In Love With Him

Chapter 30

Kennedy’s POV

The gym was dimly lit with strings of orange and purple lights tangled around the rafters and paper bats flapping slightly every time the AC kicked on. The DJ was already blaring music that rattled the floor as we walked in, hand-in-hand.

My boots clicked against the polished floors, and for a moment, I was excited. I’d spent all week avoiding Dominic, keeping my head down, pretending that kiss didn’t happen. But tonight, I told myself, was about something else. About Liam. About high school. About normalcy.

That lasted about five minutes.

I felt a weird... sting. A dull ache in the upper part of my stomach, like someone jabbed me with the tip of a pencil. I brushed it off. I hadn’t eaten since lunch—maybe I was just hungry.

I glanced at Liam, who was smiling, clearly proud to be walking in with me. That should’ve made my heart race, but instead, I felt... off. Not just the ache in my stomach, but a pressure in my chest like something was out of place. Still, I smiled, clinging to the idea that tonight could be what I used to dream about.

But then Liam started getting handsy.

It was subtle at first. A hand on my waist that lingered too low. Fingers brushing along my side like he was trying to find an excuse to touch skin through the leather. Every time he touched my ribs or the edge of my belly, the dull sting came back—stronger. Like someone twisting that pencil deeper.

I kept shifting away from him involuntarily, my body flinching, aching in a way I couldn’t control.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, again. The fourth time now. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Liam chuckled, shrugging it off. “Nerves maybe?”

I nodded, forcing a smile. I was trying—I really was.

Then the music changed.

A slow song came on. Something by The Weeknd. The kind of song that makes you sway even if you don’t know how. Liam took that as his cue. He offered his hand, and I took it, even though my fingers trembled slightly. He pulled me close, his arms around my waist.

And we swayed.

His chin brushed the side of my temple, his breath heavy with mint. My stomach clenched again, a bit tighter. The ache was getting worse, blooming across my lower back now like a slow-moving fire.

I took deep breaths through my nose. Inhale. Exhale. Focus.

“You okay?” Liam asked, peeking down at me. “You’re really quiet.”

I looked up, giving him a tight, polite smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look really beautiful tonight,” he said softly, brushing a strand of my white-and-pink hair out of my face. “The costume... suits you.”

That should’ve made me melt. I should’ve felt like I was floating. I used to dream of Liam looking at me like that.

But instead... I felt sick.

Still, I asked what had been tugging at me all week. “Why did you ask me, Liam?”

He smiled at me, but instead of answering, he leaned in and kissed me.

I froze.

His lips were wet. Too wet. His breath tasted like an overdose of mints and something... off. His lips didn’t move gently, didn’t melt into mine like I imagined. Instead, they pressed too hard, too fast, like he was trying to prove something.

This wasn’t how I imagined it.

This wasn’t what I wanted.

And it wasn’t him I wanted.

He pulled back slightly, grinning, and whispered, “You taste so sweet.”

Then he leaned in again—this time, more aggressive, more hungry.

“No—” I mumbled, stepping back. My head swam.

The nausea hit me like a wave.

“I need a minute,” I blurted, pushing past him.

I barely made it to the bathroom.

I shoved into a stall and dropped to my knees just in time, emptying what little was in my stomach into the toilet. My hair fell forward, the goggles bouncing off my forehead. My entire body shook.

Was Liam’s kiss that bad?

No. The fire in my belly had nothing to do with Liam’s sloppy lips. The pain was deeper, sharper now—radiating through my back, almost like cramps but... wrong. My skin felt clammy, my mouth dry.

Then I heard it—Marty’s voice echoing into the bathroom.

“You b***h, where are you? I need the deets of that kiss!”

The stall door creaked open.

“Kenny?” Marty’s voice dropped. “Oh my God. Ken—what’s wrong?”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, shaking my head, my vision blurring with tears. “I don’t know. I feel sick. Really sick.”

Marty knelt beside me, immediately digging her phone out of her tiny belt purse. “I’m calling your dad.”

“No—” I started, but I couldn’t finish. Another sharp wave of pain hit me and I doubled over, clutching my middle.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the steps outside the school, trying to breathe while the chilly air brushed over my sweat-damp skin. My eyes were half-closed, everything blurring together—music, lights, the distant laughter of other students.

Then headlights. A familiar car. My dad jumped out, his face creased with worry.

“Kennedy,” he said quickly, crouching beside me. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “It just started hurting. My stomach, my back... I just feel awful.”

He hesitated. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“No!” I said quickly. Too quickly. “No hospitals. I just... I want to go home. Please.”

He studied me for a moment, then nodded.

“Okay. Let’s get you home.”

He helped me to the car, and I curled up in the passenger seat, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.

Whatever was happening inside me—physically or emotionally—I had no control over it.

And worst of all, I wasn’t even sure what hurt more.

My body...

Or my heart.

---

Dominic’s POV

The game controller vibrated in my hands as Max and I raced down a virtual highway in Need for Speed. He was laughing, talking smack, completely unaware of the war waging inside my chest. I kept my eyes on the screen, forcing myself to focus on the road, the curves, the mechanics—anything but Kennedy.

She’d been avoiding me all week. Slipping out of rooms the second I walked in. Pretending I didn’t exist.

She hated me. I hated me.

So now I was here, playing video games like a coward while she was out dancing with some axe-sprayed zombie wannabe.

From the kitchen, I could hear my mom and Paul cleaning up after dinner. Dishes clinking, water running, quiet chatter.

Then Paul’s phone rang.

The second he answered, something shifted. His voice dropped, sharp and urgent.

“What? Is she okay?”

I froze mid-turn. Max’s avatar crashed spectacularly, but he didn’t even notice—he turned his head, too.

Paul’s face had gone pale. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

He ended the call, already grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair.

My mom asked, “What’s wrong?”

“That was Marty,” he said quickly. “Kennedy’s sick. Really sick. I’m going to get her.”

And then he was gone. The front door slammed behind him.

I sat frozen on the couch. My fingers slack on the controller.

She’s sick?

The guilt hit me like a punch to the gut. But beneath it—God help me—was something else. A flicker of relief.

If she was sick… that meant she wasn’t with him. Liam. Maybe that kiss didn’t happen. Maybe she left before he had the chance.

Jesus, what the hell was wrong with me?

I hated that she was in pain… but I was glad she wasn’t with him.

I tried to shake the thoughts, but I couldn’t. Max had gone quiet next to me. I looked at him. His big eyes were staring at the door like it held all the answers.

“She gonna be okay?” he asked softly.

I rested my hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, buddy. She’s tough. It’s probably that bug that’s going around.”

But even I didn’t sound convincing.

Time passed. Slow. Agonizing.

Then the front door opened.

I turned just in time to see Paul carefully helping Kennedy through it.

My stomach dropped.

She looked… wrecked.

Her skin was pale and sweaty, her makeup smeared across her face like war paint. Her body was trembling, her breath ragged and shallow. Her arms clung to her middle like she was trying to hold herself together.

Pain etched her face, and tears tracked down her cheeks.

Paul tried to help her to the stairs, but she whimpered, “I can’t… I can’t get up…”

I moved instantly, instinct taking over. I was going to carry her, to scoop her up in my arms and get her to bed and stay by her side all damn night.

But Paul beat me to it.

Full-on dad mode kicked in, and he didn’t hesitate. He picked her up gently, like she was made of glass.

“Can you help me change her out of the costume?” he called over his shoulder to my mom.

“Of course,” she said, rushing forward without hesitation.

I just stood there. Useless.

Kennedy’s head lolled against her dad’s shoulder, and her eyes flicked open for a second—glassy and unfocused. She didn’t even look at me.

Then they were gone up the stairs.

Max tugged on my sleeve. His voice was small. “Dom… she looked really bad.”

I nodded, placing my hand on his back again, my throat tight.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. “But she’s tough, Max. She’s gonna be okay.”

He nodded slowly, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

Neither was I.

Because no matter how hard I tried to play it cool, I couldn’t stop replaying the image of her face—flushed, broken, in pain—and the helplessness that twisted in my chest like a knife.

I would’ve given anything in that moment to take it all back…

Or better yet, to make it better.

To be the one she needed.

But right now, all I could do was wait.

And hate myself a little more.