looks at me, as if seeing me for the first time.

I ignore his look and walked over to the heap of clothes in a corner. I walk over and pick the shirt he was wearing earlier, holding it to the light. The dark blue henley is shredded at the back, long tears that look like... claw marks.