I turn to face Dutch in the shadows, my heart still beating fast from the performance and the panic that came right on its heels.
He watches me like I’m something he wants to take apart and study from the inside out. There’s a furrow between his brows. Frustration. Like he knows he wouldn’t be able to piece me together even if he spent every day of his life trying.
And that pisses him off.
Oh, I can see the anger. Rolling off him like waves. Dark and unyielding, a mountain that can’t be moved.
It’s then that I glimpse the truth. What makes Dutch dangerous, what makes the students of Redwood Prep fear him, is that tight control he has on his emotions.
The way others unravel and scream and fret is beneath him. His tightly packed reactions make him seem like someone who could take all the blows life has to offer and still come out on top.
It earns respect.
A respect that’s separate from his father’s fame or his band’s rising star power.
It’s a yearning to be close to someone like him. Because he has that thing. The thing that makes people want to be his friend or his lover or his family. That wants his approval because it’s hard-won and only a select few can be on the receiving end of it.
I’ve seen it happen over and over again. Dutch enters a room and people sit up straight. Take notice. Fall into line. He doesn’t have to open his mouth to be bigger, to take up more space.
It’s ingrained.
A part of him.
Power.
I curl my fingers into fists, glaring at him despite the rising heat in the atmosphere. Even when my anger keeps rocketing to new heights, curdling under my skin, I don’t give in to it.
A steamy video…
It’s the only chance I have.
The only option.
“When did you get here?” I ask. My voice travels in the quiet night. There’s someone else performing on stage, but the music is stifled by the closed door.
Dutch watches me, unperturbed. Still as a tree on a windless night. His silence is frightening. I wish he’d snap at me. Say something stupid and arrogant so I could lurch at him. Use my words to hurt him.
My chest rises and falls.
Just then, the doorknob starts rattling. My eyes widen.
Breeze is probably looking for me. I can’t fulfil Jinx’s requirement if she catches me.
Grabbing Dutch’s arm, I drag him around the corner of the building. I see the gym, a giant light in the dark sky, and take off in that direction.
We crash through the doors and skid to a stop in the tiled lobby.
The gym is already fancy enough, but the renovations have turned it into a professional sports center. I gawk at the sky lights, the giant banners and the information desk.
When I feel a pressure on my fingers, I glance down and realize I’m still holding Dutch’s hand. I drop it like it’s a raw flame.
Turning, I peer out at the field. Breeze is stepping just beyond the corner of the musical theatre building. Her phone is to her ear.
A moment later, mine starts buzzing.
I bite down on my bottom lip, but I don’t pick up.
“Why are you hiding?” Dutch asks me, his voice dark and deep and raft with shadows. He doesn’t move any closer to me, but there’s a charge in the air that says he’s keeping a tight hold on his restraint for my sake, not his.
“Breeze hates you. I can’t let her see us together.” The words rush out in a whoosh.
My hands are shaking.
The carefully constructed facade of ‘girl who doesn’t give a damn’ has been demolished by my performance.
I’m always left vulnerable after a music piece.
I always leave a little too much of myself on the stage.
Dutch advances on me. I can feel his hot gaze on my skin like a summer storm. When he turns me around to look at him, I can barely breathe.
The thin line between hate and lust is about to be crossed in a big way tonight. Why does that excite me? Why doesn’t it terrify me?
Hate.
Love.
Agony.
They fade and twist and curl around each other like diminished chords. I can hear them moaning through the silence.
Dutch looks down at me with his darkening amber eyes, chiseled jaw and hard mouth. He’s tall and dangerous and built for heartache. But he’s as lost as I am. I can see it all over him.
“Why,” Dutch presses, “are you hiding from music?”
“What kind of question is that?” I ask tightly, trying my best to look tougher than I feel. Adjusting my scarf, I glance away.
Dutch’s gaze doesn’t waver for a second.
My pulse picks up speed. This moment feels familiar. Dutch has always been weirdly intense with my other self. Back then, I thought he was just more attracted to girls with red hair and green eyes.
But maybe it was never about how I looked. Maybe it was always the music that made him run to me. Cling to me. Chase me in a way he’d probably never done before and couldn’t explain why he did then.
My phone buzzes.
I take the opportunity to step away from him and answer Breeze’s call.
“Where are you?” she shrieks. “Are you okay? You didn’t run all the way home, did you?”
“I’m okay,” I say tightly. “I just need a minute.”
Breeze huffs. “You always do that. You always bleed all over that stupid piano until it leaves you hollow inside. I love your music, Cadey, but I hate what it does to you. Do you have to keep forcing yourself up there?”
“I’m attending Redwood on a music scholarship, Breeze. It would be kind of weird if I didn’t actually play music.”
If she were in front of me, she’d be rolling her eyes. Thinking of Breeze’s perturbed expression makes me feel a little more like myself. A little more in control.
I turn slightly and see Dutch looking at me.
My best friend warned me about him. Warned me about the slippery slope of falling for a guy who used to torture you.
I’m not anyone’s idiot.
But I have to make a deal with Jinx tonight.
And I can’t have Breeze getting in the way of that.
“Do you want me to wait so we can go home together?” she asks.
“No.” I swallow hard. “I’d like to be alone.”
“Tonight? I’m not leaving without you, Cadey. Come on. They’re having a party down at the abandoned warehouse. You’ll have fun and forget all about these snotty Redwood Prep kids who don’t deserve your talent.”
I force a smile. “Really, I’ll pass.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Go to the party. Have fun.”
“Text me when you get home. I want to make sure you get in okay.”
“You too.”
I hang up.
Dutch has been quiet through the whole conversation. He’s still watching me, but my gaze is on Breeze who’s taking off toward the street to catch a cab.
I’m sorry for lying to you, Breeze.
“Why are you here?” I ask Dutch, my face still turned to the window. “I thought The Kings didn’t have a set tonight.”
He doesn’t answer the question.
For a moment, silence reigns.
“If you’d played even once at school, I would have recognized you,” Dutch says finally. “You can lie to everyone, Brahms, but your music? It’s too honest. It’s worth more than words.”
“It’s just music.”
“I wish it was.” The words are rough. Coarse. He feels dangerous tonight. Like he’s unravelling. Running from his own demons.
I shouldn’t be alone with a guy who’s spiraling.
Not when I’m spiraling too.
Sweat is still dripping down my face. I feel hot and sticky.
A steamy video…
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I say.
He arches a brow and studies me warily. “What do you want to do then?”
“Can you teach me how to swim?” I blurt.
The words bang around the lobby, echoing back to me before falling flat. Dutch maintains that assessing gaze. The control he has over his expressions is almost nightmarish. There’s not so much as a flick of an eyebrow or a twitch of his lips.
I wait, holding my breath. My heart thunders in my chest, anticipating.
What will I do if he says no?
What will I do if he says yes?
I scrape my tongue against my bottom lip, noting the way his eyes lock there and hold fast.
“Now that everyone knows I can’t swim, it’ll be easy to hurt me again. I don’t want to be defenseless.” I tilt my chin up. “I want to learn.”
“Tonight?” He juts a finger down.
“There’s a pool right there.”
His eyes slide over me again, this time lingering on my chest and the short hem of my purple skirt.
I step closer to him, dropping my voice. “If you don’t want to, I can ask Sol—”
His arm immediately shoots up and latches onto my wrist. “What do you really want, Brahms?”
I shake him off. “Forget it.”
Jinx didn’t state who had to be in the steamy video, only that it had to be steamy enough to post to her app. I could be with someone other than Dutch tonight.
The knots in my chest start to loosen. The idea of kissing Sol seems, oddly, like the safer option. He’s a friend, and it wouldn’t be weird if I explained to him why I need his help.
Maybe that’s the solution. Rather than playing with a burning forest fire and thinking I can survive, I can go light a match. It’ll burn either way, but at least I have a higher chance of coming out of one alive.
I turn to the door when Dutch’s dark voice cuts me to the quick.
“Take one more step. I dare you.”
I whirl around, my nostrils flaring.
Dutch shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. “You want a swimming lesson, Brahms? You can have one.”
Sol is the safer choice.
I should insist on leaving.
I should find anyone else to fulfil Jinx’s requirement.
But it’s like my body doesn’t belong to me anymore. Not when Dutch places his fingers around my wrist and sears me with the heat of his touch.
I follow him to the pool. The stench of chlorine brings back memories of Christa pushing me in.
In the space of a moment, I relive the water rushing straight to my lungs. The burn. The fear. The thought that I would never see Vi again.
Dutch stops and cups my chin in his hands. My eyes meet his dark, burning ones and I swear, as golden as they are, the shadows are gathering like a thunderstorm on the horizon.
“Nothing is going to happen to you.” His voice is low and firm. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Brahms.”
Weirdly enough, in spite of all the horrible things he’s done to me, I believe him.
He steps back, his big hands going for the hem of his shirt. I watch as he tears his shirt over his head. The muscles in his arms bunch and swell with the movement. My eyes fall on the ink tainting the generous swell of his bicep.
A memory of raking my nails along that marked skin drags like a ragged line through my heart.
“Are you going in there fully clothed?” Dutch asks, a hint of a dare in his voice. He gestures to me. “Take it off.”
My body is shaking with a mix of frustration, danger and desire. I’m this close to throwing it all out the window, but when I think of Serena and Miller’s stupid crap-eating grin, I can’t do it.
“Turn around,” I hiss.
His lips curl up. “Feeling shy, Brahms?”
“Just… turn around,” I snap.
He does, his shoulders moving like well-oiled pistons as he turns to face the pool.
I undo my scarf, the soft fabric kissing my neck as it loosens. It doesn’t make a sound when it falls to the floor. Twisting around, I try to reach the buttons at my back, but I can’t seem to get my fingers to function. Giving up with a huff, I debate my next move.
Dutch turns around. “Need some help?”
“I told you not to look,” I snap. But I’m not taking my own advice. My eyes are stuck on the rolling abs on Dutch’s body. He’s a lean, oiled machine. Dangerous and far too close.
His self-assured smirk tells me he knows I’m checking him out.
Flames burn my cheeks. I give him my back. “Unbutton this for me.”
“Ask nicely and I might be convinced.”
I twist my neck and pin him with a dark look. “When have we ever been nice to each other?”
He chuckles and undoes the buttons. The silence is so thick, I almost wish he would say something so we can fight. It’s better than the building tension that rides our deepening breaths and the sharp sense of awareness tinting the room as each button falls loose to reveal more and more of my skin.
His fingers brush my bare back as the dress peels open and I suck in a sharp breath. Fighting my own weakness, I push his hand away.
“Turn around again,” I demand.
He remains still and, for a moment, I think he’s going to argue with me. But Dutch pulls his lips in and complies.
I shrug out of the dress, letting it pool to my feet. The cool air hits my exposed flesh and sends goosebumps flaring. Quickly shucking out of my shoes, I search for somewhere to set up my phone. The only place is the pool chair.
“Brahms, what are you doing?” Dutch asks, starting to turn around.
“Don’t look!” I yell. With no time, I set my phone on the chair and then bunch my scarf and dress around it so it doesn’t look too obvious.
My heart jackhammering, I patter to the shallow end of the pool and get into the water. Dutch hears the splash and his eyes find mine, quick, cool and devastating.
He takes one step.
Two.
Three.
And then the prince of Redwood Prep gets into the water with me.
