Page 25 of Stick Handled

“Ares—” I start, but he cuts me off with a raised hand.

“I’ve seen how you look at her,” he says, his tone firmer now, like he’s reached some kind of resolution. “This isn’t just about skating. For neither of you. You need to stop.”

My jaw clenches. There’s a part of me that wants to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, that this is nothing. But the truth is, he’s not wrong. Not even close. I’m in deep, and he knows it.

“I can’t,” I say after a long pause, the admission falling out of me before I can stop it. “I can’t stop.”

Ares lets out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “You’re gonna fuck everything up, Damien. For you. For her. For all of us.”

He stands, his movements deliberate and calm, and walks toward the pool. He pauses, his hands sliding into the pocket of his hoodie, his voice low when he speaks again.

“Rowan doesn’t forgive, Damien. And he sure as hell doesn’t forget. Get your shit together before it’s too late.”

His warning crawls up my spine like a paralyzing fog. Ares is right. I’m on the edge, and if I keep pushing, everything will come crashing down. But even with that knowledge burning in my head, I can’t stop thinking about her.

Hours pass, but sleep doesn’t come. It’s almost midnight when I find myself standing by the window, looking at the house across the way.

Avery’s light is still on. I can see the faint glow through the curtains. She’s alone tonight. I know Rowan’s out on some date. Avery’s got the house to herself, and I know for a fact she’s not expecting anyone.

My hands grip the window frame as I watch her. I shouldn’t be doing this. Every voice of reason in my head is screaming at me to stop. To remember what Ares said. To remember the fucking line I’m about to cross.

But I can’t.

I see her through the gap in the curtains, sitting on her bed, her legs curled beneath her, a mug of tea in her hands. There’s an open book on her lap. The soft glow of the candle flickers across her face, making her look so calm. Innocent.

Fuck.

I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop the way my mind drifts back to earlier today. The way she looked at me when I pulled away, her lips parted, her breath shallow. The way she skated, growing more confident with each lap, her eyes flicking to mine every time, seekingmyapproval. I know I’m in trouble. Deep, dangerous trouble.

I drag my hand through my hair, pacing the length of the window. Ares’ voice echoes in my head, warning me. Telling me to stop. To think. But I’ve never been good at listening to warnings.

I glance at her window again, and that’s when it hits me. I know exactly what I’m about to do. And I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t want her like this. This isn’t just crossing a line. This is bulldozing through it.

But I’m already halfway out the door, a book in hand before I can talk myself out of it. My body’s moving on instinct, every rational thought I’ve had tonight pushed aside by something far more primal.

I reach the house before I even register my own footsteps. The cool night air does nothing to calm the heat running through my veins. I ring the doorbell, my hand steady, even though everything inside me is a fucking mess.

A few moments pass, and then I hear her soft footsteps approaching. When the door swings open, she’s standing there, her auburn hair loose around her shoulders, her green eyes wide with surprise.

“Damien?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper as if she doesn’t quite believe I’m standing in front of her.

Chapter nine

~AVERY~

Damien.

He stands there, casual as ever, but there’s something about the way his eyes sweep over me that leaves me frozen. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, a cocky grin pulling at his lips as his eyes rush over me, lingering just a little too long. He looks effortlessly gorgeous, as always, with tattoos peeking from under the sleeves of his hoodie. He looks like every bad decision rolled into one towering figure. His dark blond hair is slightly mussed like he’s just run his hands through it, and the smirk tugging at his lips is already making me nervous.

“Hey,” he drawls.

“What… what are you doing here?” I blink, trying to process why the hell he’s standing at my door in the middle of the night.

He smirks, that slow, infuriatingly sexy tilt of his lips that makes my stomach flip. “I come bearing gifts,” he replies, holding up something in his hand.

He lifts his hand, and I frown in confusion. It’s… a book. A very familiar book. My breath hitches when I recognize it. It’s one of the titles from my reading list. The same list he’d skimmed through when he snatched my journal a few nights ago.

Damien steps forward, his large frame filling the doorway.

---