Chapter 3: The Library
2100 Words
Ember Reyes – POV
The library at Rosewood High was supposed to be a safe place.
It was quiet. Neutral. No whispers, no fists slamming lockers, no history dripping from the walls like bloodstains.
But when Ember saw Ash Callahan already waiting—leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, lips curved like trouble—every piece of calm shattered.
“You’re late,” he said.
She checked her phone. 3:01. One minute.
“Forgive me,” she deadpanned. “Didn’t realize punctuality mattered to a guy who skips class more than he breathes.”
Ash grinned. “I showed up for you, didn’t I?”
There it was. That effortless charm that once made her fall harder than she should’ve. Now it scraped against her nerves like glass.
She dropped her backpack on the table and sat across from him. “Let’s get this over with.”
He opened his notebook with a flick, flipping to a blank page. “We have five weeks. We could at least pretend not to hate each other until then.”
She looked up. “I don’t hate you.”
A beat of silence passed.
Then she added, “I just don’t trust you. There’s a difference.”
Ash leaned forward, eyes darker now. “You think I don’t know that?”
There was no smirk now. Just raw honesty, like a knife she hadn’t expected him to wield.
She looked away first.
They worked in silence for a few minutes. Scribbled notes. Chose their book—Wuthering Heights, because, of course, they would.
Heathcliff and Catherine. Chaos and obsession.
Too on the nose.
Ember flipped through the pages with deliberate focus, trying to ignore the way Ash chewed on the cap of his pen when he was thinking. How he tapped his knuckles against the table when he got restless.
All the little things that used to feel like secrets.
He broke the silence first.
“Do you ever think about it?” he asked softly.
She looked up. “About what?”
“That night.”
Her spine stiffened. Her pulse skipped.
She hated that he brought it up here—now—in the only place she felt safe. Hated more that her chest burned with the memory.
The lake.
The silence between them.
The moment he almost kissed her—and didn’t.
The way everything fell apart the next day.
“Don’t,” she said, voice low and sharp.
But Ash didn’t flinch.
“I should’ve stayed,” he murmured.
And that—
That was the worst part.
Because she believed him.
And it didn’t change a damn thing.
Ember stood, slamming her book shut.
“We’re here to work,” she snapped. “Not rehash something you ran away from.”
Ash stood too, slower. His height forced her to tilt her chin up.
“I didn’t run,” he said, voice dark.
She stared at him, refusing to blink. “No? Then what would you call it?”
The air between them felt thick. Like storm clouds ready to break. Like if either of them leaned in, it would end in either a kiss or an explosion.
Ash’s jaw ticked. “I made a mistake.”
“You made a choice,” she whispered.
Silence.
Then she walked away.
This time, he didn’t follow her
---
Ash Callahan —POV
Ash never hated the library.
But right now, it felt like a trap.
Fluorescent lights buzzing above. The sterile smell of paper and polished floors. Rows of dusty fiction that no one read unless forced to. And the clock ticked too damn loud.
He'd arrived early. Not to impress her—he told himself that twice.
But because he didn’t want to see her walking in. Didn’t want to watch her hesitate at the door, deciding if he was worth sitting across from.
He already knew the answer.
When Ember finally walked in—black hoodie, headphones hanging loose around her neck, fire in her eyes—his lungs forgot what breathing meant.
Still Ember. Still razor-sharp edges under soft skin. But she looked different now. Closed. Like someone who’d learned to survive by keeping the world out.
He knew that look too well.
“You’re late,” he said, mostly to break the tension.
Her retort was instant. Cold. Perfect. She hit him like she always had—without mercy.
And he missed it.
God, he missed her fury.
Because it used to be his favorite form of honesty.
She sat across from him like he was a landmine and she was already mid-detonation. No hesitation. No small talk. All business.
So he tried. Opened his notebook. Played it cool. But inside, everything ached.
And then she hit him with the line.
“I don’t hate you. I just don’t trust you. There’s a difference.”
It knocked the wind out of him.
Because that—that was worse than hatred.
Trust was the only thing they ever had between them. And he shattered it when she needed him most.
He leaned forward, just to feel closer. Just to remind himself she was real. “You think I don’t know that?”
The c***k in his voice surprised even him.
They picked Wuthering Heights because, of course they did. Two characters who destroyed each other and called it love. He saw it in her eyes when she realized it too. Their story was cursed to mirror fiction.
Still, he couldn’t stop looking at her.
The way her fingers curled around the pages like she was trying to hold herself together. The flick of her eyes when she was annoyed—half glare, half memory. The heat in her that never dulled, no matter how many walls she built.
He couldn’t stop the words from slipping.
“Do you ever think about it?”
He didn’t mean to say it out loud. Didn’t mean to peel back the scab they both pretended wasn’t still bleeding.
She froze. Just for a second. And he felt it like a knife.
He pushed anyway.
“I should’ve stayed.”
Because it was true.
Because it haunted him.
Because he remembered the sound of her voice breaking that night, and the way he stood there—silent. Useless. Cowardly.
“You made a choice,” she whispered.
And god, didn’t that sentence gut him.
Because she was right.
And he’d been paying for it ever since.
She left before he could say anything else.
Didn’t slam the chair. Didn’t yell. Just walked out, like she was carrying the wreckage of them on her back.
Ash didn’t move.
Didn’t follow.
But he wanted to.
He wanted to grab her wrist and say it all—how he still dreamed of her laugh, how every fight he picked this year was a weak attempt to feel something real again, how no one had ever seen him the way she did before everything went to hell.
But he didn’t.
Because she deserved someone who didn’t hurt her just by existing.
And he wasn't sure he knew how to be that guy anymore.
---
Flashback
One year ago — Halston Lake
Ember Reyes – POV
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
Not like this. Not this late. Not this close to him.
The dock groaned under their weight as Ember leaned back on her elbows, the night breeze curling around her bare arms. Halston Lake stretched out in front of them, a sheet of dark glass broken only by the soft ripple of the wind.
Ash Callahan sat beside her, legs stretched out, cigarette dangling between his fingers—unlit, forgotten. The moonlight painted silver over the sharp lines of his jaw, his black hoodie pushed up to the elbows, his sleeves tattooed in fading scars and the kind of silence only broken boys wore like armor.
“You always bring girls here?” she asked, voice too soft, too casual.
Ash didn’t look at her. “No.”
He didn’t offer more.
But the answer stuck. Heavy. Real.
Ember glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Even in the dark, he was impossible to ignore. There was something always coiled beneath his skin—tension, rage, control barely leashed. He looked like he could either kiss you or ruin you, and God help her, she didn’t know which she wanted more.
“Then why me?”
His eyes flicked to hers. Slow. Intense.
“You’re not like them.”
That should’ve made her feel special.
Instead, it felt dangerous.
Like a warning.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is,” he murmured. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The confession dropped like a stone between them.
Ember’s chest tightened. She tried to hide it, tried to play it cool, but her hands clenched the wood behind her. Her pulse pounded in her throat.
“I thought you didn’t do feelings.”
Ash exhaled a laugh, low and humorless. “I don’t.”
He leaned back, his shoulder brushing hers. The contact seared through her like static.
“But with you, it’s not just a feeling. It’s a f*cking problem.”
Ember turned her head slowly. Their faces were close—too close.
“A problem, huh?”
He looked down at her mouth.
Didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
Ash moved closer, his body angled toward hers, one hand landing just beside her hip, palm flat on the dock. Not touching—but almost.
His voice dropped. “You drive me insane.”
“Good.”
That made him smile.
But it wasn’t the cocky, reckless smile he gave everyone else. This one was softer. Slower. Tired.
Like maybe wanting her actually hurt.
And when his hand finally touched her thigh, slow and deliberate, her body lit up like a match.
He traced the seam of her jeans with his thumb, his touch feather-light, almost reverent.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“So are you.”
Their breath mingled. Her heart slammed against her ribs. One move—one inch closer—and there would be no turning back.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he whispered, eyes locked to hers.
“Then don’t.”
But neither of them moved.
His fingers slid higher, to the crease where her hip met her waist. She arched slightly into the touch, biting her lip.
The sound he made in his throat—raw, needy, wrecked—almost broke her.
Then his lips brushed her neck.
Soft.
Once.
Twice.
She gasped.
His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head gently, exposing her throat to the moonlight and to him. He kissed her there—slow, deep, like tasting a secret.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down with her.
Her back hit the dock.
He hovered above her.
And everything went still.
He stared at her like she was something holy.
“I don’t know how to want you without breaking you,” he breathed.
And Ember, voice thick, whispered, “Try.”
Then his mouth met hers.
And it was wildfire.
Nothing careful. Nothing practiced. Just heat and hunger and hands that didn’t know where to stop. He kissed like he was drowning, like she was the last breath he’d ever get.
His body pressed into hers, slow, deliberate. Her legs shifted beneath him. His hips settled between hers and—everything ached.
She moaned into his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders through the thin fabric of his hoodie. He groaned, low and strained, pressing his forehead against hers as their chests heaved in sync.
Then—
He stopped.
Froze.
And pulled away like he’d been burned.
“No,” he rasped. “Not like this.”
She blinked up at him, breathless, dazed. “Ash—”
“I can’t,” he whispered. “You don’t understand. If I keep going…”
His voice cracked. He couldn’t finish.
He sat back on his heels, hands shaking.
Ember slowly sat up. Her skin was flushed. Lips kiss-bruised. Body screaming for more.
But she saw the storm in his eyes.
Saw the guilt. The fear. The pain he wasn’t ready to speak.
So she said nothing.
He stood.
Turned away.
Didn’t look at her when he said, “You’re the only real thing I have. And I can’t risk ruining that too.”
Then he walked into the dark.
And left her on the dock, alone, with her heart still beating against the ghost of his hands.
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- Writer
