CHAPTER 13
CONFUSED DREAMS
POV: Aiden Hart
I didn't leave my room the entire morning.
The house was quiet, too quiet without Dad's voice echoing through the halls. He'd left early for some regional mayor's conference, and that should've made me feel relieved. It didn't.
Instead, I lay in bed, the covers pulled over my head, breathing through the tightness in my chest that hadn't gone away since the party.
I'd yelled at them at him. My voice had cracked. My mother had looked stunned, like I'd grown a second head. And now I didn't know how to undo it. Or if I even wanted to.
When I finally came downstairs around noon, Mom was already in the kitchen, making something that smelled like grilled cheese and tomato soup comfort food. Her version of waving a white flag.
She turned when she heard me and gave a soft, relieved smile. "Morning, sweetheart."
"It's afternoon," I muttered, sliding into a seat at the table.
She brought over a plate and sat across from me, folding her hands. "Is something going on at school, honey? Is someone bothering you?"
I kept my eyes on the soup. "It's just practice. And schoolwork. I'm tired, that's all."
She watched me too long, like she could read the lie in my bones. "You scared your father last night."
"Good."
"Aiden."
"I'll apologize," I said quickly, just to end the conversation. "When he gets back."
She hesitated, then reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "Don't bottle things up, baby. You're not alone, no matter how it feels."
That was the problem, though. I was alone, especially in this.
Saturday evening, Tyler called.
"Dude, what the hell happened last night?" His voice crackled through the phone, tight with confusion. "You bailed. I was looking everywhere."
"I'm sorry," I said. "Family thing came up. Emergency."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just… complicated."
There was silence on the other end, followed by a sigh. "You wanna talk about it, you never bail like that."
" No, I know. I'm sorry."
"I got you out of that spin-the-bottle nightmare. You owe me."
I gave a small laugh, but it felt fake. The only thing spinning was my brain trying to forget the way Monroe had looked at me in that damn bathroom.
Tyler didn't push it. He never did. That's why he was safe.
By Sunday night, I still hadn't opened the text from Kieran.
It sat there on my lock screen like a landmine. I deleted the notification without reading it, my thumb trembling.
I told myself it was because I wasn't afraid.
I wasn't running.
But my heart said otherwise.
English class on Monday morning was the worst kind of deja vu.
I slipped into my usual seat by the window, trying to pretend I couldn't feel every eye that glanced my way. Jax strolled up, backpack slung over one shoulder, about to sit beside me
Then he froze.
Kieran was standing right behind him, not saying a word, just… staring.
Jax blinked, shifted his weight, and mumbled, "I'll grab the back seat."
He moved.
Kieran took the seat beside me without breaking eye contact. His leather jacket creaked as he sat, the scent of cigarettes and pine hitting me all at once.
"So you're ghosting me now?" he asked under his breath.
I didn't respond. My jaw was locked tight.
Kieran leaned back, legs spread, completely at ease. Then, with infuriating patience, he started folding paper triangles and creases. I ignored him.
The first paper plane hit my cheek.
The second bounced off my arm.
The third landed in my lap.
"Can you leave me the hell alone?" I snapped, louder than I meant.
The class went silent. Heads turned.
Then the door opened, and Mr. Langford walked in, blinking at the sudden tension.
I sank into my seat, face burning.
Kieran chuckled beside me, low, satisfied, almost intimate.
And just like that, all I could smell was him again. All I could feel was the ghost of his breath on my neck from three nights ago.
I hated how fast my pulse was racing.
Tuesday gym class.
The coach clapped his hands and announced, "Today's all about mat control and positioning. I need two volunteers for the demo."
Before Tyler could even step forward, Kieran raised his hand.
Coach's face lit up. "Monroe, excellent. Hart, you're up too."
I wanted to protest, but I didn't. I couldn't. The whole class was watching.
The mat was cold under my palms as we squared off, the coach narrating drills. "This isn't about brute strength, it's about technique and control."
Kieran smiled like he already had both.
The drill began.
It was too much contact, too close. Every time I pushed, he countered. Every time I tried to pin, he flipped. And when he straddled my hips to lock me down, his hands slid too low, waist, lower back, and the outside of my thigh.
"Relax," he murmured.
I shoved him off harder than necessary.
Coach clapped. "Good control. Take five."
I shot up, stormed across the gym, and straight to Tyler.
"Sorry, dude," Ty whispered.
"It's okay."
"He's trying to get in your head."
He's already under my skin, I thought.
The locker room steamed from the hot showers.
I was trying to rinse the sweat off, hands braced against the tile, when the curtain yanked open.
Kieran stood there.
"My bad," he said, smirking, then pulled the curtain back.
My heart stopped.
I stood frozen, shampoo dripping down my back, pulse thudding.
He was gone in seconds, but the damage was done.
I didn't move until the water turned cold.
After school, I waited by his bike.
I didn't know what I was doing, only that I couldn't take another second of feeling like a plaything.
Kieran approached, tossing his helmet over one handlebar. "Didn't know you cared enough to wait for me."
I stepped into his space, chest tight. "I don't care about Maddie or your games. Just stop messing with me."
His head tilted. "If I stop, who's gonna kiss your neck and make you feel good?"
My stomach flipped. I stepped back fast. "Don't say that. Ever. Not here."
He raised an eyebrow. "What are you afraid of, Hart?"
"I'm not afraid," I snapped. "I'm not like that. So back off."
He stared at me, unreadable.
I moved to his bike, pulled my keys from my pocket, and dragged a deep, angry scratch along the black paint of the gas tank.
He flinched.
"That's a warning," I said. "Next time, I won't be so nice."
I walked off without looking back.
Four nights later, the dream came.
I was in the gym again. The lights were low. It was just us, me and him, shirtless, barefoot, sweating.
We started to spar.
It was slow. Deliberate. Less like fighting, more like… foreplay.
He pinned me, and our chests pressed together. I felt his breath on my skin.
"You want me to stop?" he asked, voice like smoke.
I shook my head.
He kissed my jaw. My neck. My chest.
My body arched toward him. My hands tangled in his hair. Our hips ground together, heat building, breathless.
Just before the kiss, just before I could feel his lips on mine.
I woke up.
Gasping. Hard. Shaking.
The ceiling stared back at me.
What the hell was that?
I curled under my blanket, heart still hammering, body flushed with heat and shame.
"It's just a dream," I whispered.
It didn't mean anything.
Right?