Page 25 of The Masks We Break

The guy with the eyes that shine like my bà ngo?i’s precious marbles. They share the same hard exterior and are beautiful to look at. But unlike the glass with visible layers exposed when turned to the light, Blaze’s eyes have depths I can’t comprehend. At least, not from twenty feet away from where I stand in Lily’s kitchen.

I somehow convinced Spencer to come to her party because Blaze said it would benice to see meearlier that morning. His words pulled straight on my heartstrings, playing them so gracefully that nothing my brain warned about mattered. It made me put on something I hoped would stand out, maybe get him to look twice. And now, I’m standing by two large drink containers, holding two cups with who knows what in them, as I awkwardly wait for Spencer to come back from the bathroom. My heart is currently pounding into my ribs as I let my eyes flicker to Blaze every few seconds.

He’s talking to a fellow senior named Bellamy. Super nice guy, who I’m pretty sure is the quarterback at our school that once helped me carry some books from the library. Blaze says something, making Bellamy laugh deep, and I find myself wondering what it would take to make the stone wall crack a smile himself.

As if he heard my thoughts, two heterochromia eyes flit to me, stealing my breath. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze floating down my body and lighting it on fire in the process. I try to wrap my arms around my stomach but remember I’m holding drinks.

Why did I think tight clothes would be a good idea again?

With no counter space and nowhere to move, the urge to hide under my arms wins. I make quick work of chugging both drinks, letting the liquid inferno scorch a path down my esophagus.

My face squeezes in what I can assume is the worst sourpuss face ever, but it allows me to throw the empty cups away in the kitchen trash and fold my arms over my cleavage.

“Hello, puppet.”

His sudden appearance and the low timbre of Blaze’s tone make me shiver as I gaze up at him. “Hi-i.”

Though his face is impassive, it doesn’t take away from its beauty. His dark hair is mussed and hanging over his forehead, casting a shadow over his eyes. I tighten my grip around myself to keep from doing something stupid like pushing it back.

The corner of his lip twitches as he adjusts a watch on his left wrist and glances out to the empty patio. “Do you have a minute?”

The fine hair on my neck stands, excitement unfurling in my nerves. I should stay. Spencer may worry, or even worse, get into trouble with Lily, but the word falls out before I can reel it in. “S-sure.”

My stomach flips as Blaze holds his hands out, allowing me to lead the way. We weave through the bodies, heading toward the sliding door, and right before I reach the handle, a large body falls back.

I jerk my hands in front of my face to block the inevitable collision, shutting my eyes tight. Only, the crash never happens, and instead, a cool shot of air mixed with a sour smell wafts past me. Peeling one lid open at a time, I find Blaze’s back to me, his arms corralling whoever was about to make me a pancake. I can’t quite hear what he says, but I know it’s harsh, and the poor guy on the receiving end stiffens before apologizing and nearly running in the opposite direction.

Blaze turns back to me and motions for the door.

My pulse thrums in my neck as he pulls it open, allowing us to slip outside.

The bite of a chilly breeze swirls around, but it barely does anything to cool the blood roaring in my ears, warming my body in the process. For so late in the year, the weather is still fairly manageable, and right now, it’s nice not to see rain clouds looming overhead, matching the storm brewing in my chest.

Hmm.

The thought is random, considering I hadn’t thought about it all day.I wonder why...

“How’s your birthday going?”

My head jerks in his direction, and my eyes widen so far they hurt. “How-w did you know?”

I don’t talk about my birthday. My father has never celebrated it, and since he blames me for… Blaze’s hand on mine stops my thoughts immediately. Normally the contact would make me dizzy from giddiness, but the downward curve of his mouth sobers me. It’s empathy for the sad girl whose mom died on her birthday.

Or, more accurately, pity.

Adjusting my glasses, I gaze at the darkness above us, focusing on the few stars twinkling and dimming against the stark black sky.

“I, um.” Blaze shakes his head before digging in his leather biker’s jacket. “I know this isn’t exactly how things go, but I wanted to give you these two things.”

My eyebrows furrow as he pulls out a thin box from inside the internal pocket and a small tangerine from the outside one.

A lump forms in my throat, a burn of tears jumping to my eyes before I can stop them. He brought me an orange. Anorange.

In Vietnamese culture, death anniversaries are honored with incense lighting and food offerings, fruit trays being a common one, and there is no way Blaze Bardot knew that unless he took the time to find out.

“I’m sure she was a lovely person an—” An oof whooshes out of his mouth as I wrap my arms around his neck, nerves forgotten. The man brought me a dang orange, for crying out loud.

When his warm, strong fingers stretch over my back, the tears that teased the edge finally spillover.

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