Page 8

A Date That's Not a Date

T he late afternoon sun casts long shadows across Shark Bay's courtyard, where Erik told me to wait for him. I'm trying my best to ignore the whispers that follow me like faithful pets. By now, the word of my bathroom hookup with Nicolas has spread through the rest of campus. Funny enough, each version of the story is more salacious than the last. I've heard at least three different versions today alone, painting me as more of a villain each time. Let them talk. Their gossip can't hurt me any more than I've already hurt myself.

I look out over the ocean, watching waves crash against the stone coastline, gulls swooping down to snatch chunks of food the students threw in. Where the fuck is Erik?

I check my phone again—no new messages from my parents, which is almost more unsettling than their usual threats. The silence feels like the calm before the storm, and I've learned to be wary of calm. A light breeze carries the salt-tang of the ocean, ruffling my hair and the pleats of my uniform skirt. I should have changed, but part of me wants Erik to see exactly what he's getting into—the mess, the scandal, all of it. That way, if I can't figure out what drives him, he'll have a tough time figuring out what drives me.

"Ready for an adventure?" Erik's voice startles me from behind. He's changed out of his uniform into dark jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt that makes his eyes look like storm clouds. A small backpack is slung over one shoulder, and he's carrying what looks like a picnic basket. The sight is so incongruously normal it makes my chest ache.

"That depends." I look at the basket suspiciously. "Are you planning to poison me?"

He grins, reaching into the basket and handing me an egg salad sandwich. "What do you think?"

I take a careful bite. The eggs taste a little like lemon, and the bread is fresh. My urge to stay alive is screaming in the background, telling me to stop. But for once, I follow my instinct to indulge in what I want. At least for now. "Wow, this is delicious."

He chuckles, and something in my stomach flutters traitorously. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't waste good food doing it." He takes my sandwich from me, puts it back in the basket, and starts walking toward one of the smaller trails leading away from campus, clearly expecting me to follow. "Come on, Queen. Show me what you're made of."

The challenge in his voice makes my spine straighten. I fall into step beside him, matching his easy stride. "You know, most guys don't reject me in the first place, but if they do, they wouldn't bother hanging out with me at all. What's your angle?"

"Maybe I just enjoy the company of complicated women." He takes us down a narrow road that winds through lots of trees. The branches make a canopy over us. In the shade, the temperature drops a bit, and my bare arms get goose bumps.

"Complicated?" I laugh, the sound sharp enough to scatter a few birds from nearby branches. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Interesting?" Erik offers. "Unpredictable? Intelligent? Sexy as fuck?" Erik stops suddenly, turning to face me. His expression is serious, those gray eyes seeing too much, as always. "What would you call it?"

My throat's suddenly dry, the words not coming out at all. I didn't expect a question like that. What do I call myself? Broken? Dangerous? A cosmic mess of epic proportions? I settle for a shrug, trying to keep up my carefully made mask. "Most people just go with 'crazy bitch' these days."

"Ah." He gives a small smile and turns to walk again. "Most people are idiots." He ducks under a low-hanging branch. "Besides, I've always found labels pretty useless. They never tell the whole story."

"And what story do you think I'm telling?" The words come out more vulnerable than I intended, and I immediately want to take them back.

Erik is quiet for a long moment, picking his way carefully over some exposed roots. "I think," he says finally, "that you're telling whatever story keeps people from looking too closely at the real one."

The observation hits too close to home, making my chest tight. I focus on my footing instead of responding, grateful when the path starts to slope upward more steeply. The physical exertion gives me an excuse for my quickened breathing. By the time the trail levels off, I'm surprised to see the main campus at our backs, a sea of ivy-covered buildings framed by the setting sun. Beyond that, the ocean stretches to the horizon in shades of blue and gold.

Erik takes us down a rougher trail, making us climb even higher. We do it in silence; the only sounds are coming from our footsteps and the distant crash of waves. The path gets rockier, requiring more attention to navigate. Erik occasionally reaches back to offer me a hand over particularly tricky spots, but he doesn't push when I ignore the help.

"We're almost there," he promises after I've slipped for the third time. "Just a little farther."

"If I die out here, I'm going to kill you," I mutter, steadying myself on an exposed tree root.

"Noted." He goes up a patch of rock. The path suddenly opens up onto a cliff with a view of the sea that takes my breath away. The ocean and sky are blue all the way to the horizon, and waves are crashing against rough rocks far below. The late afternoon sun turns the water to liquid gold, and a strong breeze carries the scent of salt and freedom.

Erik gestures toward the ground. A flat, smooth expanse of stone is set just above the rest of the precipice, protected by a small wall of rocks and scrubby bushes. "Care to join me for a picnic?" He sits down, letting his long legs hang over the edge, and opens his bag to find a bottle of wine and several appetizer plates inside.

"Are you kidding me?" I groan, taking a seat beside him.

"What?" He takes the bottle and uncorks it with practiced ease. "Too much effort?"

"No." I snatch the bottle from him and take a long sip. "My fucking heel got caught, that's all."

He grabs the wine from my hands and takes a drink. "A terrible predicament."

"I didn't know you were capable of sarcasm." I eye him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"I didn't know the great Luna Queen couldn't handle a hike." He gives me a grin. "Yet here we are."

"Oh, I can handle anything." My words come out husky and breathless.

His smile deepens, eyes glittering in the last of the sunlight. "It's impressive, right? The view, I mean. I found this spot during my first week here. It's become my favorite escape."

I move toward the end of the cliff and let my toes hang over the edge. The height makes me feel dizzy and excited. "It would be so easy," I murmur, more to myself than him. "Just one step."

"Luna." His voice is sharp, closer than I expected. "Step back."

"Relax." I roll my eyes but take a small step away from the edge. "I'm not actually going to jump. I just like knowing I could."

"That's not as comforting as you think it is." He sits back on a relatively flat patch of ground and starts laying out the rest of the food, including my sandwich. "Sit. Eat something that isn't vodka and regret for once."

The comment startles a genuine laugh out of me. I sink onto the blanket, accepting the plastic wineglass he offers. "Speaking from experience?"

"You could say that." He pours the wine with practiced ease, then settles back on his elbows. "Let's just say you're not the only one who came to Shark Bay with baggage. We're all here for a reason."

"Oh?" I take a sip of wine—it's good, probably worth more than most people's weekly grocery budget. "Do tell. What dark secrets is Erik Stone hiding?"

He tears off a piece of bread, considering. "How about a trade? Story for story?"

I narrow my eyes. "That depends on the story."

"Nothing too heavy." He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Let's start small. Why'd you really come to Shark Bay?"

"You know why. I'm out of control, remember?" I try to keep my tone light, but something must show on my face because his expression softens.

"That's the official story," he says. "I'm more interested in the real one."

I take another sip of wine to buy time, studying him over the rim of my glass. The setting sun paints his profile in gold, softening the sharp edges. He looks almost vulnerable like this, and it makes something in my chest twist painfully.

"I, well…" I struggle to find the right words. How could I make him understand that it's not my fault I'm out of control? That my life is spiraling dangerously out of control despite my best efforts.

"I promise not to judge," he prompts.

"Fine." I let out a long breath, searching for someplace to start. "My parents sent me here," I say finally. It's not the whole truth, but it's more than I've told anyone else. "They said it was for my own good, but really they just wanted me contained. Controlled."

Erik nods, not pushing for more. "Mine sent me here after I nearly tanked the family business," he offers. "I was dealing with some… substance issues. Made some spectacularly bad decisions that ended up in the papers. As you can see, their solution was to ship me off to reform school for rich fuck-ups until the scandal died down."

The casual admission surprises me. "What kind of substances?"

"Started with pills—Oxy mostly, then whatever I could get my hands on. Ended with cocaine and a very public overdose at a charity gala." He says it matter-of-factly, like he's commenting on the weather. "Not my finest moment."

My stomach knots, a strange sense of protectiveness surging through me. "How bad was the overdose?"

"Bad enough." He gives a rueful smile, his gray eyes dark with past pain. "My heart stopped two times. I was technically dead for a few minutes, so they told me. Hurt like a bitch, too."

His words hit harder than I expected. I reach out and touch his hand without thinking. "Are you still using?"

"Not anymore." He squeezes my hand, reassuring. "I've been sober for fourteen months and six days. Not that I'm counting."

I huff a laugh, though it sounds hollow. Fourteen months and he's struggling? How the hell am I supposed to survive half a year? "That's amazing. I'm proud of you, but?—"

"Don't." His expression hardens, eyes turning glacial. "Don't go there."

The honesty in his voice makes me uncomfortable. I'm used to lies and manipulation, to people using their weaknesses as weapons. This straightforward admission of vulnerability feels dangerous in a way I don't quite understand.

"Okay." I let go of his hand, suddenly needing some space. "We can talk about something else."

"I actually think we're just getting to the good part." He takes another sip of wine, the tension in his body dissipating. "What about you, Luna? Tell me something real."

I pick at a grape, considering what I can safely reveal. "I used to have a cat," I say finally. "A black one named Shadow. He was the only thing in that house that felt real, you know? But then I messed up, stepped out of line, and…" I swallow hard, the memory still raw. "He disappeared. My parents said he must have run away, but I knew better. They're good at making things disappear when they want to teach me a lesson."

Erik's expression darkens. "Jesus, Luna."

"Don't." I hold up a hand, just like he did to me, not wanting his pity. "It was a long time ago. I learned my lesson—don't get attached to anything you can't stand to lose."

"Is that why you push everyone away?" He asks the question gently, but it still feels like a punch to the gut. "Because you're afraid they'll disappear too?"

"I push people away because it's safer than letting them close enough to hurt me," I snap. "And don't pretend you're any different. Mr. I-Don't-Do-One-Night-Stands is just as fucked up as the rest of us. He's just better at hiding it."

"Okay." Erik nods, not arguing the point. Instead, he just looks sad. "I never said I wasn't fucked up. I just decided to stop using it as an excuse to hurt people."

The words hit harder than they should, probably because they're true. I turn away, focusing on the horizon, where the sun is starting to sink into the sea. The sky is painted in shades of pink and gold, beautiful enough to break your heart.

"Why are you really doing this?" I ask quietly. "The hike, the picnic, all of it. What do you want from me?"

Erik is quiet for so long that I start to think he won't answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but certain. "Maybe I just want to know who you are when you're not trying so hard to be what everyone expects."

His words hit the target they were intended for. Something in my chest cracks open, the cold vise around my heart finally loosening its grip. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I take a deep breath, holding it as the pain of the past few years threatens to overwhelm me.

"Hey," he says softly. "It's okay. You don't have to hide with me."

"Fuck you." I shake my head, tears threatening. "You don't know anything."

He moves closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him. "I know more than you think."

"No." I fight the urge to lean into him, to let myself be pulled into the fantasy of safety he's offering. It feels like standing at the edge of the cliff, except there's no rush of adrenaline or thrill of danger—just the plummeting pit of a terrifying truth that maybe, just maybe, I don't have to be alone. "You're full of shit."

He reaches out and wipes away the tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. "Tell yourself whatever you need to. But I think you're someone worth knowing. I only wish you'd at least try to let me in."

The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight. I want to believe him, and I want to trust that this could be something real. But I've learned the hard way that wanting things only gives people power over you.

"I appreciate the offer," I say, forcing a shrug. "But this isn't what I'm looking for."

"Neither am I." He reaches out, lightly brushing my cheek. "But that doesn't mean it can't be."

"Maybe." I pull away, the familiar mask settling into place. As much as I want to believe his words, they terrify me more than I could put into coherent thoughts. Each time I've let someone past my defenses, my parents have found new and creative ways to use my vulnerabilities against me. The bruises may have faded, but the lessons are permanently etched into my bones. "It's getting dark. We should head back."

Erik sighs but starts packing up without argument. We make our way down the trail in silence, the growing darkness making the descent more treacherous. This time, when he offers his hand over rough patches, I take it. His palm is warm and calloused against mine, the contact sending little sparks up my arm.

Back at the dorm, he walks me to my door like this is a real date instead of whatever fucked-up thing it actually was. We stand there awkwardly for a moment, the air between us charged with something I can't name. I fidget with my key, not entirely sure how to say goodbye to him.

"This was… nice." The word doesn't quite capture how I feel about this evening, but it'll have to do.

"Did Luna Queen just admit to enjoying something?" He smiles. "That has to be a first."

I chuckle. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Never." He looks at me, and I feel like he can see right through me. He takes a step closer, and for a wild moment, I think he might kiss me. Instead, he just tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers ghosting along my jaw. "Sweet dreams, Luna Queen. Try not to overthink everything for once."

I watch until he disappears around the corner, then slip into my room and lean against the closed door. My mind races as I replay the evening's events, trying to make sense of them. There are things he said that seemed meant just for me, such as openness and vulnerability like I've never experienced before. His words about choosing to stop using pain as a weapon hit particularly close to home. I've gotten so comfortable with my armor of chaos that I'm not sure I remember who I am without it.

Belle isn't back yet—probably still dealing with the Nicolas fallout. The room feels emptier than usual, the silence pressing in from all sides. I touch my cheek where Erik's fingers brushed, remembering the gentle way he'd looked at me on the cliff. The gesture reminds me of Shadow, how he used to press his face against my hand when I was crying. That same mix of comfort and terror, knowing that anything that gentle is bound to be taken away.

It would be so easy to fall for him, to let myself believe in the possibility of something real. But I've seen how quickly 'real' can turn artificial, how easily truth becomes another manipulation tactic. My parents taught me that lesson well, turning every genuine moment into ammunition for their next attack. Everything I touch eventually turns to ash, and I can't bear to watch it happen again.

I turn out the light and climb into bed, pulling the covers over my head. Tomorrow, I'll put these feelings away—bury them deep until they can't hurt me anymore. I'll go back to being Luna Queen, the girl who burns everything she touches, because at least then I'm the one controlling the flames. Because, for now, the one rule I follow is the most important of all: Trust nobody.

Still, try as I might, when I eventually fall asleep, it's Erik's face I see in my dreams. It's the memory of his smile in the sunset or the way he'd looked at me like I was something worth saving. Maybe that's the most dangerous thing about Erik Stone—he makes me want to believe I could be.