23| Ice, Fire And Everything In-between.

I grumble my way to my room, staring at my phone.

Reid? Or Oliver? Or ignore both?

I wasn't sure which text to answer. I was trying to get over Reid, so spending more time with him would do me no good. Besides, why? Why would he even send that text? Was this pity because he saw me cry?

And Oliver—I wasn't sure why he texted either. But the idea of spending more time with him scared me. What if my suspicions were right? What if he confessed?

Seriously, why was this so complicated?

I push the door open to an empty, dark room. Right—Maddie and Lila actually had classes today.

Maybe that was for the best. They had to be tired of my Reid drama. I knew I was.

I toss my phone onto my bed and try to do anything else, think of anything else.

I rearrange my already perfectly arranged desk, attempt to shift my bed's position, and even pick out an outfit for Stella's birthday. But despite everything, my eyes keep drifting to the clock.

One hour.

I reread the message.

I'll be at your dorm in an hour. We should hang out.

He wasn't even asking—more like telling me.

What does "hang out" even mean to him? Should I ask? Isn't it too late now?

Should I just answer Oliver instead? Spending time with him might ease my mind, but wouldn't that be using him?

I don't know.

I glance at Reid's message again. Two minutes left till an hour.

Should I have replied? What if he comes anyway, even though I didn't?

No. Why should I care? If he decides to come without my agreement, that's on him.

My phone pings again. Oliver.

Oliver: Isla?

Shit. I promised I wouldn't ignore his texts anymore.

I take a deep breath. I'll just tell them both I'm not feeling well and need to rest.

Sure, it's the coward's way out—but who cares?

Me: I'm sorry, I don't think I can meet up today. I think I'm coming down with something and just want to stay in and rest.

I hold my breath as I hit send.

Oliver's reply is instant.

Oliver: Oh, I totally understand.

Oliver: You should rest.

Oliver: Do you need anything?

Oliver: I can get you anything.

Oliver: Well, maybe not anything, but most things.

Me: 😂

Me: I get it, Oliver, but thank you. I don't need anything.

Oliver: Rest well then. Hope you feel better soon.

A video follows—a short clip of him waving before the words "Get well soon" fill the screen.

I react with a heart and drop my phone, guilt settling deep in my chest.

I don't know why, but I can't stop feeling bad toward Oliver.

I run a hand over my face when another ping sounds.

I grab my phone and check.

Reid: I'm downstairs.

What?

Did he not get my text? It showed as delivered. Read.

Hesitantly, I type.

Me: Did you not get my text?

Reid: Wear something warm. Where we're going might be a little cold.

Is he ignoring me? I literally just said I wasn't going.

Me: I'm not going anywhere.

Reid: Five minutes.

Reid: ⏳

Ugh.

Why was he being so pushy? I already declined. And for what? To confuse me even more? His actions made it very clear he had no interest in me.

I mean, who cared if he was standing outside waiting? I told him I wasn't going. If he didn't listen, that was on him.

He'd get the hint soon enough. The time would run out, and he'd leave. Text some other girl. Take her instead.

Eight minutes.

Surely, he was gone now.

Fifteen minutes.

Still no text from him. No follow-up.

So he did leave.

A heavy feeling sinks in my chest. You weak idiot.

I curse myself as I bolt down the stairs, skipping steps. My shoes barely on, I yank them into place as I sprint outside, breathless.

Maybe because I just ran a marathon. Changing into a fitted top and jeans with ankle high boots, fixing my makeup, and throwing on a jacket in under a minute had to count as one.

I step into the quad, my eyes darting around like a predator scanning for its next kill.

But I don't see him.

My heart drops.

What is this feeling? Disappointment?

If I was going to feel this way, why didn't I just agree to go in the first place?

Stupid. Stupid.

And then—

A warm hand ruffles my hair from behind, the scent of him hitting me instantly.

It's him. He didn't leave.

"Hello, love. You sure took your time—twenty-three minutes," he says, checking his watch.

My heart pounds as a million butterflies take flight in my stomach.

He's so close, standing right next to me with that cheeky grin, his gaze locked onto mine.

"I didn't expect you to wait," I mumble, looking away, trying to stop my heart from literally beating out of my chest.

"Surprised myself too," he says casually.

Don't misunderstand. Don't misunderstand.

"Why are you here, Reid?"

"So we can hang out."

"Why?"

"We're friends," he says.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

He was really going to keep up this friends thing, huh?

Even though every time I heard it, my pulse spiked.

I was starting to hate the word and everything it meant.

"Come on," he says, tugging me along.

And like the hopeless idiot I am, I follow.

Should I turn and run back to my room? Probably. Will I? No.

Because I'm a sucker. A sucker in love.

I sigh, facepalming myself as I climb into the Lyft he ordered.

The ride is quiet. Reid sits next to me, staring ahead, barely acknowledging my presence.

The silence stretches. It's awkward.

"So... where are we going?" I ask, breaking it.

"You'll see when we get there."

I groan. "Can't you just tell me?"

"It'll ruin the surprise."

I roll my eyes. What surprise?

And then—

"Why did you cry earlier in the car?"

His voice is calm, but the question knocks the air out of me. What? Why was he bringing that up so suddenly?

"I told you, I—" I start.

"I want the real reason," he says.

Then he turns to face me fully, lips slightly parted. There's something in his expression—concern? Worry? Or maybe I'm just deluding myself again.

"Why do you care?" I say, harsher than I intended.

"I just do."

Again with the vague, cryptic answers that will keep me awake at night overanalyzing.

I shift uncomfortably, painfully aware of how close we are. Just an inch separates us in the backseat, his scent wrapping around me. My gaze flickers to his lips. Damn it. My mind betrays me, dragging me back to that night, to the way they felt—

"We're here."

The driver's voice snaps us both out of it.

Reid looks away, sighs, then mutters, "Fuck."

His jaw tightens as he pays the driver and pulls his door open.

I step out of the car, and the cold air hits me first.

Then my eyes land on the ice skating rink in front of me, the bright lights reflecting off the ice like a thousand tiny stars. People glide effortlessly across the surface, their laughter ringing through the night.

"What are we doing here?" I ask, my breath shaky.

Reid shoves his hands into his coat pockets, tilting his head slightly. "I promised I'd take you here, didn't I?"

My breath catches.

He remembered.

Flashback—That Night on the Hill

"Something you want to try but never got the chance to?" Reid asks, his voice teasing as his laugh fills the space between us.

I hesitate. "I don't know."

"Think, Isla," he says, stepping closer, his body heat radiating toward me. He leans in, and for a moment, I stop breathing. His lips hover inches from mine, close enough that I can feel the ghost of his breath against my skin.

Through hitched breaths, I whisper, "I don't know... ice skating?"

He laughs at my answer, then reaches out to ruffle my hair before twirling a strand around his fingers.

"I'll take you."

End of Flashback.

I had convinced myself he'd forgotten—especially after he ignored me at school the next day. And I never had the courage to bring it up first.

"Come on," he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the entrance.

Somehow, that's all my brain can focus on.

I've never been ice skating before. Not because I never had the chance—but because the thought of it always reminded me of him. And I hated that.

The moment I step onto the ice, I regret everything. My legs wobble like a newborn deer, and before I can brace myself, I nearly fall flat on my face.

Reid catches me with an amused chuckle.

"Steady on, Kensington."

"This was a terrible idea," I mumble, gripping his arms for dear life.

His hands tighten around my waist, steadying me with ease. "Relax," he says, "you've got me."

I don't know if it's his words or the way he says them, but my heart slams against my ribs.

You've got me.

I push that thought away and focus on surviving.

Reid skates backward, pulling me along, his hands never leaving mine. Every now and then, he squeezes gently, a silent reassurance.

"Try moving your feet," he coaxes.

"I am," I snap. "I'm just... bad at it."

He chuckles. "You're overthinking it."

He moves closer, lowering his voice. "Trust me?"

I glance up at him. That was the problem, wasn't it? I did trust him—too much.

"Fine," I mutter.

And somehow, I don't fall.

I start getting the hang of it, gliding across the ice with a bit more confidence. Reid stays close, his hand grazing my back every so often. Every time it does, something tightens in my chest.

I ignore it.

We skate for what feels like hours. I'm laughing, breathless, and free. The tension from earlier fades, replaced by something lighter.

Then, it happens.

"Hold on Kensington." He says, pulling me to a stop.

We're standing still, catching our breath, when Reid reaches out—fingertips brushing against my cheek. My heart stops.

I swear he's about to kiss me.

But instead, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"We should get something to eat," he says casually.

I blink. My pulse is out of control. And he's acting like he didn't just turn my world upside down.

I hate him.

We're seated at a small pizza place a few blocks from the rink, waiting for our food. I pull out my phone and snap a picture of the steaming pizza as it's placed in front of us.

"What are you doing?" Reid asks, amused.

"Documenting," I say simply.

Truth is, I want to remember this. I want to etch this night into my mind, so I can pull it out later when everything inevitably falls apart.

Reid eyes me for a moment, then suddenly says, "Why am I not in it?"

I freeze.

Before I can process what's happening, he whips out his phone and stretches his arm out in front of us.

"What are you doing?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Documenting," he says, mimicking my earlier response.

I roll my eyes. This is not fair.

I want a picture with him—I just never thought that was a possibility.

"I don't look good right now," I mumble, suddenly self-conscious.

Reid doesn't even hesitate. He drags his chair next to mine, throws an arm around my shoulder, and pulls me in close.

My breath hitches.

Then, he leans in, his lips brushing my ear.

"You always look good, Kensington."

Click.

My heart stops.

He pulls away like it's nothing, looks at the picture, then drops his phone onto the table. Without another word, he picks up a slice of pizza and takes a bite, completely oblivious to the absolute storm he's left raging inside me.

I sneak glances at him as he eats, watching the way his jaw moves, the way he wipes his thumb across his lips. It's not fair.

None of this is fair.

We walk out to wait for our Lyft.

It's cold. The night air bites at my skin, and I shiver involuntarily.

Reid notices immediately.

"I told you to dress warm," he mutters, then shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders.

It smells like him. And that alone does things to my head.

I scold myself internally for being weak. For letting myself get sucked in like this.

The Lyft arrives. We ride in silence.

And then, we're back at my dorm.

I step out, not expecting him to follow.

But he does.

"What are you doing?" I ask, turning to face him.

"I'll walk you," he says simply, already moving.

I guess there was no room for argument.

I match his pace, walking beside him. I feel overstimulated, exhausted, and emotionally drained. All I want is to crawl into bed with ice cream and drown in terrible romcoms.

But then—I see him.

Standing outside my dorm, holding a paper bag.

Oliver.

His back is turned, but I know it's him. He lifts his phone, places a call—

And my phone starts ringing.

Shit.

I don't need to check to know it's him.

Panic grips me. I turn, ready to run—

But Reid grabs my hand and pulls me forward.

Oliver turns, and the moment his eyes land on our intertwined fingers, my heart shatters.

"Hey, mate," Reid says, his voice laced with arrogance. "What are you doing here?"

I want to kick him.

Oliver doesn't answer immediately. He looks down at our hands, his expression pained.

"I thought I'd stop by," he finally says. "Brought you something to help you feel better... but looks like you don't need it." His voice tightens. "Right. You did say that."

"Oliver, I was just—" I start, but the words die on my tongue.

What can I even say?

"It's fine, Isla. Really." His voice is light, but his eyes are not. "I'm just glad you're okay."

But he's not fine. And it's all my fault.

He turns to leave but stops, his expression hardening as he faces Reid.

"I'll give you a ride."

Reid smirks at me, then follows Oliver.

As he walks away, he pulls out his phone, types something, and—

My phone pings.

Reid Carter tagged you in a post.

I open the Instagram notification and see the picture he took earlier, captioned "Documenting." From the angle he took it, it almost looks like he's kissing my cheek.

Why would he post this?

Another ping.

Reid: Goodnight, Kensington.

I exhale sharply.

Tired of everything.

Authors note:

Yes I know, Reid's very annoying 🤦‍♀️