Falling

CHAPTER THREE

|Luna Moore|

Aurelia's lips are warm against mine, soft and insistent, and for a moment—just a moment—I let myself sink into it. Into her.

Her fingers tremble slightly where they cradle my face, but the way she kisses me? That's not hesitant. That's not unsure.

That's a girl who's starving.

For this.

For me.

And f**k, I want to give it to her. I want to pull her closer, bury my hands in her golden waves, kiss her until she forgets every rule she was raised on, every expectation weighing her down.

But then—

Reality slams into me like a freight train.

Her mother did this to her.

That's why she's out here. That's why she's kissing me.

Because she's hurting.

And I'm just—convenient.

The thought hits like ice water.

I pull away, breaking the kiss with a sharp breath, my hands gripping the railing behind me because if I touch her again, if I let myself want—

I might not stop.

Aurelia looks at me, her blue eyes wide, her lips still parted, swollen from me.

Fuck.

"Luna?" Her voice is small, uncertain, like she's afraid I'm about to run.

And maybe she's right to be.

I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling hard. "You don't get to do that," I say, my voice rough. "You don't get to kiss me like that and then go back to him tomorrow."

She flinches like I slapped her.

But I don't take it back.

I can't.

Because the thought of her waltzing back into that ballroom, slipping into Carter's arms, letting him put his hands on her like she belongs to him—

It makes me sick.

Aurelia takes a shaky step forward, her fingers twitching at her sides like she wants to reach for me again. "I'm not—I didn't mean—" She cuts herself off, her breath uneven. "Luna, I just—"

"What?" I snap. "What do you want from me, Aurelia?"

She blinks rapidly, her jaw tightening. "I don't know," she admits, voice breaking. "I just know that when I'm with you, I can breathe."

Fuck.

That shouldn't be enough.

That shouldn't be the thing that makes my resolve crumble.

But it is.

Because I know that feeling.

Because she's always been that for me too.

I stare at her, my chest rising and falling too fast, my emotions tangled in a way I don't know how to fix.

And before I can say something—before I can figure out what the f**k happens next—

The balcony doors slam open.

"Aurelia!"

My body goes rigid.

Because standing there, his perfect suit crisp, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with suspicion—

Is Carter f*****g Hayes.

Carter Hayes stands in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space, his sharp eyes cutting straight to Aurelia like she belongs to him.

Like I don't even exist.

Like he doesn't see the way her lips are still swollen from kissing me.

Like he doesn't notice how close we're standing, how her breath is still uneven, how my fists are clenched at my sides because the sight of him alone makes my skin itch.

"Aurelia," he repeats, stepping forward, his voice thick with something possessive, something ugly. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

Aurelia stiffens beside me, her entire body going tight, like she's already bracing for battle. Or maybe just for guilt.

"I—" Her voice falters, and I hate that.

I hate that he has this pull over her, that even now, when she's standing with me, she still feels like she owes him something.

"She's busy," I say flatly, shifting ever so slightly so I'm standing between them. Not much, just enough that if he wants to get to her, he'll have to go through me.

His sharp gaze flicks to mine, and there it is—that little spark of irritation. The one I've seen before, in the locker room after practice, in the hallways when he catches Aurelia looking at me for half a second too long.

He f*****g hates me.

Good.

"Didn't ask you, Moore," he bites out, stepping closer, his jaw tight.

"Yeah?" I arch a brow, tilting my head just slightly, deliberately lazy, deliberately unbothered—because I know it pisses him off. "Then maybe you should try not looking at me when you talk."

Carter's nostrils flare, his fists curling at his sides. "You think this is funny?"

"A little," I say, flashing a smirk, even as something hot and violent thrums under my skin. "I mean, you coming out here, chest puffed up like a f*****g caveman, trying to what? Drag her back inside by the wrist?" I let my smirk drop, my voice turning sharp. "Not happening."

Carter exhales harshly, like he's seconds away from snapping. "She's my girlfriend, Moore," he grits out, his tone low, dark. "Not yours."

The words hit me harder than I want to admit.

Because technically, he's right.

She is his.

Not mine.

Not anymore.

But when I glance at Aurelia, her blue eyes wide, conflicted, her lips parting like she wants to say something, like she's drowning in this moment—

It doesn't feel like she belongs to him.

It doesn't feel like she belongs to anyone.

And that includes me.

She needs to make a choice.

And I'm not going to be the one to make it for her.

I take a slow step back, lifting my hands in mock surrender. "Well?" I say, keeping my voice cool, controlled, despite the way my heart is hammering. "Looks like your boyfriend wants an answer, Branson."

Her gaze snaps to mine, something desperate flashing in her expression.

And in that moment, I almost regret it.

Almost.

Aurelia's lips part, but no sound comes out. Her hands twitch at her sides, fingers curling like she wants to grab onto something—onto me.

But she doesn't.

She just stands there, caught between us, between the life she's supposed to want and the one she actually craves.

And Carter?

He's watching her like a predator waiting for his prey to fall in line.

I clench my jaw, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral, forcing myself not to show how much I f*****g hate this.

Because I know how this goes.

I've seen it before.

Aurelia hesitates, she panics, and then she chooses him.

Every. Single. Time.

I steel myself, preparing for the inevitable, the same old script—

But then she shocks me.

She lifts her chin, steadies herself, and says, "I'll come back inside when I'm ready."

Carter blinks.

I blink.

Because for the first time since I've known her, Aurelia Branson pushes back.

And f**k, if that doesn't make something dangerous ignite inside me.

Carter's jaw flexes, his nostrils flaring. "Aurelia," he says, warning in his tone. "Don't be stupid."

Her whole body tenses, her fingers digging into the folds of her dress. "I'm not," she says quietly. "I just—I need a second."

"A second for what?" he snaps, taking a step toward her, toward us, like he's about to grab her arm and drag her inside whether she likes it or not.

That's as far as he gets.

Because before I can even think, before I can remind myself to let her handle this, my body moves on instinct.

I step between them again—this time, without the smug indifference.

This time, I'm deadly f*****g serious.

"Back the f**k off, Carter," I say, my voice low, even.

His lips curl, something dark flashing in his eyes. "Or what?"

I take another step forward, forcing him to either stand his ground or retreat. He stands firm—because of course he f*****g does—but I see it. That flicker of uncertainty, that second of hesitation.

He knows I can take him.

Everyone does.

"Try touching her," I say, my voice like ice. "I dare you."

A tense silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. Carter's fists clench, his breathing ragged, but he doesn't make a move.

Because he's a coward.

Because he's always been all bark and no f*****g bite.

Finally, after a long, heavy pause, he exhales sharply and shakes his head like we're both pathetic. Like she's pathetic.

"You know what?" he mutters, leveling a glare at Aurelia. "Do whatever the f**k you want. I don't have time for this."

Then he turns and stalks off, shoving past a couple of guys lingering by the doorway, who are obviously trying to pretend they weren't listening.

The second he's gone, I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

And then—

I look at Aurelia.

And f**k.

She's staring at me like she just realized something.

Like I'm not just some reckless mistake she keeps making.

Like she wants me.

And I really, really shouldn't want her to.

But I do.

|Aurelia Branson|

My heart is still pounding long after Carter disappears into the house.

The cool night air presses against my skin, but it does nothing to ease the heat coursing through my body, nothing to silence the echoes of Luna's voice, low and lethal, warning him to back the f**k off.

I swallow hard, my throat tight, my pulse erratic.

Luna hasn't taken her eyes off me since he left.

She's standing so close that I can feel her warmth, so steady and unshaken, while I—

I feel like I'm coming apart.

She saved me.

Again.

And even though I should be furious—at her, at myself, at this entire goddamn situation—I'm not.

I'm just grateful.

Pathetic, isn't it?

I let out a shaky breath, forcing myself to meet her gaze, forcing myself to push past the weight of the moment. "You didn't have to do that." My voice is softer than I intend, less firm, almost...trembling.

Luna tilts her head, her expression unreadable. "Yeah, I did."

My chest tightens. "No, you didn't."

She exhales sharply, a flicker of irritation flashing in her green eyes. "Aurelia."

And God, the way she says my name—low and slow, like she's claiming it—makes my knees go weak.

I shift on my feet, hugging my arms around myself. "I don't need you fighting my battles," I murmur, though even I don't sound convinced.

Luna arches a brow. "That so?"

I nod, forcing myself to hold her gaze.

She watches me for a long moment, then leans in ever so slightly, her breath fanning over my cheek. "Then why," she says, her voice almost teasing, "do you always look at me like I'm the only person who can save you?"

I hate that she's right.

But I don't deny it.

Because we both know the truth.

I swallow thickly, glancing toward the house. "I should go," I whisper, though it sounds more like an excuse than a decision.

Luna doesn't stop me.

She just nods, but there's something in her eyes, something unchanged between us, something that makes me ache.

I turn, walking back inside, my skin still burning from where she stood close, my mind already spiraling into the mess she's made of me.

————————————

Hours later, I'm lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

The ball is over. The house is quiet. My parents went to bed after making a comment about my behavior—my mother's gaze sharp, my father's silent and disappointed.

I should feel relieved.

Instead, I feel empty.

Like something is missing.

Like someone is missing.

I sigh, turning onto my side, my silk sheets cool against my skin, but it does nothing to soothe the fire in my veins, the way my heart won't settle.

I can still see her.

Luna Moore, standing between me and Carter, daring him to lay a hand on me.

Luna Moore, her eyes dark with anger, with possession, with something so dangerously close to love that it makes my chest feel too tight.

Luna Moore, looking at me like I belong to her.

I close my eyes, but it doesn't help.

Her voice still lingers.

Her touch still burns.

Her kiss—God, her kiss—is still fresh on my lips.

I miss her.

I miss her so much it f*****g hurts.

And no matter how hard I try to push it down, no matter how much I tell myself that this shouldn't be happening, that I should let her go—

I can't.

Because the truth is, I never really did.

|FLASHBACK – TWO YEARS AGO|

Luna looks at me like I'm the only person in the world. Like I'm something holy, something untouchable, something hers.

Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my thigh as we sit on the bleachers after practice, the gym lights dimmed, the sound of a basketball bouncing echoing somewhere far away.

"I'm gonna marry you someday."

The words slip from her lips so easily, so confidently, like they're not the most insane thing I've ever heard.

I let out a breathy laugh, shoving at her shoulder. "You can't just say stuff like that, Luna."

She smirks, but there's something serious in her eyes. Something real.

"Why not?" she says, leaning in, her voice low and warm against my skin. "I already know it. I've always known it."

I shake my head, biting back a smile. "You're crazy."

"I'm in love," she corrects, her lips brushing my jaw, making my stomach flip in that way it always does when she's close. "There's a difference."

My cheeks burn. I hate how easily she makes me feel like this—like I'm fifteen and experiencing my first crush all over again.

But this isn't a crush.

This is Luna.

This is us.

And it's everything.

She shifts closer, her nose nudging against mine, her breath warm and sweet with the scent of strawberry gum.

"You don't believe me?" she murmurs, tilting my chin up so I have to look at her, so I have to see the way she's completely, stupidly, undeniably in love with me.

My throat tightens.

I do believe her.

Because Luna doesn't say things she doesn't mean.

She doesn't love lightly.

And the way she loves me?

It's consuming. It's overwhelming. It's the kind of love that changes you.

I bite my lip, my voice barely above a whisper. "What if—" I hesitate, exhaling shakily. "What if we don't get our happy ending?"

She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, her touch unbearably gentle. "We will."

I swallow. "How can you be so sure?"

She leans in, pressing her forehead to mine, her lips ghosting over my mouth like a silent promise.

"Because I'd go to war for you, Aurelia," she breathes. "I'd fight the whole f*****g world if it meant I got to love you."

And just like that—

I believe her.

I believe her.

Because if there's one thing I know about Luna Moore—

It's that when she loves, she never lets go.

|PRESENT – AURELIA'S BEDROOM|

A broken sob tears from my throat as I press my pillow against my face, trying to muffle the sound, trying to stop the tears that just won't f*****g end.

God.

Why does it still hurt like this?

Why does she still own me, even after everything?

I clutch my blanket tighter, curling into myself, my body wracked with silent cries as memories of her keep replaying in my head, over and over, like a movie I can't turn off.

She meant every word she said back then.

She loved me. She worshipped me.

And I left her.

I left her because I was scared.

Because I was a coward.

Because I couldn't fight for us the way she could.

Now she's the one who's moved on.

She's the one standing tall, unshaken, like I never even mattered.

And me?

I'm here.

Drowning in the wreckage of something I was too weak to hold onto.

And it hurts.

It f*****g hurts.

Tears slide down my cheeks as I clutch my pillow tighter, whispering her name into the darkness, knowing she'll never hear it.

Knowing she wouldn't care even if she did.

The tears don't stop, no matter how many times I press my palms against my eyes, no matter how many shaky breaths I take, no matter how tightly I curl into myself as if I can somehow shrink away from the ache in my chest, as if I can press my heart so deep into the mattress that it stops hurting altogether. But it doesn't. It won't. Because the pain is lodged too deep, tangled in every memory, every moment, every promise she made and every single one I broke.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn't help—it only makes the memories more vivid, the sound of her voice clearer, the feeling of her hands on my skin so much worse. I can still hear her laughing in my ear, teasing me about how easily I blush whenever she kisses my temple. I can still feel her arms around me when she used to pull me into her lap after every game, sweaty and breathless but still thinking I was the most important thing in the world. I can still remember the way she whispered "I love you" into my neck when she thought I was asleep, as if the words were a secret she was scared to say out loud too many times, afraid that if she did, the universe would hear and take it all away.

But the universe didn't take it away.

I did.

A fresh wave of guilt crashes over me, tightening my throat, making it harder to breathe, harder to exist beneath the weight of everything I lost. Because the truth—the real, gut-wrenching, unbearable truth—is that Luna never let go. I did. And now I have to live with the fact that she doesn't need me anymore, that she probably doesn't even want me anymore, that all the love she once poured into me has been locked away behind walls so thick, so impossible to climb, that I'll never get to feel it again.

I turn onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, willing my mind to quiet, willing my heart to shut up and stop wanting her the way it still does, as if I have any right, as if I didn't throw everything away the moment it got too hard.

I wonder if she still thinks about me.

If she ever lies awake at night, staring at the ceiling just like this, feeling like she's being haunted by something she can't quite touch anymore.

But no, that's stupid.

Because Luna doesn't break the way I do.

She doesn't fall apart.

She doesn't lie in bed and cry over things that are already dead.

And maybe that's what hurts the most.

Because once upon a time, she looked at me like I was the best thing that ever happened to her.

And now?

Now, she barely even looks at me at all.