Page 8 of Stick Handled

“I know you do,” he says, still not looking up. The muscle on his jaw ticks, and he finally turns to face me, pain etched onto his features. “But no. I can’t. I almost lost you back then. I refuse to pull the devil by the tail and let you back on the ice.”

Frustrated, I recall Sarah’s words. I could ask Ares. He’s quiet, but maybe that’s the kind of focus I need.

But the thought of approaching him, of interrupting that ice-cold wall he keeps around him, feels too daunting.

Sarah’s words come back to me.Damien.

But before I can fully think about it, Rowan pushes the smoothie toward me, his expression softening just enough to be apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Av,” he adds gravely.

“It’s fine, I get it,” I lie. Truth is, I’ve already made up my mind.

Later that night, I’m in my room, trying my best to focus on my book, but I can’t stop thinking about it. The way I felt watching them—the ache to be back out there.

Before I know it, my feet have carried me downstairs. Rowan’s silhouette is visible as he sits on one of the lounge chairs by the pool. I grab my hoodie and slip out of the house, needing some air. Rowan lives on a hill that houses three mansions tucked together in the most exclusive part of town. Security patrols the perimeter at all times, and for the first time ever, I feel like I could walk around at night without looking over my shoulder. It’s quiet here, safe. I need out of my head, and with the help of Sarah’s words still echoing in my mind, my feet lead me down the path toward Damien’s house.

My heart pounds as I stand outside his door.

This is crazy. Stupid.

But my hand’s already reaching up, knuckles hovering just over the wood.

I take a deep breath. And knock.

Chapter four

~DAMIEN~

I swing the door open, momentarily stunned when I see who’s on the other side. I thought it would be Ares or Rowan since they often show up unannounced, especially Ares. Instead, it’s the last person I expected to find standing on my doorstep at this time of night. I fight to keep the surprise off my face as I study Avery’s. For a second, she just stands there, eyes wide and unsure, like she might bolt any second.

Interesting.

“Well, well, well.” I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “I didn’t know you were into late-night visits,” I say, smirking.

Her face flushes instantly, those pretty green eyes widening like she’s been caught doing something scandalous.

I’m dying to know what made her come here. She could barely look at me during dinner, yet here she is, right at my door. If this was any other girl, the intension would be more than clear. But this isn’t any other girl. This is Avery.

She shifts awkwardly, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

“I-I… no, it’s not… I mean, it’s not like that,” she stammers, glancing away, cheeks flaming.

This is too easy.

I push off the doorframe, stepping closer—not too much, just enough to see her squirm.

“You sure? ‘Cause showing up at my door late at night usually means something.”

Her breath catches, and I see the panic flash across her face. She’s about to turn and run. I can see it in the way she shifts her weight, ready to flee.

“Forget it,” she says quickly, already turning around.

Shit. Don’t run yet, baby. I'm just getting started.

I reach out, gently grabbing her wrist before she can make a break for it.

“You didn’t come all the way here just to walk away, did you?” My tone softens, curiosity creeping in. Because, really, whatdidmake her come here? She barely looks me in the eye.

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