Tyler's POV (The Night of the Storm – Flashback)
I didn't expect her to come.
The sky was already dark, the wind howling low like something was about to break open. I was just about to lock the door and ride out the storm alone when there was a knock.
Julia.
Holding a bag of food, snacks, and something warm in her eyes that hit me harder than the storm ever could.
I almost didn't know what to say. She walked right in like it was nothing, like we weren't complicated, like I hadn't been holding back for years.
She smiled and said, "Thought you might need company." And just like that, everything I'd been keeping under wraps—every buried feeling—started rising.
We talked. She laughed once or twice, tucked her hair behind her ear like she always did. But I couldn't focus on the words. My chest was tight. Every time she looked at me, it was like I was 12 again, tripping over my own feet trying to impress her.
She'd always been something special.
And I'd always known it.
I'd liked Julia since we were kids. Since she shared her snacks with me at recess and kicked boys who made fun of my stutter. Since she bandaged my skinned knees and never once made me feel small. Camila had always known. She teased me about it constantly, even when I told her it was nothing.
But it wasn't nothing.
It never was.
Julia just never saw it—not when Antwan started making her laugh, not when she looked at him like he hung the damn moon. And I? I just stayed quiet. Camila told me to say something once. Told me to stop being a coward. But I was scared. Scared of being rejected. Scared of being forgotten.
Scared she'd always want him.
When she got that call from Camila and the line dropped, I saw the fear in her eyes. I told her everything would be fine—truth is, I needed to believe it myself. She leaned into me, her face pressed against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her like I'd been waiting to do it forever.
And then she looked up at me.
God, those eyes.
I was drowning.
I touched her waist, testing the boundaries of a friendship that had always meant more. She didn't pull away. I asked her to look at me, and when she did, everything else faded. I lifted her onto the counter, settled between her legs, my hands gripping her thighs like they belonged to me.
I kissed her.
It started slow—careful, searching. But then she kissed me back like she needed it. Like I was what she needed. I could barely breathe.
I slid off my shirt because my skin was on fire. Her hands were everywhere—tentative but wanting. When I carried her to my room, she wrapped herself around me like she'd always belonged there.
And I knew I couldn't hold back anymore.
I unbuttoned her blouse, one by one, not tearing like in the movies—this wasn't about rushing. This was about seeing her. Her skin. Her softness. Her bra matched her underwear—black lace with delicate little bows. I swallowed hard.
I wanted to suck on her breasts—bad. The urge to taste her, mark her, claim her was so loud in my head it drowned out the storm. But I didn't. I controlled myself because I didn't want to hurt her. This wasn't about what I wanted—it was about what she needed to feel.
To know.
That I'd always seen her.
I kissed her belly, her hips, her thighs. Every inch I'd only ever dreamed about. And when I tasted her—really tasted her—I thought I might never be the same again.
She moaned. Loud. Real. Beautiful.
Her hands gripped my hair, her hips rolled into my mouth like she couldn't stop. And I didn't stop. Not until she broke apart in my arms, shaking and breathless, whispering my name like a prayer.
I kissed her inner thigh. Told her she tasted good—God, she did. Cleaned her gently with a towel and curled up beside her like I'd been doing it forever.
She didn't ask questions.
She just let me hold her.
I whispered, "I think I've always felt this way." She didn't say anything, but I think she heard me. I wanted to tell her everything—how long I'd waited. How scared I was to lose her. How Camila was the only one who knew. But I didn't. Not then.
I fell asleep with her in my arms.
But when I woke up… she was gone.
Just… gone.
No note. No message.
Just her underwear on the floor, the same ones that matched her bra. The same ones I'd slipped off her the night before. I picked them up like they were made of glass.
Part of me was furious. The other part was shattered.
Had I messed everything up?
Did she regret it?
Was I just a mistake?
I sat on the edge of the bed, underwear still in my hand, replaying the night in my head. Not the pleasure—but the way she looked at me. Like she trusted me. Like maybe—just maybe—she felt it too.
But now I wasn't sure.
And the worst part?
Neither was she.
I got up and showered dispite my feelings I went outside to find a flooded yard Camila called I was glad she was ok I told her I was fine and the basics nothing about Julia tho