The Flare-Up

Elodie's POV

I stare at Nyara, my brain struggling to process the words she just whispered into the cool night air. My strawberry ice cream continues to melt, a sticky pink puddle pooling in the forgotten bowl resting on my lap. Did she really just confess that she wants to give her virginity to Kiernan? My hostile, cruel stepbrother?

"Nyara," I say very carefully, forcing my jaw to unclench as I pick my words. "Don't you think... maybe you are lowering your standards? Waiting around for someone who might never even notice you?"

Her face crumbles. The hopeful light in her eyes dims instantly, and for a second, I fear I pushed too hard. But she swallows hard, dropping her gaze to her lap, and lets out a shaky breath, offering a self-deprecating smile.

"Ouch. That hurt," she mutters. She blinks rapidly, fighting back the moisture gathering in her eyes. She holds up a trembling hand. "No, do not apologize. Maybe I needed to hear that. Maybe I needed someone to actually tell me how pathetic I sound right now."

My heart aches seeing her in pain. I reach out, setting my ruined ice cream on the wooden planks of the swing, and grab her hands. Her fingers are ice cold.

"You are not pathetic," I assure her gently, squeezing her fingers. "Not at all. I am just worried about you getting hurt. He isn't exactly known for his gentle nature, Nyara."

"I have tried to stop these feelings, Elodie. God knows I have tried," she confesses. A bitter, defeated laugh escapes her lips. "I have dated other guys. I tell myself to move on, to focus on cheer. But it never works. And when I see him with other girls..." She shakes her head, her voice cracking as the raw emotion bleeds through. "I get so jealous it makes me physically sick. Everyone knows Kiernan doesn't do relationships. He just hooks up and moves on. But I keep thinking, what if I could be the one? What if I could be the girl he actually keeps around?"

The sheer desperation in her voice breaks my heart. I squeeze her hand tighter, leaning forward to catch her gaze in the dim light of the garden.

"Nyara, look at me. You are incredible. You are beautiful, smart, and so kind. If Kiernan doesn't notice you, that is entirely his loss, not yours. Have you ever actually talked to him? Like, really talked to him and told him how you feel?"

She shakes her head frantically, shrinking back against the wooden seat of the swing. "No way. I am terrified of rejection. What if he laughs in my face? What if he just sees me as another desperate girl throwing herself at him?"

A crazy, sudden idea forms in my mind. I mull it over for a second. It is unconventional, sure, but it might actually bypass her biggest fear.

"What if you didn't have to risk rejection?" I suggest, keeping my voice low and steady. "What if you could get to know him without him knowing it was you?"

Nyara sniffles, her brow furrowing in deep confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Be a secret admirer," I explain, the plan solidifying as the words leave my mouth. "Find out his interests. His favorite snacks, his hobbies outside of the rink. Start sending him thoughtful, anonymous gifts. Nothing crazy or expensive. Just little things to show you pay attention. He will get curious about who is leaving them."

"Wow," she whispers, a spark returning to her eyes. She straightens up on the swing. "I am actually liking this."

"Right? And then, once you have his attention, you ask for his number and become a mysterious text buddy. You build a real connection through messages without the pressure of face-to-face interaction. You let him get to know your brain first. Once he knows the real you—your personality, your humor, your heart—how could he not fall for you?"

"That is... actually brilliant." Her eyes widen with mounting excitement. A massive grin breaks across her face, wiping away the remaining sadness. "Oh my God, Elodie! You are the best friend I didn't know I needed. Thank you so much for this!"

She throws her arms around my neck, squeezing me tight in a bone-crushing hug. I hug her back, chuckling at her romantic hopefulness. It feels good to help her, to see her so happy and full of life.

But then, a heavy, prickling sensation crawls up the back of my neck. I feel a gaze on me. A heavy, suffocating weight pressing against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

I look over Nyara's shoulder and freeze.

About twenty feet away, standing near the edge of the patio lighting by the drinks table, Kiernan is staring directly at me. He isn't getting a drink. He isn't talking to his rowdy teammates. He is just standing there, rigid, his dark eyes locked onto mine. His expression is intense and unreadable, his brows pulled together as if he is trying to solve a complex, frustrating puzzle.

My breath catches in my throat. Why is he looking at me like that?

My heart instantly races, pounding a frantic, warning rhythm against my ribs. I want to look away, to break the invisible tether connecting us across the grass, but I am paralyzed by the sheer force of his attention.

Before I can force my head to turn, Vespera appears. She moves like a heat-seeking missile, sliding into his personal space and wrapping her arms possessively around his waist. She presses her body against his side, leaning up on her toes to whisper something directly into his ear.

The movement finally forces Kiernan to break eye contact with me. He turns his head toward Vespera, and she immediately uses the opening to pull him away, guiding him toward a group of hockey players. Even as he walks away, my skin tingles. I can swear I still feel his gaze burning a hole right through my back.

"Elodie?"

Nyara breaks our hug, pulling back to study my face. She follows my line of sight, finding nothing but the crowded, noisy party.

"What is wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Nothing," I manage to say, forcing a weak, unconvincing smile. "I just... nothing."

"Come on!" She jumps up from the swing, grabbing both of my hands and hauling me to my feet. Oblivious to the lingering tension, she practically vibrates with energy. "Let's go dance! I am so excited about this secret admirer plan, I could dance all night!"

"Oh, I don't really dance," I protest, digging my heels into the grass. "Strict doctor's orders and all that."

"Don't be a buzzkill! One song won't hurt. Besides, you need to have some fun!"

Before I can formulate another excuse or pull my hands free, she drags me toward the makeshift dance floor near the center of the yard. The heavy bass of the music vibrates through my shoes. Teenagers are jumping, laughing, and swaying to the rhythm under the string lights.

Despite my initial protests, the infectious energy consumes me. Nyara spins me around, busting out ridiculous dance moves that force a genuine giggle from my throat. I follow her lead, swaying and jumping. The cool night air rushes past my face. For a fleeting moment, I forget my physical limitations. I forget the rules, the constant restrictions, and the underlying fear that governs my existence. I am just a normal girl, having more fun than I have had in weeks.

"This feels so good!" I yell over the pounding music, leaning close to Nyara's ear so she can hear me. "I haven't had this kind of fun in a long time!"

"See?" Nyara laughs loudly, grabbing my hands and twirling me again. "I told you it wasn't so bad!"

I am laughing harder than I have in months. My chest heaves with genuine joy.

And then, the invisible timer runs out.

It hits me like a freight train. A terrifying tightness clamps down on my center. It feels as though a thick, iron band is crushing my ribs. The laughter dies in my throat, replaced by a sharp, desperate gasp.

Then comes the erratic, rapid change in my heart's rhythm. My pulse explodes, beating so fast and out of control that it feels like a trapped bird battering against a cage. I cannot breathe. The air turns to ash in my lungs.

Horror washes over my freezing skin as a realization slams into my panicked mind. I forgot to take my daily medication.

My chest catches fire. It is a cruel, suffocating burn, a violent reminder of my fragile body. A massive ARVD flare-up. My body is betraying me once again, punishing me for pretending to be normal, chaining me back to the little pills that decide whether I live or collapse.

"Elodie?" Nyara's voice sounds like it is coming from underwater, miles away. "Are you okay? Please! Talk to me... is there something I can do?"

"Ouch!" I scream. My hands fly to my chest, clutching the fabric of my shirt in a desperate attempt to somehow hold my failing heart together through sheer will.

"I... I can't..." The words come out as weak, broken gasps.

The yard tilts. The string lights blur into long, jagged streaks of gold. I start seeing the people around me in twos and fours, their faces melting into a dizzying swirl.

"Elodie!" Nyara's terrified scream pierces through the thick fog filling my brain. "Elodie... please don't do this to me! Please... what's wrong!"

My knees buckle. I collapse, falling hard onto the grass. It feels like someone is squeezing my chest and choking the life out of me. I gasp desperately for air, but my lungs refuse to expand.

The darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision. I can barely hear the music anymore. My heavy eyelids begin to close, shutting out the fading light and Nyara's panicked face. The pain is an all-consuming fire, dragging me down into the abyss.

But cutting through the dense, heavy fog of unconsciousness, a deep, familiar voice echoes in my ears.

"Hold on, sweetheart. Just hold on."

Dad?