I arrive at the pinned location—a bus stop. Peering through my windshield, I spot Reid. His head is bowed, a hoodie obscuring his face, but I'd know him anywhere. That tall, relaxed frame radiates an effortless coolness that's impossible to miss.

Picking up my phone, I send a quick text.

Isla: I'm here.

I watch as he stirs - was he asleep? - and pulls out his phone. A moment later, his eyes scan his surroundings. When he spots my car, he rises and walks toward it, his strides as measured as always.

I unlock the doors, and he slides into the passenger seat. He's wearing a nose mask, which only accentuates the intensity of his blue eyes, now more piercing than ever.

"Thanks," he says, his voice muffled by the mask.

"Sure," I reply, cringing internally at how dry my voice sounds.

"Sorry for dragging you into this. There was just... no one else I could call," he admits, his tone unexpectedly soft.

The words send a flutter through my stomach, unbidden. Stop it, Isla. He probably just means you were the easiest option, I chastise myself.

"You could always just drive yourself," I snap, harsher than intended.

His eyes light up with amusement, and though his mouth is hidden, I know he's smiling. I've spent far too long memorizing every detail of his face not to recognize it. I could probably sculpt his face blindfolded.

"True, but unfortunately, I don't drive," he says, settling back into the seat as though it's his.

Now that he mentions it, I realize I've never seen him behind the wheel. In high school, he always rode with someone else. Even when he posed with cars on Instagram, he wasn't the one driving.

"But you have a car," I counter, recalling a picture of a sleek red Ferrari from his feed.

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Gift." Then, with a smirk in his voice, he adds, "How do you know that, Kensington? Still stalking me?"

The nickname makes my stomach flip. It was the same one he used on that night—the night I couldn't forget.

"I wasn't stalking you," I protest, feeling my cheeks flush. "I told you, I only knew those things because of Aaliyah."

"Right," he drawls, laughing softly. "How's Aaliyah?"

"She's at Yale," I say, a strange twist forming in my chest at the mention of her name.

"She was fun," he muses, and my grip on the steering wheel tightens.

Did I mention that Reid and Aaliyah hooked up a few times? Yeah. I was that girl—the one with a secret crush on the same guy her friend liked.

Aaliyah had been infatuated with Reid since the moment we started high school. By his senior year, she'd made it her mission to sleep with him before graduation. I tried to warn her about his reputation, but she didn't care. After a swim meet one day, she gathered her courage and asked him out. They hung out a few times and eventually slept together.

My first encounter with Reid came shortly after that, at a party Aaliyah had dragged me to. Reid invited her, and though I'd planned to stay in the background, fate had other plans.

We almost kissed during a game, and when the party was broken up by police, he pulled me away from the chaos. We ended up on that hill—the night that changed everything for me.

I glance at him now, wondering if he remembers that night too, or if I'm the only one haunted by it. I could never tell Aaliyah about it, they broke up that night.

"Yeah, fun," I mutter under my breath. "Where am I taking you?"

He pulls out his phone, studies it for a moment, then holds it up. "Follow the directions."

Without another word, he pulls his hood lower over his face, crosses his arms, and closes his eyes.

"I guess I'll just drive, then," I mumble, rolling my eyes. I'd hoped we'd have a bit of small talk—maybe even get answers to some of the questions that had been swirling in my head since he reappeared in my life. But no.

The car fills with silence, broken only by the GPS voice giving directions. I steal glances at him, wondering if he's really asleep or just pretending.

"Do you still get those panic attacks?" His sudden question startles me.

"What?"

"Your panic attacks. Do you still get them?" He doesn't open his eyes but stays in the same reclined position.

He remembered. Just like he remembered my name.

"Sometimes," I admit, focusing on the road.

"Hmm," he hums, and the silence returns.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens.

"Alright, fine," he says after a moment. "You can ask me one question."

I don't hesitate. "Your eye. What happened to it?"

His head turns toward me, his blue gaze locking with mine.

"Fell on my face," he replies casually, but I don't miss the defensiveness in his posture. It's the same reaction he had earlier when I'd asked him about it.

"I don't believe that," I counter. "Someone hit you."

"Drop it," he snaps, his voice sharp.

I open my mouth to press further, but his tone stops me. I feel a wave of irritation. He called me out here, yet he couldn't even answer a simple question.

The rest of the drive passes in tense silence until the GPS announces, "You have arrived at your destination."

Reid looks at me, and I can feel the weight of his gaze, but I keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"Let this be the last time," I say before he can speak.

"What?"

"Find someone else to call. I'm trying to stay under the radar and live a quiet college life. So if you could, please stay away from me entirely."

He pauses, then scoffs. "Whatever."

He grabs his phone and opens the car door, leaving without another word.

I sit in my car, staring blankly at the dashboard, my thoughts swirling. Was I too harsh? No—no, it was necessary. I had to do it. It was for the best. But why did he sound angry? Hurt?

The ache in my chest wouldn't go away. I couldn't leave it like this; the questions would eat me alive. Why did he kiss me? Who gave him that book? What was the point of that night on the hill? And who the hell was this Red person? Before I could stop myself, I grabbed my phone and bolted out of the car, chasing after him.

I found him standing in the driveway of a large house. The yard was buzzing with life—a proper college party in full swing. Students were sprawled across the grass, some dancing, others lounging on picnic tables with red Solo cups. A group of guys stood around a keg, chugging beers through a tank while others cheered them on. Lights strung across the house cast a warm, festive glow, and loud music pulsed through the air, mixing with the smell of spilled beer and cigarette smoke.

"Hey, can we talk?" I called out, stepping closer.

He ignored me, his broad shoulders tense as he glanced at his phone.

"Are you sure you want to be seen with me right now?" he mocked, finally looking up. His voice was sharp, his accent clipping his words. "Won't that ruin your plan to fly under the radar?"

I rolled my eyes. "What's your problem?"

Instead of answering, he pressed his phone to his ear. "Hey, mate," he barked. "Who are all these bloody people in my house? Get them out right now. I need to sleep." With that, he ended the call, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"Please, can we talk?" I tried again.

He sighed, finally turning to face me. "Fine."

I wanted to say something - anything - but my words tangled on my tongue. He stepped closer, and my breath hitched. His presence was overpowering, his hoodie brushing against my arm as he leaned in.

"You said you wanted to talk," he murmured, his voice low, almost daring. "So, talk."

Looking up, I couldn't help but notice the intensity in his eyes. My gaze drifted to his lips, and I swallowed hard, the familiar ache pooling in my stomach. I squeezed my thighs together, embarrassed by the heat rising in me.

Before I could think better of it, I stood on my toes and reached for his mask, pulling it down in one swift motion.

His face—God, his face. His cheek was swollen, a faint bruise spreading beneath his eye, his lower lip slightly split. My stomach twisted in shock.

"What happened?" I asked, my hand instinctively reaching out to touch the bruise.

He jerked back, his eyes wide as he quickly pulled the mask back up, covering his face.

"You should just go," he muttered, turning away.

"Wait!" I grabbed his arm, but before I could say more, a familiar voice called out.

"Reid!"

I froze, my heart pounding as I turned to see Oliver jogging toward us.

Reid shot me a questioning look, but I avoided his gaze, stepping slightly away.

"Get them out. Now," Reid barked at Oliver, his voice sharp.

"Isla?" Oliver's voice softened as he reached us, his brow furrowing.

"Hey," I replied, forcing a neutral tone.

"Did you see my texts? I kept updating you about the change in location, but you didn't respond," he said, his excitement evident.

I smiled awkwardly, unsure how to explain.

"And why are you two together?" he asked, pointing between me and Reid.

"We just met at the entrance," I blurted out. Why did I lie?

Reid chuckled, his lips curling into a mocking smirk. "Really?"

Oliver glanced between us, his confusion obvious. "Well, I'm glad you're here. Come on, let me introduce you to everyone inside."

"Inside? I told you to get everyone out," Reid snapped.

"Mate, the frat house is flooded, and I told the guys we could use your place," Oliver explained, gesturing animatedly. "I kept texting you!"

"I don't care. Get them out. Now."

"Come on, man. You owe me," Oliver pleaded. "Stop being a wuss. Grab a drink and loosen up."

Reid's eyes flicked to mine, then back to Oliver. Before he could answer, a glass bottle flew through the air, shattering inches from Reid.

"What the—" Reid spun toward the commotion.

We all turned to see a woman stumbling toward us. Her mascara streaked down her face, her hair wild, and her red-rimmed eyes filled with fury. She was stunning even in her disheveled state, her tight dress clinging to her curves.

"Red?" Oliver whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Reid's entire demeanor shifted. He stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body as he shot Oliver a warning glance.

"Get her out of here," Reid said firmly.

"On it," Oliver replied, moving quickly.

"What?" I asked, finally snapping out of my shock. "I'm not leaving!"

Before I could say more, the woman strode up to Reid and slapped him. Once. Twice. Three times. Four.

"Enough!" I screamed, stepping between them. My hands shook with rage.

She glared down at me, her lip curling in disdain. Her hand lifted again, but Reid caught her wrist this time, his grip firm.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked, wrenching free and slapping him once more.

My chest ached with anger and confusion. Was she the reason for his bruises?

"Oliver, take Isla home. Now," Reid ordered, dragging the woman away.

As he pulled her toward the house, she thrashed against his grip, shouting, "Is she the reason you weren't answering your phone?"

I stood frozen, dazed by everything that had just happened.

Oliver touched my arm gently. "Come on. I'll take you home."

I stepped back, shaking my head. "Actually, I'll just drive myself."

Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked toward my car, my mind spinning.

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I'm sorry this took this long to get here, enjoy and don't forget to vote and comment. Love y'all ❤️