From Frost to Flame

Chapter 8: Pete POV

After the café incident, Kinn and Porsche dropped me off outside my house, I felt a weight pressing down on me. The café had been alive with laughter just moments ago, and now, here I stood alone, staring at my front door like it was a puzzle I couldn't solve. What had just happened with Vegas? My mind was a whirlwind, desperately trying to piece together the fragments of an evening that had shifted so dramatically.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the house, the familiar scent of home doing little to calm my racing thoughts. The door clicked shut behind me, effectively sealing off the chaos of the night.
I made my way to my bedroom, my mind replaying the evening like a film on repeat, each moment etched vividly in my memory.

I collapsed onto my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as my heart continued to race, still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions that had surged through me since Vegas walked into the café. He was like a force of nature—handsome, confident, yet somehow so guarded.
 I was mesmerized by him, captivated by the way he carried himself, the sharp lines of his jaw, and those piercing eyes that seemed to hold untold stories.

When he entered the café, the lights cast a warm glow over his striking features, and he exuded a magnetism that was both thrilling and intimidating. Dressed in a crisp white shirt that hugged his frame perfectly, paired with tailored black pants, he commanded attention effortlessly. I could hardly look away, my heart racing in a way I hadn't anticipated.

I remembered the flutter in my chest at the sight of him, the way I had smiled, eager to leave a good impression. But everything shifted in an instant when Vegas's phone pinged. I watched as he glanced at the screen, and in that split second, the warmth in his eyes evaporated, replaced by a shadow that hinted at deeper pain. It felt like a punch to the gut; whatever he had seen had cut him deeply.

At that moment, I realized the man before me was built of ice, surrounded by impenetrable walls. When I reached out to him, he recoiled as if my touch burned him, an instinctive retreat that left me bewildered and worried. What could have hurt him so profoundly?

Beneath that polished exterior lay an undercurrent of sadness that I couldn't quite grasp, but I felt it like a chilling draft in the air.

As the evening unfolded, I sensed that something was amiss. Vegas floated through the conversation, his focus diverted toward Kinn and Porsche, making me feel almost invisible. Each time I attempted to engage him, he skillfully deflected, leaving me frustrated and confused. What had happened to him? I yearned to understand the man hiding behind that guarded facade.

My thoughts drifted to Nawee, the name that had hung in the air like an uninvited guest. I could almost hear Kinn's frustration echoing in my mind, feel Porsche's anger seething beneath the surface. Their heated whispers about Vegas's past—about betrayal and heartbreak—revealed the scars Nawee had left on him. It was clear that those wounds were still fresh and painful.

Lying on my bed, I was overwhelmed with worry. What had gone wrong? Why had Vegas left so abruptly? The conversation between Kinn and Porsche played over and over in my mind, their voices thick with frustration and anger toward Nawee. Their fierce protectiveness for Vegas was evident, and it only deepened my hesitation.

Throughout the ride home, their words oscillated between anger and concern. Kinn's palpable frustration contrasted with Porsche's joking suggestion of confronting Nawee, yet I could sense the seriousness behind his humor. They weren't just friends; they were warriors defending someone they cared about deeply.

A pang of jealousy pierced through me, a longing to be someone who could stand by Vegas in that same way. But I had only just met him, and I didn't want to intrude on his pain without understanding the full story behind those walls he had built around himself.

Sighing, I closed my eyes, trying to push the thoughts away. I wanted to focus on my internship and the opportunity that lay ahead, but how could I when Vegas lingered in my mind like a haunting melody?

I wanted to know more about him, to understand what had made him retreat into that fortress of solitude.

Rolling onto my side, I buried my face in the pillow, attempting to block out the swirling thoughts. The evening's events felt like a tangled web, and I found myself more ensnared than I had ever expected.

 I wanted to be a part of Vegas's story, to understand his struggles and help him heal. But for now, all I could do was wait and hope that the chance to connect would come.