Eyes on blondie

Kian

The moment I saw her, I was taken.

Mallory Lynch.

Blondie.

I'd known her since we were in junior infants, since before I even knew what it meant to want someone. And yet, somehow, she still managed to look different every time I saw her—like she'd grown up overnight, like she was constantly turning into someone new. Someone untouchable.

She was all golden hair and sharp green eyes, a girl who carried herself like she had nothing to prove, like she already knew exactly who she was. And maybe she did. Maybe that was the difference between us.

Because I didn't.

I never had.

And it's not like I could ever be more than just Kian Holland to her, anyway.

Her parents hated me.

Not because I'd done anything to them personally, but because of who my dad was.

Shane Holland had ruined lives in this town. Ruined families. And hers was one of them.

He used to sell to Joey Lynch back in the day, got him hooked, got him sent to rehab when Aoife was pregnant with her firstborn. AJ had to grow up watching his da keep himself away from the edge, watching his ma hold everything together like it wasn't breaking her, watching the whole town whisper about them when they thought he wasn't listening.

And that prick hated me for it.

Like I'd hurt him.

Like I was the one who'd handed his da the first hit.

Like I was the one who'd put his family through hell.

Maybe that's why Mallory would never look at me the way I looked at her.

Because when she saw me, she saw him.

And I hated that.

I should've stayed away from her.

Would've been smarter. Easier.

But I was never smart when it came to Mallory Lynch.

And definitely not when she was standing right in front of me, looking at me like I was something she didn't quite know what to do with. Like I was a puzzle she hadn't figured out yet.

I wanted to tell her to stop. That if she kept looking at me like that, I'd do something fucking stupid.

But I didn't.

Because I was already doing something fucking stupid.

"Didn't think I'd see you here," she said, arms crossed over her chest, eyebrow raised.

She always did that. Tried to act like she was unimpressed, like she didn't care. But I knew better.

I shrugged. "Didn't think you cared where I went."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't."

Liar.

I smirked, taking a step closer, just to see if she'd move away. She didn't.

"What do you want, Kian?" she asked, voice tired, like she'd already decided this conversation wasn't worth her time.

Maybe it wasn't.

Maybe I should've walked away.

But then she sighed, and I caught the faintest trace of her perfume—strawberries and something else, something softer. And just like that, I knew I wasn't going anywhere.

"Nothing," I said, voice low. "Just wanted to see you."

Her eyes flickered, just for a second. Then she scoffed. "Yeah, right."

I grinned. "What, you don't believe me?"

She shook her head, but she was smiling now, just a little.

And fuck, I wanted to kiss her.

But I couldn't.

Because she wasn't mine. And I wasn't hers.

And maybe we were both better off that way.

She didn't believe me.

Of course she didn't.

Mallory Lynch never believed anything that came out of my mouth.

I hated how she used my last name like that, like she was trying to remind me who I was—who my dad was—and how that was all anyone would ever see.

"I don't believe a word you say, Holland," she said, crossing her arms again, leaning back against the railing. Her tone was sharp, but there was something else in her eyes. Maybe curiosity. Maybe just a hint of something I couldn't name.

But she wasn't buying my act. And I wasn't sure if I wanted her to.

"Why do you always call me that?" I asked, stepping closer, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "Holland."

Her eyes flickered for a second. I saw the wall go up. The mask slipping into place.

"Because it's who you are," she said simply, almost like it was an explanation I should've already known.

"You don't know me," I shot back, words biting.

"Don't I?" She raised an eyebrow. "I know enough."

I didn't have a response for that. Because she was right.

She knew more than I wanted her to.

She knew what my dad did. She knew what he turned me into.

And it wasn't something I could easily escape.

"Look, Lynch," I said, my voice softer this time. "I'm not my dad."

She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning me, like she was trying to decide whether to believe me or not. "Doesn't matter, Kian. You're still his son. That's all anyone sees."

It stung. More than I thought it would.

I took a step back, running a hand through my hair, trying to keep my cool. "Yeah, well, I'm trying to change that. You could at least give me a chance to prove it."

But she just shook her head, turning her back on me. "I don't have time for people who only want to prove things. I've seen enough already, Kian."

And just like that, she was gone.

I watched her walk away, a heavy weight sitting on my chest, and realized—she might never see me any other way.