6. Savion

SIX

SAVION

Kelly bounces on her feet, unable to contain her excitement. "I can't believe you're partying with Orion Skye! Saaaaavvvyyy!"

Her enthusiasm tugs at my heartstrings, and I suppress a chuckle. She's taken to calling me by the nickname Declan uses, but something about it coming from her feels off. I raise a brow at my best friend.

She catches the hint, giggling as she throws her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, Sav! I get it. Only Declan's allowed to call you that."

"Smart girl," I tease, shifting my attention to the closet. "And don't act so surprised I'm going to a party. I'm not that much of a nerd. I've been to a few before, you know."

Kelly raises an eyebrow, pausing in front of my closet with an armful of clothes. "Oh, right. You're a real social butterfly these days," she teases. "I remember when I had to show up at your place with takeout just to get you to open the door."

I can't help but smile, shaking my head at the memory. "That was different. You were basically a stranger back then, Kells. And I wasn't exactly ready to... connect with anyone."

She softens, her teasing tone replaced with something gentler. "Yeah, I know. But I wasn't going anywhere. Your therapist made sure I knew how stubborn you were before I showed up." She shrugs, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Lucky for you, I'm even more stubborn."

"Persistent is a better word," I say, feeling the corner of my mouth lifting. "You wouldn't take no for an answer."

"I prefer the term ‘charmingly persuasive,' thank you." She grabs a handful of clothes from my closet. "Don't act like I didn't work my magic. Who else gets to see you without all that stuff on?" She gestures vaguely toward my bare face, then winks. "Not even your rockstar buddy has that privilege yet."

I look at her with silent gratitude. She was there when I wasn't ready to show the world—or myself—who I'd become. The night she first saw my scars is burned into my memory, not because of how I looked, but because of how she reacted. No shock, no pity—just Kelly being Kelly.

"You're privileged, huh?" I tease.

Kelly laughs as she tosses a pair of pants onto the bed. "Hey, look at us now—besties."

Besties. The word feels so light, but it's what we are. Kelly had been recommended by my therapist as someone who volunteered with people recovering from trauma. I never expected her to show up at my apartment one day with a smile, carrying a bag of Chinese takeout, as if we were already old friends. She never pushed too hard, never expected me to be anyone other than the mess I was. It was on my terms, and somehow, that made it easier to trust her.

"I still don't know how you put up with me." My tone is casual, but the weight of the words lingers between us.

She turns to face me, her expression softening even more. "Because I knew there was more to you than what you were showing. And I'm glad I stuck around, because now you're about to go hang out with a rockstar, looking all hot, and it's going to be amazing."

I chuckle, the tension easing from my chest. "Yeah, sure. I'm not exactly rockstar material."

"You don't have to be," she says, giving me a reassuring smile. "You just have to be you. Scars and all."

I hesitate, the memory of people staring at me during that beach outing flashing through my mind. "It's not as easy as you think," I mutter, the light tone of the conversation slipping. "You weren't there when Declan and I went to get burgers by the beach."

It wasn't something I did often –going out in public, for people to stare at me.

Kelly's brow furrows. "What happened?"

I sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "People couldn't stop staring. Everywhere we went, I could feel their eyes on me, on my face. I thought maybe they were staring at Declan at first because, you know, he's famous. But then I realized... it was me. They couldn't look away from the scars."

Kelly sits beside me, her voice soft. "Sav..."

"It was like I was a freak show," I continue, my fingers brushing over the side of my face. "Declan didn't say anything, but I could feel him noticing it too. I guess I should be used to it by now, but it never gets easier."

"Did you talk to Declan about it?" Kelly asks, her tone gentle but probing.

I shake my head. "No. I didn't want to make it a big deal. He's already been really cool about... everything. I didn't want him to feel awkward or make the whole situation uncomfortable."

Kelly places a hand on my arm. "You're not a freak show, Sav. And if Declan's the kind of person who can make you feel good about yourself, maybe you should talk to him about how you felt. You deserve to feel comfortable too."

I nod, but the knot of insecurity still sits heavy in my chest. "I know. I just... it's hard to believe that someone like him would want to spend time with someone like me. The scars are always there. It's hard to forget."

I glance at the clothes lying limply in my bed. "But seriously, I don't have anything to wear. When did my wardrobe get so… dull? Maybe I shouldn't go. I still don't get why Declan keeps inviting me to hang out."

Kelly perches next to me, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, why would a famous rockstar want to spend time with you? Why would he ever hold your hand?" my friend deadpans.

I laugh, swatting Kelly's hand away. "Don't get it twisted; He did not hold my hand. But I get what you're implying. It's just hard to wrap my head around it, you know? I looked him up last night—him and the band—and I saw all these photos of Dash—of Dec—with a whole lot of people, and just as I thought, they're either models, movie stars, or look like models and movie stars. And then… there's me."

The mirror at the back of the closet catches my gaze. Besides Mom and Dad, who've retired and are living in Antigua, Kelly, my closest friend and confidant, is the only other person who has seen the real, bare-faced me since the incident that wrecked my face, my confidence.

It's scrubbed clean so Kelly can do my makeup for me and my hair is piled up on top of my head, so there's no hiding the way I look. Most of my scarring is on the left side of my face. I was lucky the acid missed my eye and most of my nose. But there are scars trailing down my neck and onto my shoulder and chest, impossible to ignore, and etched into my skin, a reminder of that moment I'd rather forget.

"Alright, back up there. Dash?" Kelly snaps me out of my thoughts, and I smile at her.

"I meant Dec. Dash is just a nickname I came up with… you had to be there to understand."

Her grin turns teasing. "You like him, Sav. And if he's cool with nicknames, he's probably cool with you too." Then her expression softens. "Look, Declan doesn't strike me as shallow. Have you heard his songs?" I shake my head, and Kelly rolls her eyes. "If you're going to hang out with a rockstar, at least know his music, Sav."

"I'm not going to be a groupie," I mutter. "And I'm not gay or bi, Kells. Can't two guys just be friends?"

I can feel her watching me, like she wants to push the conversation further, but instead, she changes the subject. "Okay, okay. But you should listen to some of his music." She gets up and starts rummaging through my closet, pulling out clothes I haven't worn in ages. "Look, I had a feeling you'd forgotten about these. You told me to donate them, remember? Try them on, and I'll put on one of Declan's songs."

I take the hint and head to the bathroom, slipping into a Henley shirt and pants I haven't seen in years. As I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, a soft guitar riff filters in from Kelly's phone, followed by a voice I barely recognize as Declan's.

The guilt I bear

Is buried inside

I should have been there

I shouldn't have survived.

His voice is raw, almost wounded, and it catches me off guard. I'd assumed rockstars like him only wrote about partying and excess, but this is something deeper. I stop fussing with my clothes, my chest tightening as the lyrics sink in. This song isn't simply music—it's a confession, a window into something broken inside him.

I stare at my reflection, but my thoughts drift back to Declan. The pain in his voice is real, unmistakable, and it makes me wonder what he's been through. What is it about him that feels so familiar, so strangely comforting? And why can't I shake this pull toward him, even though none of it makes sense?

I swallow hard, blinking against the unexpected sting of tears as the song plays on.

The song comes to an end. "Hear that, Sav? What do you think?" Kelly shouts through the door, pulling me back into the moment. I take a deep breath, trying to ground myself before opening the door.

Kelly gives a low whistle as she looks me over. "Wow! You look seriously sharp, Sav! That outfit suits you."

"You think so?" I ask, glancing at the mirror to double-check. The clothes fit well enough, though I'm more focused on keeping my nerves under control. "Alright, I'll stick with it. And that song... it's something else. Really hits you."

Kelly's already steering me toward the vanity, grabbing moisturizer and foundation to start working on my face. "Oh yeah, his songs have that raw emotional depth. He never opens up about it in interviews, though. Total mystery man. But he's got a lot going on under the surface."

She works quickly, like always, transforming my scars into faint memories. When she's done, I style my hair the usual way, making sure it falls just right over my left cheek.

"Perfection," Kelly says, right as a knock sounds at the door. Her eyes widen. "Oh my God, is that him?"

I glance at my watch. "Yeah, probably." But Kelly's already halfway out the bedroom door, leaving me to gather my thoughts. "Don't say anything weird!" I call after her, laughing nervously as I give myself a final once-over in the mirror. Cologne, check. Shoes, check.

As I step into the hallway, I hear Kelly talking to Dash. But when I meet his gaze, everything else fades.

His eyes scan my face, a quick flicker to my lips before moving downward. Did he just—? I blink, unsure if I imagined it. But then his gaze lingers again, sweeping over me like he's sizing me up. My pulse kicks up a notch. I'm suddenly hyper-aware of everything—how I'm standing, how my clothes fit, the space between us.

He's just... looking, right? Probably doesn't mean anything.

But still, the way he takes me in makes me feel... warm. Unsettled.

Declan looks... good. Really good. His hair's damp, a stray curl resting against his forehead, and he's dressed casually in a black button-down that brings out the color of his eyes. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to show off the ink on his forearms—musical notes, simple but striking. There's a quiet confidence about him, a kind of effortless style.

He smells clean and fresh, something like cedar and citrus, and for a second, I'm tempted to close the gap between us. Not because of... anything weird, just—I don't know, the cologne, maybe. It's a nice scent.

I shake my head slightly, trying to snap out of it. "I see you've met Kelly. She's been helping me figure out what to wear. I'm kind of useless with these things."

Dash smiles easily. "It's good to meet you," he says to her before turning back to me. "Savvy, you could wear anything and still be the best-looking guy in the room. No competition."

"Savvy," Kelly teases, raising an eyebrow.

"Alright, alright, we're heading out," I cut in, trying to ignore the sudden heat creeping up my neck.

I force a swallow, trying to calm the sudden rush of heat creeping up my neck as we step outside and head toward his car. My heart's racing, which makes no sense at all. None. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

By the time Declan tells me that we're almost there at Jasper's house, the butterflies in my stomach are in full flight, and I can't shake the gnawing anxiety creeping in. This really isn't my scene. Even with Dash by my side, I can't help but wonder how the night's going to unfold. What will people think when they see me?

"Don't be nervous," Dash says, almost as if he's reading my mind. His voice is steady, warm, grounding me.

Before I can even process it, I feel his hand reach out, instinctively wrapping around mine in a brief, firm squeeze. It's a small gesture, but it lands like a jolt of electricity.

My breath hitches, and for a split second, everything narrows down to that simple touch—his skin against mine. My heart stutters, my pulse echoing in my ears. His hand is warm, steady, and reassuring, but the effect on me is anything but calming. I feel heat spread through me, quick and sudden.

I steal a glance at him, half-expecting him to pull away immediately, but he doesn't. There's a flicker in his expression, something in the way his brow furrows ever so slightly as if he's trying to make sense of his own actions. His lips part as though he's about to say something, but he doesn't. He just holds on for a moment longer, his thumb grazing lightly against my skin before letting go, the touch lingering in the air between us even after his hand drops back to his side.

I take a shaky breath, trying to calm the rush of warmth pooling in my chest. It was just a friendly touch. Nothing more.

But my body doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. My skin still tingles where his hand was, and I can't quite shake the way it made me feel—safe and jittery all at once.

It's going to be fine, I tell myself, trying to focus on anything but the aftershocks of that touch.

Declan clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as we near the door. His posture is casual, but there's a slight tension in the way he moves. Did he feel it too? That strange surge?

Whatever it was, it passes quickly, leaving me wondering if I imagined the whole thing.

Dash parks the car, and we head toward the house. But as soon as the thumping music and flashing lights from the driveway come into view, we exchange a glance.

"Alright, so this might not be as low-key as I expected," Dash admits with a half-smile. "I thought it'd be more of a hang-out than, you know… this." He gestures toward the pulsing party scene ahead. "But it'll be fine. I promise."

"Okay," I say, though I feel a growing urge to retreat.

Dash knocks on the door, and a beautiful young woman, dressed in an outfit that's more about making statements than staying warm, swings the door open. "Dec! Oh my God, it's Dec!" she squeals, throwing her arms around his neck.

"The whole band's here now!" she exclaims. "I can't believe it!"

I glance around the crowded entrance hall, filled with couples pressed against each other, stoners lounging on the grand staircase, and everyone else dancing, talking, or flirting. The music's so loud it rattles my chest, and my anxiety spikes. This is definitely not my scene.

Dash gently disentangles himself from her grip, offering an apologetic smile. "Uh, yeah, where's Jasper?" He slips an arm around my shoulders, and I flinch, surprised by the sudden touch. His arm is warm and solid, but the tension in my body doesn't ease. The woman's eyes dart to where his arm wraps around me, her bright expression immediately dimming with disappointment.

"I dunno, probably inside," she mutters, pointing toward the living room before wandering off, looking none too pleased.

"Let's go find the guys," Dash says, leaning close to my ear to be heard over the noise. His arm stays firmly around me, guiding me through the crowd, but I freeze in place, my feet glued to the floor. The heat, the noise, the crush of people—it's too much.

Dash turns, concern in his eyes. "You okay?"

I shake my head. "I think I'm gonna go." I feel ridiculous for wanting to bolt. But my nerves are all over the place, and I can't shake the worry about what people are thinking seeing me and Dash together, even though we're just hanging out.

His brow furrows. "You sure?" When I nod, he immediately responds, "Then I'm leaving too."

The guilt hits hard. I feel bad for dragging Dash away. He squeezes my shoulders, a silent reassurance that it's no big deal. Just as we turn to leave, someone taps Dash on the back. We both turn, and standing there is the man I recognize as Lennon, the band's frontman, looking like he just stepped off a magazine cover.

"Hey, man! Good to see you!" Dash greets him with a casual side hug. "This is Savvy."

Lennon glances at me, then does a double-take, his eyes widening. For a split second, he looks completely caught off guard, like he's trying to piece something together. There's a flicker of confusion that flashes across his face before he quickly recovers with a smile. I raise an eyebrow, feeling a bit uneasy. Didn't Declan tell them I was coming?

Lennon clears his throat and shoots a quick look at Dash, some silent exchange passing between them. Dash's lips twitch as if trying to suppress a grin, and Lennon's eyes narrow in playful realization. I can't read it fully, but it's like they're having a conversation I'm not privy to.

Lennon turns back to me. "Uh, nice to meet you, Savvy." He takes my extended hand and gives it a firm shake before dropping his hand to his side. "If this is a little wild for you, we're all hanging out in the garden. It's way more chill. You should come check it out."

Dash glances at me for confirmation, and I nod. I owe him at least that much. Besides, the garden sounds like a much better alternative.

As we follow Lennon through the house, Dash's hand drops from my shoulder but not before giving me another reassuring squeeze. I relax a little as we step into the cool night air, the sounds of the party fading behind us. The garden is nothing short of breathtaking—a sprawling space with an infinity pool that seems to disappear into the horizon, soft lighting illuminating small seating areas, and a massive fire pit crackling in the center.

"Wow," I breathe, taking it all in.

Dash grins. "More your speed?"

I nod, the tightness in my chest easing. "Definitely."

Lennon leads us over to the fire pit, where the rest of the band is lounging.

"Everyone, this is Savvy," Dash announces.

I'm introduced to each of them in turn, but my mind keeps circling back to that double-take Lennon did when he saw me. It's not like anyone's looking at me weird, but something feels… off. It's subtle, not like they're repelled by me, just more like I wasn't what some of them expected.

As Lennon sits down, I catch another quick exchange between him and Dash—a raised eyebrow from Lennon, followed by a lopsided smirk from Dash. I frown, not quite understanding the joke, but it doesn't seem malicious. If anything, it's like they're both amused by some inside thing I'm not part of.

Then it clicks. Maybe when Dash told Lennon he was bringing ‘Savvy,' Lennon assumed I was a girl. The realization almost makes me laugh, and I suppress a grin of my own.

Whatever assumptions Lennon had, he's clearly recovered, leaning back and joining the conversation without missing a beat. The vibe is relaxed, and the band is welcoming, the earlier tension starting to melt away. I can't help but feel a little lighter. Maybe tonight won't be so bad after all.

The night air is cool, a welcome contrast to the thumping music and flashing lights inside. I'm starting to relax around the fire pit with Dash's bandmates, feeling more like I belong in this easygoing group of musicians. Skye's smile is warm, and Lars is entertaining, even if his retelling of dinosaur facts is wildly off. They're all good people. I could have been an outsider, the odd one out in a world of rockstars, but Dash has this way of making me feel like I fit in.

I glance at the glass of champagne Dash handed me earlier, its bubbles shimmering in the glow of the fire. It's strange, though—while everyone else around the fire is drinking beers or cocktails, I notice that Dash hasn't had a single drop of alcohol. Sure, he's the designated driver, but I expected he'd at least have a drink or two. He's laid-back and confident, so it seems like the kind of thing he'd do to let loose, right?

Instead, he's got a bottle of sparkling water in hand, sipping from it as he laughs along with the others. It's subtle, but I can't stop thinking about it. Something nags at me, and for a moment, I wonder if there's a reason beyond just being the driver tonight. Maybe it's nothing, just a quirk of his, but I can't shake the feeling that there's something more to it—something about him that's just beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered. The thought quickly fades as Lars shifts the conversation back to me.

"Savionnosaurus here is a paleontologist," Lars announces with a grin, his words slightly slurred after his fourth beer.

I chuckle, shaking my head at the nickname. "Yeah, I dig up bones for a living. Hardly rockstar material."

"Nah, man, you're cool," Declan says quietly from beside me, his voice low but sincere. His arm rests casually over the back of my chair, close enough to brush against me without it feeling intentional. It's almost like he's grounding me here, keeping me from feeling out of place.

Skye beams at me, her bright blue eyes wide. "Seriously, that's pretty amazing! I couldn't do that. You must have a lot of patience."

I shrug, feeling a little embarrassed by the attention. "It's not that glamorous, just a lot of dirt and digging."

"Still," she insists, "it's impressive. We make noise for a living, but you're out there discovering pieces of history."

Declan smiles at her praise, and I catch him glancing at me from the corner of his eye, like he's proud of me for something. I can't help but feel the warmth from his quiet approval.

We all settle into the flow of conversation again, stories being swapped, jokes made. After an hour or so, I'm surprised by how comfortable I've become. Declan laughs beside me, relaxed and content.

"Want to sit over there for a bit?" he asks, nodding toward a quieter spot by the infinity pool, away from the noise of the others. There's a soft edge to his voice, and the offer feels like more than just a chance to get away from the crowd. I nod, standing up, feeling anticipation at the idea of being alone with him for a while.

We settle into the seating area, facing the pool that stretches out into the endless city skyline. It's stunning, and for a moment, I lose myself in the sight, letting the lights of the city blur into the distance, the hum of conversation from the party fading away.

"You good?" Dash's voice cuts through my thoughts, gentle but with an edge of concern.

"Yeah," I say, turning away from the view to meet his gaze. His eyes are searching, like he's trying to read more than what I'm saying. "I just… I love scenery like this. It sounds kind of silly, but I always end up thinking about all the lives being lived out there. All those stories happening at once, and we're just one small piece of it."

Dash's lips curve into a smile, not mocking, just… understanding. "I don't think it's silly at all."

We both turn back to the skyline, sitting side by side in silence, but it's comfortable. There's something about being here with him that feels easy, even though I've known him for such a short time. The quiet stretches on, and I feel the weight of a question building in the back of my mind, one that's been lingering since before we arrived.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye, his face lit softly by the glow of the pool's lights. There's something about his calm presence that makes me feel… safer, like I could ask him anything. So, I take a breath and decide to go for it.

I'm hesitant, and my stomach tenses. "Can I ask you something?"

Dash faces me, full-on. His attention to me is undivided. There are no half measures when it comes to him, I have come to realize. "Anything at all."

I take a deep breath, my voice dropping to a lower register. "Kelly played me one of your songs earlier. I know I'm not up on what's popular, so please don't be offended that I hadn't heard it before. The lyrics… they're really poignant and meaningful. It seemed like it was about guilt and survival, and it felt really sad. I just wanted to know what it's about."

I glance away from his intense gaze, momentarily distracted by the curve of his lips, but I force myself to look back into his contemplative eyes.

Dash doesn't immediately respond. He's deep in thought, looking as if he's weighing whether to share more of himself with me. "Don't feel obliged to tell me," I add quickly. "It's none of my business."

"It's alright." Dash exhales slowly, as if releasing a burden. "It's not something I talk about with many people—only the band and my therapist. But for some reason, I've felt like I should tell you since we met."

He takes a sip of his sparkling water, grimacing slightly before setting the bottle down. "Things were tough for my mom and me growing up. My father—the sperm donor, I call him—could barely hold a job. My mom had to work two, sometimes three jobs, mostly cleaning for wealthy families. She was only fourteen when she got pregnant with me, and he was seventeen. They had to fend for themselves."

Dash extends his hand as if he's reaching for his glass to take another sip of his drink, then shakes his head and inhales a deep breath. His emotional distress is palpable.

A feeling of heaviness overwhelms me because I know he's gearing up to reveal more of his truths to me, and I can sense what he's already said is just the tip of the iceberg. Leaning in to listen, to close the distance between us, I brace myself for what he'll say next.

"I can't remember one good day with the sperm donor. He never played ball with me. Never went to parent-teacher conferences. Never bought me so much as a pair of socks. Never gave me a hug or told me, ‘I love you, kid.' Never taught me a damn thing. My biological father was never my dad—but my mom… my mom was every fucking thing to me."

In my mind's eye, I see little dark-haired Declan feeling neglected by his father and I fight to hold back tears because Declan doesn't need my sympathy. He needs to bare himself to me, to let me see his pain—see him even when he's most vulnerable… and understand him, feel him, connect with him.

"Seeing him treat my mom like she was the piece of shit he'd stepped on with his newest pair of shoes gutted me. When I was small, I couldn't do anything—not a fucking thing—to defend her. By the time I was thirteen, I was about his height, although he had thirty or forty pounds on me. But my mom… My mom would beg me—fucking beg me—to restrain myself every time. I never listened. My fucking father and I were always at it. Most of the time, I couldn't land a hit, and he'd beat my ass every. Single. Time. But it never stopped me from trying."

Declan's fists clench and unclench rhythmically, his breathing quickening. "When I was fifteen, things took a darker turn. We were in the kitchen, and he was being his usual asshole self. This time, though, he pulled out a gun—something I'd never seen him with before. Without thinking, I tried to wrestle it away from him. But my mom got in the way, and the gun went off. I thought I'd been shot, but it was her. She took the bullet meant for me."

His voice cracks, and he releases a shuddering breath. "I tried to stop him. I really did. But I failed. I failed my mom. And then he killed himself. The fucking coward took the easy way out." Declan's face is twisted in anguish. "For years, I thought I was a coward, too. That I should have done more, tried harder to save her. Sometimes I wished it had been me who died instead. After she was gone, I felt like I had nothing, like I meant nothing to anyone.

He scrubs a hand over his face, and I can see the pain etched deeply in his expression. Instinctively, I reach over and squeeze his leg, trying to offer comfort. "It doesn't sound like you're a coward at all. You fought for your mom as best as you could. And you have so much reason to live."

Declan nods, his hand covering mine, his grip gentle but firm. "Yeah, therapy has helped me see it wasn't my fault."

He pauses, staring out at the city lights, and his voice softens. "My mom's name was Dora. Dora Mercer. She named me Declan because 'Declan' means ‘full of goodness,' but the truth is, she was the one who was full of goodness—she was the best part of my life, and I never told her that. I've regretted it every day."

He shifts, his eyes distant. "On my eighteenth birthday, I legally changed my last name to Mercer. I couldn't stand the constant reminder of my father every time I heard Peterson. I already have to live with the fact that half my DNA came from him... from the man who destroyed everything I loved. I didn't need his name hanging over me too."

Tears prick my eyes as I see the emotion plain on his face. There's nothing I can say to fix the deep hurt in his past. I know that feeling all too well—the way words can sometimes make things worse, no matter how well-intentioned.

Declan continues to look up at the sky for several moments. "Tonight's the twenty-seventh anniversary of that awful night, and every year, it all comes rushing back. But for the first time, I don't feel burdened by it." His eyes meet mine, and a genuine smile begins to light up his face, warming me inside. "It's all because of you. Thank you, Savion."

I try to swallow the lump in my throat but can't manage it, so I simply stay silent… and together we turn our gaze over the bright, shimmering lights of the city.