Chapter 2

Kaleena

At 8:47 p.m. on my twenty--first birthday I was the happiest I had ever been. By 8:51 I was homeless.

My thumb traces the edge of the clear plastic bakery box as I push the apartment door open with my hip. Inside sits a salted caramel cupcake with one unlit pink candle pressed into the buttercream. My throat tightens around the confession I have rehearsed for three straight years. Tonight I stop hiding behind roommate jokes and tell Elijah I am in love with him.

"Eli?" I call out, my breath hitching as I step inside. "You promised you'd be home by eight--thirty."

My boot hits the corner of a cardboard box in the narrow hall. I freeze.

Six brown cartons block the corridor, sealed shut with packing tape. Thick black marker scrawls across the top flap of the closest one: Kae's art ---- trash?

My pulse stutters in my neck. "What the hell is this?"

Bubble wrap pops in the living room. A girl with sleek platinum hair stands beside our coffee table, her manicured hands rolling plastic around my late mother's porcelain ballerina jewelry box. Hayley doesn't even look up. She tears a strip of tape with her teeth and presses it over the painted lid.

"Don't touch that!" I drop my keys and lunge forward, my chest constricting as I wrench the jewelry box out of her grip while keeping the bakery box balanced against my ribs. "That belonged to my mom! What are you doing in my apartment, Hayley? Why is my stuff in boxes?"

Hayley sighs, smoothing her cropped cashmere sweater. "Relax, art girl. I was doing you a favor wrapping it up so it wouldn't shatter in the dumpsters downstairs."

"The dumpsters?" My voice cracks as I hug the porcelain box to my chest. "Get out of my living room. You don't live here."

"Actually, I do," Hayley says with an unbothered smile. "Starting tonight."

I spin toward the far wall. Elijah stands by the rain--streaked window with his back to me, his broad shoulders rigid beneath a dark gray hoodie.

"Elijah?" My voice drops, scraping over my dry throat. "Tell me what's going on. Why is she touching my things? Why did someone write trash on my portfolio boxes?"

He doesn't turn around. He doesn't even shift his weight.

Hayley steps into my line of sight, crossing her arms. "Did you lose your hearing, Kaleena? It's simple. You're out. I'm in."

A cold ringing fills my ears. "What?"

"Me and Eli are tired of tiptoeing around your messy schedule," Hayley says, gesturing toward the cartons. "The turpentine smell gives me migraines, your canvases take up half the room, and having his childhood charity case sleeping down the hall ruins the chemistry between us. I'm moving my stuff in tonight, so you need to clear out."

"Shut up, Hayley!" I snap, my fingers digging into the bubble wrap while my eyes stay locked on the back of Elijah's head. "Eli, look at me! Tell her she's crazy. Tell her you didn't let her pack up my life."

Elijah stays facing the dark glass.

"Eli!" I step toward him, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. "Say something! My name is on the sublease agreement. I just gave you my half of the rent on the first!"

"Your name is on nothing, Kae." Elijah's voice comes out flat, stripped of every ounce of warmth I have known since we were six. "You never signed the master lease. I paid the deposit. She's telling the truth."

The air leaves my lungs in one sharp ache. "You're kicking me out? On my twenty--first birthday?"

"It isn't working anymore," he says to the window. "You need to pack a bag and go."

"It isn't working?" My laugh sounds cracked and raw. "Yesterday morning you made me pancakes before my critique! You told me to come straight home after my shift at the gallery so we could celebrate!"

"Plans changed," he mutters.

"Plans changed?" I take another step closer, my analytical mind scrambling for logic. "Two weeks ago you told me Hayley's friends were toxic and you couldn't stand being at the same frat parties with her!"

Hayley rolls her eyes. "Guys say a lot of things to keep a clingy roommate from throwing a tantrum, sweetheart. You really thought a guy like Elijah wanted to spend senior year playing house with an orphan in paint--stained hoodies? Obsession isn't cute when it's one--sided."

"I'm not talking to you!" I whirl back toward Elijah, hot tears scalding the backs of my eyes. "Turn around and look at my face when you throw me onto the street!"

"There is nothing left to look at, Kaleena," Elijah says, his voice rough like gravel. "Just make this easy and leave."

"Easy?" My voice breaks, raw vulnerability tearing through my guarded chest. "We've been best friends for fifteen years, Eli! Fifteen years! When we carried our mattresses up those stairs on move--in day, you swore we would always have each other's backs. You promised me on my parents' graves that I would never lack a home! And now you couldn't even tell me yourself? You had to stand there and let her do it?"

At the words fifteen years, a tremor runs through his shoulders. He flinches hard, his right hand clamping around the metal window latch until his knuckles turn stark, bloodless white. His jaw clenches so tightly I see the muscle jumping in the glass reflection.

He can't even stomach the reminder of how long he has been stuck with me. The sheer disgust radiating off his rigid posture slices straight through my ribs.

"Stop living in the past," Elijah grits out, his white knuckles straining against the lock. "We aren't kids anymore. You aren't my responsibility. I'm done carrying you, Kae. I'm fucking done."

Every word lands like a fist to my sternum. "Carrying me? I pay my half of every bill! I tutored you through sophomore statistics so you wouldn't lose your scholarship! All I ever asked from you was trust!"

"Well, now you have the truth," he says coldly. "I transferred your half of this month's rent back to your bank account an hour ago."

"Which takes three business days to clear, you asshole!" I choke out. "It's almost nine at night in a storm! Where am I supposed to sleep?"

"Not my problem anymore," Elijah says to the glass.

Hayley checks her nails. "Seriously, are we wrapping up this breakdown? The movers are bringing my dresser up in fifteen minutes, and your junk is blocking the hall."

My hands shake so hard that the plastic bakery box slips from my numb fingers.

It hits the floor and pops open. The salted caramel cupcake rolls out, smearing pink buttercream across the exact floorboards where Elijah and I used to sit cross--legged eating cheap takeout at two in the morning. The unlit pink candle snaps in half beside my boot.

Hayley winces. "Ugh, gross. Don't worry, babe, I'll grab paper towels so your rug doesn't get ruined."

Elijah still doesn't turn around, his knuckles bone--white on the latch, his breathing heavy against the silence.

I stare at the crushed cake. Every word of devotion I rehearsed for three years turns to ash in my mouth.

I don't pick it up. Calling on every scrap of pride left in my body, I walk into my bedroom, slide my mother's jewelry box into my canvas backpack, and shove a change of clothes and my charger on top.

Beside my lamp sits my stack of charcoal--stained sketchbooks. Leaning against the closet wall are six finished canvases, right next to the chipped ceramic frog Elijah won for me at a fair when we were twelve. I zip my bag shut and abandon all of it----the canvases, the sketchbooks, and the ceramic frog.

I walk back down the hall and drop my brass key onto the kitchen counter.

"You're right about one thing, Eli," I say, my voice icy despite the ache in my chest. "You aren't the boy who promised me a home. You're just a coward who lets a girl he barely knows do his dirty work because he's too spineless to look me in the eye."

His head jerks a fraction of an inch, a muscle in his neck cording tight, before he locks his gaze back onto the rain--darkened window.

I pull the door open, step out, and let it click shut behind me.

By the time I reach the street, freezing rain lashes the pavement, soaking through my denim jacket before I reach the glass bus shelter at the corner. I duck under the roof, my teeth chattering as I drop onto the wet bench and shove my hands into my pockets. My fingers brush a crumpled ten--dollar bill and four quarters. Eleven dollars. That is every cent I have until my gallery stipend clears next Friday.

With numb thumbs, I pull out my phone and scroll up through my message thread with Elijah, my analytical mind forcing the pieces together.

February fourteenth: Sorry Kae, gotta cancel our Valentine's dinner. Study group ran late.

Ten days ago: Thanks for covering the electric bill, you're the best roommate ever.

And two weeks ago: a link to an off--campus sublet listing across town, followed by three casual words. Just in case.

Nausea rolls through my stomach. My breath comes out in ragged white clouds against the rain.

"He planned this," I whisper, my nails digging into my phone case. "That bastard planned this for weeks."

He methodically downgraded me to best roommate ever, canceled Valentine's dinner, and sent me sublet links two weeks ago while smiling across the kitchen counter. And now I have eleven dollars and nowhere to go. The only reason I am at this university is a scholarship from an anonymous trust, signed with stamped initials only. It covers classes, not emergency motel rooms.

Across the slick street, a matte--black SUV idles at the curb with its lights off, exhaust curling into the downpour. I barely glance at it, assuming it's a rideshare waiting on a fare from the frat houses up the block.

My screen flickers under a raindrop. Below Elijah's chat sits a message from two hours ago.

Raiden Blackwood: Bring the USB drive with the slides to my penthouse by 8:30, Donovan. Don't make me track you down.

My stomach knots. For two years, the university's hockey captain has made it his personal obsession to torment me. Every time I cross the quad, his storm--dark eyes find me----cold, ruthless, and suffocating. I ignored his text earlier because I was buying a cupcake for a traitor. Now the flash drive for our midterm art history project is in my wet backpack. If I don't deliver it tonight, an arrogant asshole like Raiden will gladly tell the professor I flaked, tank my grade tomorrow, and wreck my scholarship GPA.

"Screw it," I mutter, wiping my wet cheeks and standing up. "How much worse can tonight get?"

I spend two quarters and my ten--dollar bill on the subway downtown, emerging twenty minutes later outside a towering glass high--rise. When I push through the brass doors, water drips from my jeans onto the marble lobby floor. Behind the desk, a uniformed doorman looks at my soaked sneakers and backpack like I am a stray cat from a storm drain.

"Deliveries use the side entrance," the doorman says stiffly.

"I'm Kaleena Donovan," I say, lifting my chin despite my shivering shoulders. "I have class materials for Raiden Blackwood."

The doorman calls upstairs, goes rigid inside two seconds, and hurries over to swipe his gold keycard across the private elevator sensor.

The ride to the top floor makes my ears pop. I step out into a quiet vestibule facing matte--black double doors, pull the USB drive from my bag so I can shove it at his chest and leave, and raise my fist.

My knuckles hit the wood once. Before my second knock lands, the heavy door swings open.

Warm air smelling of cedarwood and winter mint wraps around my shivering frame. Raiden Blackwood fills the doorway in low--slung gray sweatpants and a fitted black t--shirt clinging to the hard slabs of his chest, damp dark hair falling over his forehead. A bruise from last night's game shadows his razor--sharp jaw.

He doesn't look surprised to see me half--drowned on his threshold. Instead, he crowds into the doorframe, his massive presence trapping me in place. His storm--gray eyes drop from my rain--plastered hair to my trembling lips, then down to my white--knuckled grip on my straps. A muscle ticks in his jaw, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath.

"Donovan," Raiden says, his deep voice rough and commanding. "You're late. I expected you twenty minutes ago."

I open my mouth to snap at him, but the words die in my throat. The boy who has tormented me for two years isn't smirking, and he isn't looking at me like an enemy he wants to crush. He is staring at me with dark, possessive heat----like I am the exact prize he has been standing behind this door waiting to claim.