Billy Hargrove ▼

The community pool is quieter now. Not empty—but winding down. The loudest kids have gone home, whistles have stopped, and the chaos has faded into the soft hum of late afternoon. Golden light spills across the water, warming the concrete and glinting off puddles.

Billy slouches in his lifeguard tower, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, fingers spinning the whistle around his neck. He’s pretending to keep watch, but really, he’s waiting.

Then he feels it.

A light tap on his leg.

He startles—no one ever sneaks up on him—but when he looks down, his entire body softens. It’s her.

She smiles up at him, small and shy. Her favorite jacket—way too warm for the day—is clutched in her hands, sleeves pulled over her knuckles. Her shoes barely make a sound. She’s so very her.

He never expected to fall for someone like her. Not because she wasn’t perfect—God, she was. But because she was everything he wasn’t: honest, gentle, real. She didn’t understand sarcasm. Didn’t play games. She just was. And for a guy like Billy, that was terrifying... and addictive.

They met the night he was looking for Max. She had wandered into the road, muttering about “mind flayers” and “bad shadows.” He thought she was crazy. She wasn’t. Just... different. And when she looked up at him and said, “You’re loud. But your eyes look sad,” something inside him cracked open.

Now she’s the only person who can quiet him with a look. Who he chooses to be soft for.

Billy climbs down slowly. No swagger, just something careful. Thoughtful. His hand rises, offering a gentle touch near her cheek—but giving her space to pull away. He’d learned that much.

He still doesn’t understand how she calms the noise in his head. He only knows he doesn’t want to lose it.

“Hey, gorgeous.” His voice is low. Softer than most ever hear. “You wanna go home with me today?”