Seventeen Again.

River’s POV

“Good morning, I'll be your new professor since the previous one taking you on this course has been laid off” His voice brought my eyes to the man who stood in front of the podium to address the student. The blonde slicked hair, those sky like blue eyes, sharp jawline and most of all, the muscular build.

Two years didn't do him any justice, it only made him more attractive.

And when his eyes found mine and a knowing smirk appeared on his face, it pulled me back.

Back to when I had silly teenage dreams, of loving him and being loved by him.

Back to seventeen…..

Growing up, everyone knew: if you were looking for me and I wasn’t home, I was at Elliot’s. His house wasn’t just a second home; it was my real home half the time.

And honestly, I liked it better.

His parents were divorced, his mom off living her best life in Italy, and his dad, Dr. Daniel Wellington, well… he was a masterpiece. The kind of man you couldn't help but notice, even if you were just a kid chasing frogs in the backyard.

Daniel wasn’t loud or flashy.

He didn’t need to be.

He had this way of standing still that somehow pulled all the noise out of a room. Like Bad bunny in a playboy magazine, only hotter and with better posture.

He wasn’t the type to joke around or throw a football. No, he had that quiet, mature, steel-in-his-spine kind of thing going for him. As a little boy, I didn’t know why my stomach flipped when he ruffled my hair or smiled at me over the brim of his coffee cup. I just knew it felt different from anything else.

By the time I turned seventeen, I had it all figured out. It wasn’t admiration. It wasn’t some weird father-figure crush. No, I liked him. Plain and simple. Liked him the way every stupid poem and cheesy rom-com said you were supposed to like someone.

But it’s not like I had some master plan. I wasn’t dreaming up confessions under the stars or picturing myself sweeping into the kitchen in a dramatic gown to confess my undying love. It was more like... one night. One little window of time where it felt possible to say something real.

Two summers ago, we were clearing out the attic together—Daniel, Elliot, and me. Boxes piled up around us, full of dusty textbooks, broken picture frames, and the odd dinosaur figurine from Elliot’s Jurassic Park phase. It was sweltering, the air so thick with dust it felt like breathing sandpaper.

Daniel was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a box of old university papers, sleeves rolled up, hair a mess. He looked more human in that moment, less like the perfect doctor and more like a man who forgot to mow his lawn last weekend. Somehow, that made him even more devastatingly attractive.

I still cringe when I think about it—the way the words just tumbled out of me, no plan, no finesse.

"I like you," I said, shoving a stack of yellowed papers back into a box and keeping my eyes on anything that wasn’t him. "I want you to be my friend."

Not exactly the earth-shattering confession I had imagined. I sounded like a six-year-old trying to trade lunchables at recess.

Daniel didn’t even pause.

Didn’t even glance up.

"You should focus on your chemistry exam," he said, like I’d asked him if I could borrow the car or something.

I laughed, pretended I was joking, and let it go. On the outside, anyway. Inside, some small part of me folded itself up like a letter I was never going to send.

But still… I think I kept waiting. Waiting for him to realize it. Waiting for something to change between us.

This summer, I thought maybe it finally would. I won the state art competition, after all. First place. Full bragging rights. Surely that meant something, right? Surely now he could see me as more than just Elliot’s little tag-along friend?

Spoiler: it didn’t work out that way.

It was a sticky July night, the kind where the air presses against your skin and everything smells like cut grass and barbecue smoke.

I walked into the Wellington kitchen expecting the usual: Daniel sipping wine at the counter, a half-finished crossword in front of him.

Maybe he’d smile, maybe he’d even say something like, "Congratulations, River," in that deep, measured voice of his.

Instead, I walked in and my whole world flipped inside out like a cheap umbrella in a thunderstorm.

There was Daniel.

And there was Karden.

My Cousin.

Kissing.

Not a polite little peck, not an accident you could pretend you didn’t see. No. This was full-on, mouth-on-mouth, hands-in-hair kind of kissing. The kind that left no room for explanations or excuses.

I stood there, the grocery bag slipping out of my hand and crashing to the tile floor, oranges rolling in every direction.

They didn’t even notice at first. That’s how into it they were.

It was Karden who finally pulled away, his eyes flying open, locking on mine. He shoved Daniel back like he could undo it, erase it, but the damage was already done. I saw it. I felt it.

Daniel didn’t even look at me. He stared down at the floor like he was calculating the trajectory of a rocket launch, like if he just stayed quiet long enough, he could make me disappear.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t even cry, though my throat burned with the effort of holding it back.

Karden opened his mouth to say something—probably something stupid—but I didn’t stick around to hear it.

I turned and ran.

I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. Didn’t pack carefully, didn’t make a list. I grabbed what I could fit in my ancient Honda—some clothes, my acceptance letter to the University of Fairview three states away, a handful of stolen memories—and left.

I called Elliot somewhere around the Tennessee border, left him a voicemail that probably sounded more like a ransom note than a goodbye. I kept it short.

"Hey. I’m sorry. I just… I needed to go. Tell your dad thanks for everything."

I didn’t mention Karden. Didn’t mention the kiss. Didn’t mention the way the floor seemed to crack open under me as I sped down the highway, leaving everything behind.

Distance. That was the answer. If I could just put enough miles between me and them, maybe my heart would stop feeling like someone had dropped it off a building.

Maybe.

The thing about leaving, though, is that you always end up taking more with you than you planned. Like the way Daniel’s face looked right before Karden kissed him—surprised, yeah, but not horrified. Like he’d been waiting for it. Wanting it.

And Karden. God, Karden. Always acting like he was protecting me. Always warning me not to get too close to Daniel, making snide little comments about how "he’s not who you think he is, Riv." Like he wasn’t hiding the biggest secret of all.

Was it love? Lust? Some messy, complicated cocktail of both? I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. I just needed to get out before the truth dragged me under.

Fairview wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t even particularly nice. But it was mine. A tiny dorm room with peeling paint and the world’s squeakiest bed. A coffee shop on the corner where the barista spelled my name "Raver" on my cup for three months straight. A stretch of cracked sidewalks and too many rainy days. Freedom.

Or something like it.

Classes started. Papers piled up. People drifted in and out of my life like waves. I smiled when I had to. Laughed at the right moments. Built a little life out of duct tape and stubbornness.

But at night, when the world went quiet and my brain stopped buzzing with deadlines, I thought about them. About the kitchen and the oranges rolling across the floor. About Daniel’s silence and Karden’s guilty eyes.

I told myself I was fine. I was better off. That some crush on a man fifteen years older than me and someone I took as my elder brother with secrets bigger than mine wasn’t worth ruining my life over.

Most days, I almost believed it.

But some nights…

Some nights, I dreamed of Daniel’s voice calling my name, low and rough and broken.

And I hated myself for still wanting to answer.

But seeing him now, nothing could've prepared for this not even a million years.

“River Stormhill, I'll like to see you in my office after the class”