My arm around Tyler's neck and his hand pressed against my ribs is the only thing keeping me from falling down the stairs. The one's leading to what I can only assume are bedrooms. In his house. I wince with every step, scrunching my eyes closed as if not seeing the cut will make me stop feeling it too. We reach a bathroom with sky blue paint covering the walls. It reminds me of his eyes. The ones that are now pooling with concern and regret and worry. For me. My heart hurts for being the reason he's feeling all those emotions.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

"It's not your fault. I should've been by your side." The light above casts a shadow across his face, plunging him into darkness. My hand itches to reach out and smooth the creases that have burrowed into his skin. "I'm going to need you to sit on the countertop. Do you need help getting up?"

I can't remember how to do anything but blink. Tyler places a comforting hand on my shoulder and bobs his head so we're at the same height. His eyes search mine. "Scarlett, sweetheart, are you okay getting up there?" He asks.

Sweetheart. That one word snaps me back to reality.

"No, uh- yeah. I've got it."

All I can hear is the whirring of my heart. It's like I'm in a wind tunnel. It could be the adrenaline that's making my skin clammy and my throat drier than the flowers we had back home, but I know it's not.

I clutch the edge of the counter and try to pull myself up, but my arms give out. All the weight I was holding up lands on my leg. I have to bite back a scream. My eyes scrunch closed as I shift my weight onto the other, breathing heavily. Tyler's hands come around my waist. Squeezing gently. The only thing stopping his hands from being on my skin is the towel wrapped around me.

"I'm going to help you up, okay?"

His eyes search mine for confirmation. I nod.

He lifts me up and onto the countertop with ease. His hands still linger around my waist. I stare at them. At the heat building beneath his fingertips. I almost place my hand on top of his so he can't move it. But he clears his throat and it's too late. He's already rummaging through a cupboard beside my head.

"Sorry for ruining your shirt, by the way, I would've used mine, but I didn't want to leave you."

I stretch my leg out so I can see the makeshift bandage wrapped around the cut. My mind was too focused on trying not to throw up to care about the shirt he ripped. "I didn't like the shirt that much anyway," I reassure him. He shoots me a grateful smile.

The cupboard squeaks closed, and he sets a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, cotton pads, Bactine, and a pack of gauze swabs on the countertop. He unties the shirt, revealing the cut on the underside of my calf. I press my fist to my mouth and swallow the bile threatening to come up. Most of the blood is already soaked into the shirt.

"You look like you know what you're doing," I say.

He unscrews the cap off the hydrogen peroxide. His brows are pulled together in concentration. A lock of curls has fallen into his eyes, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and push it back.

"This isn't the first time I've dealt with a cut from the fin. Trust me, I've cut myself more times than I can count." He pours the hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton pad and meets my gaze. "This is going to sting, okay?"

I take a deep breath. "Yeah, okay. Just do it."

He gently presses the cotton pad to the cut and wipes around it, cleaning away the blood. I scrunch my eyes closed so I don't have to look at it. My teeth are gritted, and my knuckles are turning white from clawing the edge of the counter. My head feels too heavy to hold up and I rest it against his shoulder without thinking. His breath hitches in his throat but he doesn't stop me.

"You don't like blood, huh?" His voice, deeper than usual, brings me back to reality. Back to the pain.

"No," I grunt. "Whenever I see it, I tend to black out so please hurry up and cover it."

"Is that what happened earlier? Back in the water. Did you black out?"

I purse my lips. "Only for like half a second."

"Jesus, Scarlett," he blows out a breath, scrubbing his hands down his face. "If it had been longer- "

"It wasn't, okay?" His eyes meet mine, but he doesn't respond. "Okay?" I repeat.

He looks reluctant when he says, "yeah, okay."

He unscrews the cap off what I can only assume is the Bactine and dabs that onto my calf as well. I focus on Tyler. He smells like the beach on a summer's day. Like seawater and peace. I breathe in his scent, letting it drag me into a haze. I squint one of my eyes open to peek at him. His tongue is caught between his teeth and his brows are pulled together in concentration. He's using his left hand to open the pack of gauze swabs. He's right-handed. That's when I notice I'm resting on his right shoulder.

On the third failed attempt I lift my head. "Sorry, you should've told me to move."

"I don't want you to move."

His words ignite a fire in the pit of my stomach. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips and, plucking up the courage, I slowly rest my head back on his shoulder again. This time my cheek is pressed against his skin as I watch him wrap my calf in gauze.

"Where're your parents? Or your sister? Are they not home?" I ask, eyeing the open bathroom door.

He smooths his palm across my calf. If I weren't already sitting down my knees would buckle.

"They went away for a couple weeks."

"Oh." I watch his jaw tense. "How come you didn't go with them?"

"Just didn't want to." He shrugs. I can tell by his irregular breaths that this isn't entirely the truth. A sudden urge to distract him- bring back the grinning boy I've grown so fond of- takes over me.

I lift my head off his shoulder. "Do you have a bike?" I ask.

His eyes meet mine, confusion dancing in the blue pools. I'm struggling to contain my enthusiasm which only raises his suspicions. "Yeah, it's out back," he trails off. "Why?"

"I want to go see the lighthouse. You should come with me."

He moves to sit on the edge of the bathtub. Nerves spike in my chest. This is the first time I've asked him to do something with me. So far, we've just run into each other on the beach. Pure coincidence. But this, this is planned. It confirms that I want to spend time with him. Do something other than lay on the sand or float in the water. He knows this too.

"Are you asking me on a date, Phoenix?" He stands up and steps closer to me. Although we've been in the same room together for a while now, it feels different. This time there's an energy pulsing between us. Connecting us. His eyes are daring, wanting me to confirm what he said. That us, going to the lighthouse alone, would be a date.

"And what if I was?" I arch a brow.

He smirks. Another step. "Then I'd say you're admitting you enjoy talking to me. Which if I remember correctly, on the first day we met, you said would be impossible."

Confidence pours into my veins. I hook my uninjured leg around his and pull him closer so he's standing between my legs. His eyes are on mine, then on my lips. Watching them intently.

"Maybe I changed my mind." He watches my lips form the words.

"Maybe you did."

His hand rests on my knee, burning my skin beneath it. I've never wanted to be so close to somebody in my entire life. There's no air in the room but I don't care. If this was the way I went. With Tyler pressed against me, stealing my breaths. I wouldn't care. He can have them.

I reach out and push the fallen lock back. It's something so simple and yet it feels so intimate. His eyes grow hooded as his hand squeezes my thigh. Gripping onto me as if I could slip away at any moment. His eyes are on my lips again. Then my bare legs. The skin below my collarbone, revealed by the towel. Slipping lower and lower. He's already seen me in the bathing suit but not like this. Before he teased me but now- now he's deadly serious.

"Scarlett," he breathes.

The moment shatters when my phone rings in my bag. He steps away from me as if we'd been caught. My head hangs low in shame when he rummages through my bag, holding my phone out to me.

"It's your dad," he says. I can tell by his strained voice that he hasn't recovered from whatever just happened between us. I'm glad I'm not the only one.

I let it go to voicemail. "I'll call him back later."

"Are you sure? It could be important."

"Yeah." I rub my palms against the towel draped across my waist, swapping the phone between my hands. "How come you haven't asked for my number yet?"

He seems taken aback by my question. I put my phone down on the counter and wrap the towel back around me. He can't meet my eyes when he finally answers. "I don't have a phone."

"You don't?"

He shakes his head slightly. As if he's ashamed. My brows pull together. What could he possibly have to be ashamed of?

"I haven't for a while now."

"Why?"

He sighs deeply. His hands are in his hair, pushing it away from his face. There's a pink tinge coating his cheeks. It seems like he's waging a war inside himself. Whether to tell me the truth or play it off. But when his eyes meet mine- raw emotion shining in them- I know he's chosen honesty.

"My parents took it off me a couple years ago. Something happened and- they, uh, didn't want me to have any chance of putting myself in the same situation again," he admits. His hand reaches out for mine and I take it. His thumb rubs circles across my palm. "Trust me, if I had one asking for your number would've been the first thing I did."

I squeeze his hand, silently thanking him for opening up to me. I know first-hand how much courage it takes to tell people about the demons hiding in your closet. Even the ugliest of scars can be covered up.

"Who needs a phone anyway?" I shove mine across the counter and he laughs.

"You, Phoenix, are something else."

"I hope that's a good thing."

He tucks my hair behind my ear, letting it linger there for a couple of seconds longer. A smile brighter than I've seen so far breaks out across his face. But there's a shyness there too. It only makes my heart swell more. "It's a great thing."