-Blake West:
The burn still throbbed against my chest, even with the ointment cooling it down. Every movement made it sting, a deep, raw kind of ache, as though the skin itself remembered the way the soup had clung, hot and merciless. I could still hear the sound of it splattering over me, could still see the flicker of satisfaction in Kayla's eyes as she'd "tripped." It wasn't an accident. I knew it then, and I knew it now. She'd done it on purpose.
That hurt more than the burn, if I was being honest. Not the physical pain, but the humiliation. The way my shirt had clung to me, soaked, heavy, scalding, the way I'd gasped like some pathetic fool trying not to cry in front of them. I could feel her eyes on me even now—mocking, judging. And for the first time in years, I wanted to disappear into the floor.
But then there was Zade.
