Reckless {HS}

three

Delilah's Pov

One year later

The music pulsed through the club, vibrating in my chest as I tipped back another shot. The burn of the alcohol was welcome—almost soothing. Anything to drown out the noise in my head. Anything to make me forget, even if it was just for a little while. My friends were somewhere in the crowd, probably dancing or flirting with guys by now, but I didn't care. I hadn't been able to care much lately.

I was twenty-two today. Twenty-two, and I felt like my life was on pause, like I was stuck in a loop, going through the motions while everyone else around me moved forward. The weight of everything I was supposed to be doing—graduating, getting a job, making something of myself—it all hung over me, heavy and suffocating. And I hated it.

I leaned against the bar, my head spinning just enough that I almost lost my balance. The bartender raised an eyebrow as he poured me another drink, but I waved him off. I was fine. Just another year older, right? I'd celebrate the only way I knew how. By numbing it all.

I barely registered the people around me as I pushed off from the bar, stumbling toward the dance floor. My vision was blurred, and the dim lights didn't help. I wasn't even sure where I was going. But then—

Thud.

I crashed into something solid. No, not something—someone. My feet slipped out from under me, and I would have hit the ground if strong hands hadn't caught me by the arms, steadying me. I looked up, blinking to clear my head.

And then I saw them. Green eyes. Those same piercing green eyes I hadn't been able to forget for the past year.

My heart jumped into my throat as I tried to focus, tried to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. But no, he was real. He was here, standing in front of me, looking down at me with that same intense stare that had haunted my dreams. And nightmares.

"Careful," he said, his voice low and guarded, but the tone felt... familiar. Cold, yet familiar. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep stumbling around like that."

I blinked, still trying to steady myself. My pulse was racing now, not just from the alcohol but from something else—recognition. I knew those eyes. I knew him. But my brain was too foggy to piece it together.

"Sorry, I didn't—" I slurred, shaking my head, trying to clear the haze. I squinted up at him. "Wait. I know you."

His grip on my arms tightened for a second, just a fraction, before he let go and took a step back, his expression hardening. He crossed his arms, almost as if he was trying to put up a wall between us. But his eyes—those eyes—stayed locked on mine.

"You don't know me," he said, his voice flat. Dismissive.

"No, I do," I insisted, waving my hand in front of his chest, trying to focus through the alcohol clouding my mind. "I've seen you before. And your friends. I know those faces."

His jaw tightened, and he glanced around like he was checking to see if anyone was watching. But I didn't care about anyone else right now. I could feel my thoughts slowly starting to come together, like puzzle pieces falling into place.

"You were there," I mumbled, half to myself. "At the bank. That robbery. You were there."

His face was impassive, his expression unreadable, but I saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. He didn't say anything, didn't deny it, but he didn't agree either. His silence spoke louder than words.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I had to reach out to steady myself again, pressing my hand against the wall. My stomach churned, not just from the alcohol, but from the realization crashing over me like cold water. I wasn't wrong. I hadn't imagined it. That day, those eyes—they were his. I'd spent the last year trying to forget them, but here they were, staring back at me. And now there was no denying it.

"I couldn't forget," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "I couldn't forget your eyes."

For a moment, he didn't move. He just stood there, staring at me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The air between us felt heavy, charged with something unspoken. But then he took a step back, his expression cooling again, as if he was trying to regain control of the situation.

"You're drunk," he said, his voice cold again, but there was something else underneath it now. Something hesitant. "Go home."

I stared at him, trying to figure him out, but the alcohol was making it hard to think straight. He was slipping away, retreating behind that wall of indifference again. And I didn't have the energy to break through it.

"You don't remember me," I muttered, more to myself than to him, my voice wavering.

His eyes flicked down to meet mine for just a second, something unreadable in his gaze, before he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd. I stood there, frozen, as the realization finally sank in.

I had never forgotten those green eyes. And now I knew for sure—I never would.