CRASHING INTO YOU

IRIS

​“Keep an eye on her, Marsh. I mean it.”

​My brother, Soren, didn’t look like he was going to New York for his dream internship. He looked like he was going to a funeral. He stood by his overstuffed suitcase, his hand gripping the handle so hard his knuckles were white.

He looked at Marshall, then at me, and then back to Marshall.

​“She’s a magnet for trouble,” Soren added, shaking his head. “You know how she is. She’ll stay up until four in the morning writing those ridiculous stories of hers, forget to eat, and then wander off to some sketchy cafe in the middle of the night just because she ‘likes the vibe.’

​I rolled my eyes so hard it actually hurt. “I’m standing right here, Soren. I’m twenty years old. I don’t need a babysitter, especially not him.”

​I pointed a finger at the man leaning against the hood of the black SUV.

​

​On campus, they called him the Legend, his name was whispered like a prayer. He was the star quarterback, the guy who could win a game without breaking a sweat and break a heart without saying a word.

To me, he was just the guy who had spent the last decade making me feel like an annoying fly he wanted to swat.

​Marshall didn’t say anything. He just stood there in his varsity jacket, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses even though the sun was starting to dip behind the hills.

He looked bored like being here was the greatest chore of his life.

​“Iris, shut up,” Soren said, though there was no heat in it. He turned back to his best friend. “Seriously, man. I’m only a phone call away, but New York is a world apart. If she gets into trouble, if some guy gets too close, or if she just stops answering her phone... you handle it.”

​Marshall finally moved pushing himself off the car, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator waking up from a nap. He walked over to Soren and stuck out his hand.

​“You have my word,” Marshall said. His voice was like low-thunder—deep, quiet, and vibrating in my chest in a way I absolutely hated.

“She won’t go anywhere I don’t know about. She won’t talk to anyone I don’t approve of. I’ll keep her on a short leash.”

​My jaw dropped. “A leash? Are you serious right now?”

​Marshall finally looked at me. He tilted his head, and for a second, the sun caught his eyes. They were cold and empty. “It’s for your own good, Iris. You’re impulsive. Soren is worried, so I’m going to make sure he has nothing to worry about.”

​“I hate you,” I whispered, the words hot and sharp.

​“I know,” he replied simply. “The feeling is mutual.”

​Soren, oblivious to the fact that we were practically vibrating with shared loathing, pulled Marshall into a bro-hug. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

​Then he turned to me, pulling me into a suffocating embrace. “Stay safe, okay? Listen to Marshall. Don't give him a hard time.”

​“He’s a jerk, Soren,” I muttered into his chest.

​“He’s the most loyal guy I know,” Soren countered, pulling back to kiss my forehead. “I’ll call you when I land.”

​We watched as Soren loaded his bags and got into the taxi that would take him toward the airport. As the car pulled away, I felt a sudden, cold sense of dread.

For my entire life, Soren had been my anchor. He was the one who stood between me and Marshall’s arrogance.

​Now, the shield was gone.

​The silence that followed was heavy. I didn't want to look at Marshall. I wanted to turn around, walk into my house, lock the door, and stay there for the next six months.

But I could feel him even without looking, I knew exactly where he was standing. I could smell his cologne—something that smelled like citrus and expensive leather.

​“Well,” I said, looking at my shoes. “Soren’s gone. You did your duty. You can go back to your fans now.”

​I started to walk toward the gate of our compound, but a hand shot out, grabbing my upper arm. It wasn't rough, but it was firm.

​I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I looked down at his large, tanned hand laced with scars from years of football and God knows what else.

Then I looked up at him.

​He had taken his sunglasses off. His eyes weren't bored anymore. They were intense almost focused.

They were the eyes of a man who had just been given a prize he had been waiting years to claim.

​“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

​“Inside? To sleep?”

​“No,” Marshall said, his voice dropping an octave. “Vanessa is at that party downtown. The one at the old warehouse. She called me ten minutes ago saying you were supposed to meet her there.”

​I felt a flush of anger. Vanessa was my best friend, but she had a big mouth. “I changed my mind. I’m tired.”

​“You’re lying,” Marshall said stepping closer, invading my personal space until I had to tilt my head back just to keep looking at him.

“You were planning on waiting for me to leave, then sneaking out the back gate to meet her so I wouldn't know.”

​I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died. He was right. That was exactly my plan.

​“I’m not Soren,” Marshall whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear. The heat radiating off him was making my head spin. “He believes your excuses. He thinks you’re a sweet, innocent little sister who just gets ‘lost’ sometimes. But I’ve been watching you for a long time, Iris Reed. I know exactly what you are.”

​“And what’s that?” I challenged, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

​“You’re a brat who likes to play with fire,” he said, pulling back to look me in the eye. “And since I’m in charge now, I’m the only one allowed to burn you.”

​He let go of my arm, but the spot where he touched me felt like it was on fire. He walked over to the passenger side of his SUV, opened the door and waited.

​“Get in,” he commanded.

​“I’m not going to a party with you,” I snapped.

​“You aren't going to the party at all,” Marshall said, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips—a cold, dark expression that didn't reach his eyes. “You’re coming with me. We’re going to set some ground rules. And if you think the next six months are going to be easy, you’re even more naive than your brother thinks you are.”

​I looked at the open car door, then at the man standing behind it.​He looked like my jailer.

​

​I didn't want to get in that car. But as Marshall’s gaze swept over me, stripping away my defenses until I felt completely exposed, I realized I didn't really have a choice.

​The Captain had spoken and unfortunately, he takes everything as a game.​I walked toward the car, my heart heavy with a feeling I couldn't name.

It wasn't just fear. It was a terrifying, electric spark of anticipation.

​I got in, and as Marshall clicked the door shut, the sound echoed like a key turning in a lock.

​

"Here we go"