21. Savion

TWENTY-ONE

SAVION

"Did I ever tell you I'm not a fan of surprises?" I say, grinning despite myself.

"Nope, never mentioned it." Declan's voice is playful, and I can practically feel the smirk on his face even though I can't see him. He's been teasing me for the entire ride, refusing to give any hints about where we're headed.

The bandana over my eyes feels snug, blocking out everything except the faint hum of the car and the warmth radiating from Declan beside me. My heart races in anticipation, a mix of excitement and nerves buzzing in my chest. I've been guessing for the past hour, but each attempt has been shut down, much to Declan's amusement.

"You're really not telling me?" I ask again, knowing the answer but trying one last time.

"You're too cute when you're impatient. Almost there." His hand moves from the steering wheel, resting on my thigh. Even through my jeans, the touch sends a shiver up my spine. I shift in my seat, not uncomfortable, but hyper-aware of everything—the softness of the fabric against my skin, the steady rhythm of his breathing beside me, and the way his thumb lazily strokes my leg.

"I think you like torturing me," I mutter, though I can't help but smile.

"I'm making memories, Savvy." His tone is light, but there's a warmth in it that makes my insides melt. "Besides, you'll thank me for this one."

I tilt my head, imagining his face, that little chip in his tooth flashing as he grins. "Okay, fine, but at least give me a clue."

"A clue, huh?" There's a pause, and I hear him drum his fingers on the steering wheel. "Alright, here it is—this place, you'll love it. And it's perfect for us."

"Perfect for us?" I smirk. "That better not mean we're going some place bizarre."

"Bizarre? Come on, Savvy, you know me better than that." His voice is teasing, and I can picture the grin on his face even with the blindfold on.

I let out a light laugh. "Well, I'm still trying to picture what you think is ‘perfect.' A haunted house? An alien-themed diner? "

Declan laughs, that rich sound I can't get enough of. "Hey, I'm just trying to create memorable experiences. You'll thank me when we get there."

"Memorable, huh? Now I'm even more curious. Is it an escape room? A sex club? An improv comedy show?"

"Nice guesses, but I'm keeping the details under wraps for now. Just know it's something you'll enjoy," he replies, clearly amused.

"Great, now you've got me imagining all sorts of wild possibilities."

"Good! Let that imagination run wild. You'll just have to wait and see."

The car slows, and I sit up a little straighter. "Wait… are we here?"

"We are." His voice drops to a low murmur. I can sense him leaning toward me.

My fingers twitch toward the bandana, but Declan is faster. "Nope, not yet," he says, amusement lacing his words.

"Come on," I whine, though it's half-hearted. There's something about this game that I'm secretly enjoying.

He takes his time, the bandana slipping slowly off my eyes, the cool air hitting my face as the world comes into view. I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the light. When everything clears, my breath catches in my throat.

"Joshua Tree?" I gasp, taking in the rugged desert landscape stretching endlessly before me. The towering Joshua trees, their spiky branches silhouetted against the wide-open sky, look like something out of a dream. The vastness is overwhelming, yet peaceful, with miles of rocky terrain, sand, and shrubs, all bathed in the soft, golden hues of the setting sun. I'd always planned to come here but had never gotten around to it.

Declan grins, his eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint I love. "Told you it was the perfect place."

I glance at him, my chest tightening in that familiar, sweet way. He leans over, kissing me—too quick for me to react. "Look around," he says when he pulls back. "It's just us, Savion. No one else for miles."

I glance around, noticing a cozy yurt nestled among the trees, its fabric walls glowing warmly in the fading light. It feels like a secret hideaway, just for us.

I exhale as I take it all in. The stillness, the beauty of it, feels almost surreal. And being here, with Declan… it's perfect.

He opens the door and moves around to the trunk, pulling out chairs while I sit, still absorbing everything. The air smells fresh, tinged with earth and a hint of something I can't quite place—maybe sage? It's quiet except for the sound of the wind brushing over the land, and for the first time in what feels like ages, I feel calm.

Declan returns, opening my door and offering his hand. I take it, smiling up at him as he helps me out of the car. His hand is firm in mine.

We walk a short distance, his fingers still laced with mine, before we settle into the chairs. The moment I sit, I glance up, and my jaw drops. The sky is a blanket of darkness, but it's littered with thousands of twinkling lights. And there, cutting through the blackness, is the hazy ribbon of the Milky Way.

"It's beautiful," I say, feeling awe wash over me.

"Yeah…" Declan's voice is soft beside me. "It is."

I look over, expecting him to be staring at the sky, but he's watching me instead, a small smile tugging at his lips.

My heart stumbles. "What?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He leans toward me, effectively closing the small space between us. His scent wafts in the breeze. The fresh citrusy notes of his cologne—along with undertones of rose and sage—make my whole body tingle with the need to be even closer to him, to hold him and breathe him in.

"You," he says, squeezing my hand gently. "You're more beautiful than anything here."

The brilliance of his smile supersedes the brightness of the 171 moons which orbit our solar system. Okay, technically that's not correct because moons don't emit light. They only appear bright because they reflect light.

But Declan thinks I'm beautiful—more beautiful than what we have the pleasure of enjoying here? How is this even possible? How can a man be blind to the scars that have left me permanently flawed? How can he not see these glaring imperfections, which are pretty much visible even though I try to cover them up with makeup and my strategically placed hair?

I want to argue, to remind him of all my flaws, all the scars, but instead, I just let the moment sink in. Because right now, here under the stars with Declan, I don't want to be anywhere else.

And then it hits me. I trust him. This is a man I can trust with my life. And it's time that I prove it to him.

Because he has proven time and time again through his words—and more so by his actions and his art—that he's not fickle or superficial. He sees beyond the surface, beyond my scars.

"Declan?" His stubble calls to me. Releasing his fingers, I raise my hand, trembling slightly, and cup his cheek. The contact is tentative, a fragile bridge between us.

His smile falters as if sensing the weight of what's about to come. The teasing light in his eyes dims, replaced by something deeper, more profound. Concern. Understanding. He doesn't rush me; he waits.

I exhale shakily. It's time.

I've known him long enough to trust him with this. My truth. The ugly, secret parts of me.

I clear my throat, but the knot in my chest tightens.

"Savion… talk to me."

I clear my throat again, as if that will ease the fire clawing up from my gut. "It happened almost four years ago."

Confusion flickers across his face before realization dawns. He covers my hand, still resting against his cheek, with his own. His grip is warm, steadying. He laces his fingers with mine and lowers our joined hands to the armrest of his chair. The nod he gives me—slow, deliberate—is all I need. He's ready. I'm ready.

"My neighbor, Brock, and I were inseparable." I laugh softly, but the sound is hollow. "We were best friends since middle school. Sleepovers, video games, homework. Hell, we even double-dated through high school. You know the drill, right?" I force a breath into my lungs, my chest tightening. I need to keep going.

"Even though Brock was the popular one, we stayed close. I used to worry sometimes, you know, that with how much everyone loved him, he wouldn't want me around anymore. But it didn't matter. We just… clicked. He was the quarterback, outgoing, fun, and I was the shy nerd obsessed with fossils. But it worked for us. He was smart as hell too—really into coding, graphic design, stuff like that. He could build a website from scratch before anyone knew what that even was. But most people didn't see that side of him, not like I did."

I glance at Declan. His gaze hasn't wavered, his attention solely on me. I push forward, unable to look away now.

"Being Brock's best friend—it's probably the only reason I got invited to parties in high school. Everyone knew we were a package deal. Despite all the attention he got, he never made me feel like an outsider. He always included me, no matter what. He was popular, yeah, but to me, he was just Brock."

"Even in college, we kept in touch. Holidays were our thing—always spent together. He was family to me." I force out the words, my voice trembling now. "After college, we both ended up back in New York. It felt like nothing had changed between us." My voice cracks, but I press on. "When his parents were killed by a drunk driver, we grew even closer. I was there for him. They were like second parents to me too. Losing them—" I swallow against the lump in my throat. "It gutted me, but I stayed strong for him."

Declan doesn't say a word, doesn't rush me. He just listens, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, a grounding point in the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

I close my eyes for a moment, summoning the strength to continue. "It was four months after their deaths. We were in the kitchen… making lunch. We always cooked together. I'd just reached for some lettuce to make a salad… and the next thing I knew…" My voice trembles, but I force myself to keep going. "He… he threw something at me."

My pulse quickens as I remember the confusion, the disbelief. "At first, I thought it was water. I didn't understand what was happening. But then… I felt it. Acid."

I feel Declan stiffen beside me, the shock and horror rippling through the space between us. But still, he doesn't pull away. He stays, his gaze locked onto mine, silently urging me to continue.

"The burning. It started on my face, then spread. I couldn't understand. The pain—God, Declan, I thought I was dying. I'd never felt anything like it. It was like… being in hell. Like fire was eating me alive."

Declan's breath hitches, his chest rising and falling with the weight of the story I'm laying bare. He presses his fist to his chest, as if trying to ease the ache building there.

"I screamed. I didn't even realize it was me at first… the sound of it. Like an animal being slaughtered." I hear the screams in my head, even now. They're still there, haunting me. "And Brock… he just stood there. Watching. Sneering." The memory of Brock's smirk makes my stomach churn.

Declan's jaw clenches, but he doesn't interrupt. He knows this isn't a story that can be comforted away. It's part of me. It's part of why I'm broken.

"I begged him." My voice breaks. "I fucking begged him to help me, Declan. But he didn't. He just stood there. I still don't understand why he did it, even after the trial. How someone I loved like a brother could—" My throat closes up, and I take a shaky breath, trying to keep myself from breaking apart.

"The last thing I remember… I tried to get to the sink… to stop the burning. But everything went dark before I could turn on the faucet."

"I woke up in the hospital," I continue, my voice barely audible now. "Bandaged, numb… in more ways than one. The doctors told me I was lucky. Lucky?" I choke out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "They said the acid didn't blind me, didn't completely disfigure me. But I didn't feel lucky, Declan. I felt destroyed. Everything I thought I knew, about Brock, about myself… was gone."

Declan's eyes are glassy, his lips parted as if he wants to say something but can't find the words. I don't need him to speak, though. Just having him here, feeling the weight of his presence, is enough.

"The trial was a nightmare. His lawyers tried to say it was some kind of psychotic break, grief over his parents' deaths. But I just couldn't believe it. I still can't. He'd never shown signs of anything like that before. He was my best friend, the person I trusted most in the world. How does someone go from that… to throwing acid in your face?" My voice cracks, and I wipe at the tears that are falling freely now. I don't care about hiding them. Not anymore.

The silence that follows feels suffocating. The wind rustles my hair, and for the first time, I don't try to hide the scars beneath it. The left side of my face, the part of me I've shielded from the world, is exposed. It's an unconscious surrender to the moment, to the vulnerability that has been tearing me apart for years.

And Declan notices. He reaches for me, his hand pausing in mid-air, as if asking for permission. "Can I?" he asks softly, his voice thick with emotion.

My heart stumbles in my chest. He wants to touch my face.

Fear grips me, tightening like a vise, but there's something about the way he asked, the care in his voice, the tenderness in his eyes. Slowly, I nod, but barely, giving him the permission I've never given anyone else.

I close my eyes as Declan's fingers hover near my scarred cheek, my breath catching in my throat. I've felt this skin countless times—coarse, uneven, foreign—but no one else ever has. No one else has come this close. Not since everything changed.

"I need your words, Savvy."

"Go ahead," I murmur, though my voice barely rises above the wind.

The tips of Declan's fingers brush the edge of my jaw, cautious, like he's afraid I'll pull away. I almost do. But I force myself to stay still, my heartbeat loud in my ears, my muscles taut. The rough texture of my skin, the way it puckers and pulls in places, feels more pronounced under someone else's touch. It's not the same as when I touch it myself. That sensation is distant, almost numb, like it's happening to someone else.

I hold my breath, waiting… for disgust, for pity in his eyes. But when I open mine and look at him, there's no recoil, no revulsion. His expression is tender, his brows drawn together, not in pity, but in something deeper.

He doesn't flinch. He doesn't pull back. Instead, his thumb traces along one of the ridges near my temple, slow and deliberate, as if he's learning every inch of me. The scar tissue feels thick beneath his fingers, but his touch is soft—softer than I expected. A part of me wants to retreat, but another part… another part of me leans into it, craving the warmth.

I exhale shakily, letting my face tilt slightly into his palm. The contact, though faint, feels grounding. Declan's hand is warm, steady, and I find myself pressing against him, rubbing the rough side of my cheek against his skin like a cat seeking comfort.

The scars don't feel like fire anymore. They don't burn or itch. They're just… there. Tough. Hardened. But under his touch, something softens in me. My breath hitches, but this time, it's not from fear.

Declan doesn't stop. His eyes never leave mine, and in them, I don't see the pity I feared. Instead, I see understanding. His thumb continues to sweep along the ridges, not lingering on the uneven patches, just moving gently. My heart swells with a feeling I haven't let myself acknowledge in years. Trust.

I let out a shaky laugh. "It doesn't feel like I thought it would," I admit, my voice barely a whisper.

His brows lift, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "How does it feel?"

I close my eyes again, breathing him in. "Safe."

He strokes my cheek again, his hand now cradling the side of my face as if it's the most natural thing in the world. I've been bracing for something bad—his rejection, his repulsion—but now, all I feel is him. His acceptance. His warmth. I melt into it, into him, letting go of the tension I've held for years.

His gaze suddenly shifts upward and I follow it, my heart already starting to calm. He points at the night sky, and I trail his finger to see what's captured his attention.

A blaze of light streaks across the darkness—bright, quick, and then gone, leaving a glowing trail behind it. A shooting star. Well, not really a star. It's just a meteoroid burning up as it crashes through the atmosphere. I know that much. But knowing the science behind it doesn't make it any less beautiful.

For a second, everything feels still, like the world is holding its breath along with me.

Declan's hand tightens around mine, his eyes soft and full of something I've never seen before—something that makes my chest tighten. "I'm falling for you," he whispers, his voice low and steady, "just like the stars."

I blink, my throat thick with emotion. I try to smile, try to tell him that I've probably already fallen, but the words catch in my throat. My heart pounds so loudly it drowns out everything else.

Eyes still locked on mine, he says something that feels like gravity, pulling me toward him. "Maybe… maybe it's not about falling," he murmurs, his thumb brushing my scarred cheek again. "Maybe the stars aligned on the night I met you."

The world around us fades, and for a moment, it's just me and Declan beneath the night sky. The scars, the pain, the fear—it all falls away. And all I can feel is this quiet certainty settling into my bones.

Because somehow, with him, it feels like everything—everything that's ever happened—has led to this. To us.

I look at him, my voice barely a whisper. "And I think… they've aligned for me too."