As everything died down, the music slipped into a low hum, and the beach slowly emptied of bodies and noise. The bonfire had burned down to a lazy glow, embers crackling softly as the last of the boys whooped their goodbyes.
"Yo, Miles! You coming?" one of his friends shouted from the parking lot, keys jingling.
Miles lifted a hand in a half-wave without taking his eyes off me. "Nah, man. I'm good. Y'all go crash at Nate's. I'll see you tomorrow."
They booed him dramatically, but the laughter faded as they piled into a car and drove off, their taillights disappearing into the Brooklyn night. The air felt different as soon as the engine noise vanished—quieter, thicker, filled with the soft rush of waves instead of bass.
The girls and I stayed behind, herding the last stragglers out of the cabin. Seraph shooed a couple off the tiny couch. "Okay, lovebirds, party's over. Go make out in your own houses. This rental is on Jayla's stepdad's card, and I'm not losing my connection over you two."
Niqua snorted, helping me gather plastic cups into trash bags. "She's so annoying," she muttered affectionately.
By the time we finished, only the three of us, a few empty bottles, and Miles were left. He leaned against the doorframe like he owned the place, hands in his pockets, watching me with that irritatingly calm face that made my stomach twist.
Seraph clocked the look immediately. "Right," she announced, clapping her hands. "Game plan. The boys can go crash at Nate's. We," she pointed between herself, Niqua, and me, "are having the real afterparty at Jayla's. No randoms, no drama, just snacks and bad decisions."
Niqua grinned. "You know I'm down."
I rolled my eyes. "Great, so my house is just the designated chaos HQ now?"
"Please," Seraph scoffed. "You love it."
She wasn't wrong.
As we packed into Miles's car—Seraph and Niqua claiming the backseat and immediately arguing over whose playlist was better—I slid into the passenger seat, nerves buzzing under my skin. The drive back to the mansion felt unreal: the windows down, wind tangling my curls, the city lights reflecting on my skin like glitter.
Halfway there, Seraph leaned forward between the seats. "Hey, FYI, Jay, I told your mom you're doing a 'small girls' thing' tonight." She added air quotes around small.
My head whipped around. "You talked to my mom?"
"Relax," Seraph said. "She was packing. Said she and your stepdad were heading out for a week. I told her we'd keep you company so you don't 'get lonely.'" She mimicked my mom's accent and earned herself a light smack from Niqua.
Miles glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. "So you're home alone?"
"For a week," I muttered. "Apparently, they trust me."
Seraph cackled. "Big mistake."
By the time we got to the house, it was almost two in the morning. The driveway was empty of every car but Miles's. The mansion loomed above us, all soft lights and silent windows, like it was holding its breath.
"Welcome to Casa de Chaos," I joked weakly as we stepped inside.
Seraph kicked off her heels with a relieved sigh. "Damn, rich-people flooring. My toes were suffering."
Niqua wandered toward the kitchen. "Snack duty is mine," she announced. "Don't touch the chips until I say so. I'm doing a display."
"Why are you like this?" I laughed.
"Let the artist work," she called back.
Seraph grabbed my wrist. "Come on, birthday girl," she said, even though it wasn't my birthday. "You and I are doing a vibe check on your room. I need to see where the magic of your future breakdowns will happen."
I shot Miles a look over my shoulder as Seraph dragged me toward the stairs. He leaned against the wall, watching us. "I'll help Niqua," he said casually. But his eyes stayed on me a heartbeat too long.
Upstairs, Seraph sprawled across my bed like she owned it, kicking her feet in the air. "Okay, this room is a ten out of ten. If I didn't already like you, I'd rob you," she declared.
I barely had time to laugh before my phone buzzed with a text from Niqua: Kitchen princesses reporting in. Snacks ready. Get your asses down here.
"Duty calls," Seraph groaned, rolling off the bed. "Come on, queen. Time to inspect the buffet."
The kitchen looked like a late-night commercial for junk food—chips, cookies, leftover pizza, random candies poured into bowls. Niqua stood in the middle of it all like a proud chef.
"Bow down," she said, gesturing to her creation.
"I'm actually impressed," Miles admitted, taking a chip.
We perched around the island, talking over each other, rehashing the funniest moments of the party, making fun of people's dance moves, replaying my speech. For a second, everything just… felt light.
Eventually, Seraph checked her phone and sighed. "Okay, I love you, but my Uber is outside, and my mom already sent me three 'where are you' texts and a prayer hands emoji. That's my cue."
Niqua stretched. "My aunt's cool as long as I'm home before sunrise. I'm grabbing a ride with her," she said, snagging one last cookie.
They hugged me tight, both of them talking at once:
"Text me if you cry—"
"—or if you throw up—"
"—or if you finally decide to block Dan's entire bloodline—"
"I already did," I said, laughing.
"Proud of you," Seraph declared.
With a flurry of goodbyes and promises to FaceTime tomorrow, they were gone. The front door clicked shut, and just like that, the house fell into a deep, echoing silence.
It was just me.
And Miles.
I lingered in the kitchen, suddenly hyperaware of the sound of my own breathing. Miles rinsed a cup at the sink, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he turned off the tap.
"You don't have to stay," I said, trying to sound casual. "They're gone. I'm good."
He dried his hands slowly, turning to look at me. "They told me to make sure you don't get sad and start drunk-texting people who don't deserve it," he said. "I take my assignments seriously."
I snorted. "I'm not drunk."
He took a few steps closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne again—warm, clean, with that hint of spice that was starting to feel like comfort. "You're exhausted," he corrected softly. "That's worse."
I rolled my eyes, but my chest tightened. "You gonna tuck me in now, or what?" I joked.
A corner of his mouth lifted. "If I tuck you in, you're gonna start something and blame me later."
Heat shot through me at the memory of last night—the way my hands had slipped under his shirt, the words I'd whispered without thinking.
"Yeah, well," I muttered, looking away, "maybe I wouldn't if you weren't so…" I gestured vaguely at him. "You."
He laughed under his breath. The sound wrapped around me, pulling me in.
"Come here," he said quietly.
I hesitated when he reached for my hand, but my fingers slid into his anyway. He led me out of the kitchen, past the stairs.
"Uh, my room is that way," I said, pointing up.
"I know," he replied. "We're not going to your room."
"And why not?"
He shot me a sideways look, eyes dark with something that made my heartbeat trip. "Because if we go to your room, I'm not going to stop when I should."
My mouth went dry. "And this is you… stopping?"
"This is me trying," he said.
We turned down a side hallway I barely used, lined with closed doors. Storage, guest rooms, random spaces my stepdad's decorator had insisted on. Miles stopped in front of a narrow door just off the main hall.
"The hell is this?" I asked.
He twisted the knob and pushed it open. A small, dim closet revealed itself—coats hanging neatly, a few boxes on the upper shelf, the faint smell of fabric softener and cedar.
"Coat closet," he said simply.
I raised an eyebrow. "What, you wanna rate my jacket collection now?"
He stepped inside, then turned back and held out a hand to me. "Come here, princesa."
My brain knew this was a bad idea. My body didn't care.
I rolled my eyes, but I moved anyway, slipping past him into the narrow space. He closed the door behind us with a soft click.
Darkness swallowed us for a heartbeat before my eyes adjusted to the faint light sneaking in from the crack under the door. The air felt closer in here, heavy with his cologne and the clean cotton of my mom's winter coats.
"This is the dumbest idea you've ever had," I whispered.
His voice was right beside my ear when he answered. "You say that like you're not into it."
I shivered. "We're literally in a closet like some bad teen movie cliché."
"Yeah," he murmured. "But you like those."
His chest brushed my back as he shifted closer. There wasn't much space between us to begin with, but he erased what was left of it, caging me gently against a row of hanging coats.
"Jayla," he said quietly.
"Yeah?" My voice came out softer than I meant it to.
"Tell me to leave, and I will." He paused, his breath warm on the side of my neck. "For real."
The house was silent around us. I could hear the faint ticking of some distant clock, the soft rush of my own blood in my ears.
I thought about Dan, about Makayla, about every time I'd ignored my gut and gotten burned. I thought about Miles carrying me up the stairs, about his hand wiping my tears, about the way he'd said he wanted to be less of a disaster—for me.
My fingers curled in the fabric of a random coat. "I don't want you to leave," I whispered.
For a second, nothing happened. Then his hand slid to my waist, slow and deliberate, fingers splaying over my hoodie like he was memorizing the shape of me.
"Turn around," he said softly.
I did, heart hammering against my ribs. The space was so tight that we were pressed together automatically, my chest brushing his, my hips bumping his.
Even in the half-dark, his eyes found mine.
"You good?" he asked.
I nodded, but he didn't move.
"Words, Jayla," he insisted.
"I'm good," I said, a little breathless.
His thumb brushed along my jaw, tilting my face up. "Then come here," he murmured.
I didn't wait for him to close the distance. I lifted onto my tiptoes and kissed him first.
His hands tightened on my waist as our mouths met, the contact sending a sharp, electric jolt straight through me. This kiss wasn't careful like the one by the fire. It was hungry—weeks of tension and almosts crashing together in a small, stolen space.
He pressed me gently back against the coats, one hand sliding up my side, fingers skimming the hem of my hoodie. My own hands found the back of his neck, tangling in his curls as I tugged him closer.
"Jayla," he breathed against my lips, like he was trying to slow himself down.
"Don't overthink it," I whispered, catching his mouth again.
His quiet laugh vibrated against me, then turned into a soft groan as my teeth grazed his bottom lip. His palms dropped to my hips, thumbs slipping under the fabric of my hoodie, rubbing circles into the bare skin at my waist.
Heat flooded through me. The closet suddenly felt way too small, the air too warm.
He broke the kiss just long enough to trail his mouth along my jaw, down to that sensitive spot beneath my ear. I sucked in a breath, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Miles," I exhaled, the word coming out half a warning, half a plea.
"You okay?" he asked again, lips brushing my skin.
"Yeah," I managed. "Just… don't stop."
His answering hum sent another shiver down my spine. His hands slid lower, over my thighs, then back up, like he couldn't decide where to touch me first.
"Princesa," he murmured, almost to himself. "You have no idea what you do to me."
I did, actually, and the knowledge made me bold. I shifted my hips just a little, testing the space between us. There wasn't much.
He sucked in a sharp breath. "Careful," he warned, voice rougher now.
"Thought you could handle me," I teased, even as my own pulse was racing out of control.
He leaned his forehead against mine, breathing hard. "That's the problem. I want to handle you. All of you. And there's literally a coat hanger digging into my shoulder right now, so this is not the ideal setting."
I laughed, the sound breaking the intensity for a second. It fizzled between us, warm and breathless.
"Okay, fair," I admitted. "Closet sex is, like, a little too cliché."
He smirked. "Who said anything about sex?"
I lifted an eyebrow. "Please."
He chuckled, then sobered, his thumb brushing my cheek. "I meant it when I said I don't want you looking back and regretting this."
I swallowed, my gaze dropping to his mouth and then back to his eyes. "What if I already regret everything else," I said slowly, "except this?"
His jaw flexed. For a moment, he just looked at me like he was trying to read every thought in my head.
"Then we take it slow," he said finally. "We start with this."
He kissed me again, softer this time. Less fire, more promise.
My hands slipped under the hem of his shirt, fingertips tracing the warm skin of his stomach, the lines of his abs. He hissed in a breath, but didn't stop me.
"Jayla…" His voice was strained, but he didn't pull away.
"I like touching you," I admitted quietly.
"Yeah, I noticed," he muttered, a shaky laugh escaping him.
His hands roamed over my back, careful but sure, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin even through the fabric. Every little movement felt amplified in the tight, dark space—the rustle of clothes, the hitch in his breathing, the soft thud of my elbow hitting the wall when I shifted.
We stayed like that for what felt like forever and no time at all, kissing until my lips felt swollen, until my thoughts blurred into nothing but him—his warmth, his scent, the way he said my name like it meant something.
Finally, he broke away, resting his forehead against mine again as we both tried to catch our breath.
"If we don't stop now," he said quietly, "we're not stopping at all."
I let my hands fall from beneath his shirt, fingers smoothing down the front instead. "You really that scared of me?" I asked softly.
He huffed out a laugh. "I'm not scared of you, princesa. I'm scared of how much I want you. There's a difference."
My chest squeezed.
"Okay," I said, even though a part of me was screaming to pull him back. "Closet truce."
He pressed one last quick kiss to my lips, like he couldn't help himself, then reached behind me and fumbled for the doorknob.
Light from the hallway spilled into the closet as he cracked the door open. We both blinked, faces flushed, clothes rumpled, breathing uneven.
"Fix your hair," he murmured, smirking as he stepped out first.
I shoved his shoulder. "You fix your face."
He shot me a look over his shoulder. "You like my face."
"Unfortunately," I muttered.
We stepped back into the empty hallway, the house suddenly looking the same and completely different at once.
Miles turned to me, his expression softer than I'd ever seen it. "Go to bed, Jayla."
"You leaving?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He hesitated. "I'll crash on the couch downstairs. If you wake up at three a.m. spiraling about life again, you know where to find me."
Something warm settled in my chest. "Okay," I said quietly. "Goodnight, Miles."
He took a step backward, walking slowly down the hall. "Goodnight, princesa."
I watched him disappear around the corner before I headed to my room, my fingers brushing my lips, my heart still beating too fast.
In bed, staring at the ceiling, I replayed every second in that stupid closet. The way he'd looked at me. The way he'd stopped.
Maybe Brooklyn wasn't just the place where everything fell apart.
Maybe it was the place where I finally let something real begin.