The noises hit again, interrupting Haze’s foggy thoughts.
He cursed. This had to be Tanner trying to get in through a window again. This was the fourth time this week. It sometimes seemed like Haze’s older brother’s mission in life was to forget his keys. Like it was on his everyday to-do list. Or maybe his parents had changed their minds and decided to come home from their snobby friend’s reception instead of spending the night at the hotel.
When the noises sounded once more, this time louder, Haze got up. Something was wrong. He knew it, but he still tried to keep the whirlwind that was his mind from jumping to conclusions. Surely, if someone was breaking in, the high-tech and expensive security system his parents had installed on the house would’ve gone off. They’d paid a fortune for it. If something was going on, he would’ve known, right?
His heart jolted in his rib cage when the power went out, soaking the teenage boy and the Adams mansion in complete darkness. No power equals no high-tech security system, a voice in the back of his head reminded him.
Something was definitely wrong.
His pulse quickening, the boy grabbed the first thing he could find that somehow resembled a weapon—which, in this case, turned out to be a large marble vase his mother kept in the living room—and started walking to the kitchen where he hoped to find a knife. With trembling hands, he got his phone out of his pocket with the intention to dial 911.
Little did he know he’d never get a chance to press Call.
Someone launched at him from behind, spinning him around and punching him in the face with a strength Haze couldn’t match. His mother’s vase shattered into a million pieces as his cell phone fell a few feet away from him. The pain was nothing compared to the fear he felt when he looked up.
There they were.
Standing in his kitchen.
The silhouettes.
They were masked, dressed in black, tall, broad-shouldered, and very probably armed.
“What the fuck? You said no one was home,” one of the men shouted as he analyzed the terrified teenager on the ground.
“They were supposed to be out tonight, I swear,” his partner replied in anger. They had somehow forgotten that the Adamses had kids. “We can’t have him in our way. Tie him up.”
Haze put up the fight of his life, his every attempt at hurting the intruders useless and unsuccessful. They were too strong. He was fourteen. They had years on him, and every punch he threw resulted in him getting kicked down, beaten up, and thrown to the ground.
His body surrendered when a very sharp and heavy object hit the back of his head, and he collapsed onto the cold ceramic floor.
“Fucking stupid kid,” one of them spit.
Barely conscious, he could feel the blood dripping down his forehead as his senses escaped him. The masked man who’d knocked him out held a gun to his temple. Haze didn’t doubt for one second that they’d have what it took to shoot.
“Listen, boy, we don’t want to kill you, but keep this up and we will.”
Realizing that he’d come at them again if they gave him the chance to recover, the masked monsters took Haze’s choice away by tying him to a kitchen chair and circling his hands with tight ropes. Then it was the tape on his mouth. They’d thought of everything.
One of the thieves started filling large black bags with random items lying around the house. His father’s autographed baseball, his mother’s expensive necklace. Everything they could get their hands on seemed to be a good match. Meanwhile, the other monster kept the teenage boy at gunpoint.
“I’ve got upstairs,” the masked man who had tied him up said and climbed up the stairs.
Haze screamed as loud as he could, trying to warn Desiree, who was fast asleep in her bedroom. The duct tape blocking his mouth made it impossible. He was praying that she had heard the commotion downstairs and hidden. Her bedroom was on the opposite end of the house, and it was so big he wouldn’t have been surprised if she hadn’t. Why was the damn house so big? Why did his parents need eleven bathrooms?
Somehow, this statement alone made this attack easy to believe for Haze. The Adamses were beyond wealthy and shamelessly flaunted their money to anyone who had eyes. This robbery had probably been planned for a while.
“Man, you have to see this,” the thief called from the second floor.
“If you try to escape, we’ll come back and kill your entire family. Do you understand me?” the man holding the gun warned through gritted teeth before joining his partner.
A lot of noises. Their footsteps running up and down the halls. This was all Haze could hear as he fought to free his wrists to the point of bleeding. He didn’t care about his life. He didn’t care about the pain.
He only cared about her.
Then, he heard the worst sound he could’ve ever imagined. It was barely audible. It was a creak. A door opened. He would’ve never heard it if it wasn’t for the complete absence of sound due to the power loss.
“Haze?”
Desiree.
That’s when he heard the gunshot.
“What the fuck did you do?” one of the masked men belted.
“I-I don’t know. I panicked. It came out of nowhere.”
Hesitant footsteps followed.
“What the fuck, Marc? You said we wouldn’t hurt anyone. You said… I didn’t sign up for this.” Panic could be heard in the man’s tone.
Haze held on to every word, praying, hoping, dying to hear them say that they missed. He just needed something. Anything.
He kept on trying to free himself from the chair he now called his prison and eventually ended up knocking it over. Still tied to the chair, he landed on his side and groaned in pain as the pieces of marble from the shattered vase on the floor cut his skin.
“We have to go to the police,” the man barked.
No. No. This can’t be happening.
This isn’t real.
This can’t be real, Haze thought.
“Are you insane? What do you think they’re going to say, huh? What’s going to happen? Thanks for your honesty, you’re free to go? No, fuck no. I’m not dying in prison.”
“Damn it, Marcus, you just killed a kid.”
And just like that…
Haze’s world stopped turning.
Distant sirens roared outside. Colton Gate was a small town. A gunshot at 2:00 a.m. wasn’t an everyday thing. The neighbors had probably called the police the second it had happened.
“We need to get out of here.”
“Are you insane? We can’t just leave her like this.”
“Listen to me. Listen… Do you want to be locked up for the rest of your life? Is that what you want? Because that’s what’s going to happen if we let them find us here.”
Silence.
“That’s what I thought. Come on, we have to leave. Now!”
And so they did…
They left, running back down the stairs and exiting through the exact same window Tanner always used to sneak in. This was probably how they’d found out about it in the first place. Burning tears filled up the teenage boy’s eyes as he started to hyperventilate, his throat tightening with every forced and agonizing breath. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.
From there, he acted on instinct, using the pieces of marble on the ground to cut the ropes holding him prisoner. The blaring police sirens were getting closer. He ran upstairs, ignoring his blood dripping on the squeaky steps. When he reached the second floor, the boy screamed… the loudest, longest, and most heartbreaking scream of his life.
There she was.
On the ground.
Haze had never considered himself to be squeamish when it came to blood. But this was a whole other story. He’d never seen so much.
“Des!” he choked out. “No!”
He ran to the child, picking up the pale, blood-covered five-year-old into his arms and swaying her in a miserable attempt to comfort her, the way he always did when she had nightmares. Except that now her
skin was freezing, and the nightmare was real. She was still conscious, crying and shaking as she fought for each gasp of air.
“No, no, no, stay with me. Des, don’t close your eyes. Des, don’t leave me, please!” he begged, shaking her as though he hoped it would change anything, patch up her wounds, and give her back her life. The life they’d stolen from her.
The blue-eyed little girl didn’t speak. She couldn’t.
“I’ll make them pay for this, I promise.” He sobbed harder. “I’ll make them pay.”
She squeezed her big brother’s sleeve as a reply, her delicate fingers holding him for the last time.
Then she stopped.
The shakes left her, the tears ceased, and the life spilled out of her eyes.
And, in that moment…
He knew.
She was dead.
His baby sister was dead.
Because he wasn’t strong enough. Because he couldn’t stand up to the intruders. The teenager cried, all the water his body contained. He cried enough tears to match the blood on the floor, and he held her, until the police forcefully removed him from the scene. Even then, he fought with all he had. As they took him away for questioning, he recalled the words the thief had said to him.
If you try to escape, we’ll come back and kill your entire family.
But there was no point…
His family was already dead.
26
Together Again
Winter
Haze slouches against the couch and conceals his face with his right hand, as though he’s hoping it’ll make him any less vulnerable, any less broken. I’ve never seen him clearer. His life made him this way. Not just his parents, not just Desiree, not even crazy Tanner. Everything he’s gone through shaped him into the man he is today.
He’s been blaming himself ever since that night. He thinks he’s responsible for his little sister’s death, and he’s been living with that guilt. This guilt that no sane human can possibly carry without shutting down.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
Tears of anger glint at his eyes. The story isn’t over, I can tell. But he needs a minute. So I give it to him.
“She was cold. She was so cold.” He chokes on the words, and I feel like I’m right there, with him, alone in the darkness of the Adamses’ mansion. I feel like I’m the one watching the life being sucked out of my sister as the capacity to hope leaves my body forever. “I didn’t know what to do. She was crying and… there was so much blood. So much… So I just held her until she… she…” He can’t seem to say it at first. “I watched her die.”
Then, he can’t take it any longer. Tears cascade down his face, and I find myself crying, too. I open my arms to him, and he accepts my embrace, leaning into me. He doesn’t say anything. He lets me hold him.
I’ve never seen Haze really lose it before. I’ve seen him shed a tear, yes, but I’ve never seen him have a full-blown panic attack. He can barely breathe, his chest moving up and down uncontrollably fast in my arms. Do you ever truly know someone until you’ve seen them completely fall apart? He’s fighting his tears… fighting himself.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here,” I repeat and hold him tighter. “Just breathe with me. Breathe.” I inhale and exhale repeatedly until, eventually, he matches my breathing patterns and clears his throat. He sits back up and looks in the opposite direction. He hates being vulnerable.
“Seven days later, the house was gone. We moved to Florida two weeks after. My parents never cried in front of us. Not once. The night of her funeral, I heard my dad say to my mom that I was weak. That I should’ve saved her. He never looked at me the same way again.”
This is why he started fighting.
“Tanner suggested to train me. I started working out every single day so that I’d never be weak again. I refused to be a helpless little bitch who couldn’t defend himself anymore. Then, when we moved here, we heard about the fights and… you know the rest.”
He started fighting and training every day so that he’d never lose someone else. He was fourteen years old, for Pete’s sake. He was so young. It’s no wonder he couldn’t stand up to two grown men with guns. Why do I feel like becoming a fighter was secretly his way of punishing himself?
“Did they ever catch him? Marcus?”
He clenches his fists at my question. That’s my answer. The combination of so much pain and anger in one person can’t end well. The way his life turned out is the mere example of that.
“No.”
It all makes sense now.
“I wanted to tell you, Winter, I swear. You have no idea how many times I almost did. But… you’re the brightest thing in my life, and this is the darkest one of all.”
I have no reason to doubt him anymore. He told me about the biggest trauma of his life. My eyes descend to the numbers tattooed on his forearm. 04/16. I’ve been wondering what it meant since the day I met him.
“Is that the date she died?” My fingers gently brush his skin.
“No. God, no. She deserved better than that.” He shakes his head. “That’s the date she was born.”
I wait for him to elaborate.
“I didn’t want to remember the day that I lost her. I wanted to remember all the years that I didn’t.”
I understand what he means by that. He didn’t want to ink himself with the tragic date when she was taken away. He wanted to honor her life by celebrating the time he got to spend with her.
“It wasn’t your fault. Please tell me you know that.” I interlace our fingers and run my thumb along the palm of his hand. He draws a breath. I know better than to think me saying it to him once will be enough to end a lifetime of Haze blaming himself.
“Yes, it was. She’d still be here if I’d just been stronger. I could’ve saved her.” He blames himself some more.
“No, that’s the thing, you couldn’t have. You were a kid, Haze.” I lift his chin up with my right hand. “None of this is your fault. None of it.”
He doesn’t argue with me, even though he clearly wants to, and stares in silence like he’s having an awakening. Then, after a few seconds, he speaks.
“I love you so much.”
I don’t say it back. I smile through the pain and let my body do the talking. I push the void between us aside and kiss him like I’ll never get a chance to taste his lips again. I want him to know how much what he just did means to me. His mouth recognizes mine as he circles my wrist and pulls me on top of him to deepen the kiss. My legs fall on both side of his body while his fingers venture into my hair. His hands clinging to my waist make me feel like an addict relapsing after working so hard to get clean. He’s a drug, and deep down I know… I could spend the rest of my life trying to get sober from Haze Adams.
His fingers wriggle under my shirt and dig into the hollow of my hips. If we keep this up, this will end the same way the dream I had this morning did.
He whispers against my mouth. “Does that mean that we’re back together?”
“I don’t know. Does it?” I say, unbuttoning his shirt.
He knows we’re back together. This isn’t even a question. My hands slip on his bare torso and trace the definition of his stomach. They curve around his muscular body, roaming downward and stopping right above his belt. I rest my fingers on the buckle and analyze his expression carefully.
Are we doing this?
He gives me the green light by pushing my head back to his and kissing me again.
We’re interrupted by his phone ringing.
He scoops it up, takes a quick peek at the screen, and declines the call, but it immediately rings again. He curses and presses the Decline button once more. He goes back in for a kiss but—big surprise—it rings for a third time.
“It’s one of my guys. It must be important.” He sighs and I nod in disappointment. I start to move off his lap, but he grips my hips and presses me down onto him. “Don’t. It shouldn’t be too long.” He strokes my bare arm.<
br />
He picks up.
“What?” he snaps.
I can’t hear what’s being said on the other end.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he growls, obviously not pleased with the news he’s getting. “I told you, I’m off to try and fix things with the North side.”
So that’s the ridiculous excuse he had to come up with for them to let him go…
“I’m not with her. How many times am I going to have to say it?”
They’re onto him. They know something’s going on. He won’t be able to keep lying for long.
“What? Trev, hold on, slow down.”
This makes me realize that I don’t know anything about his fighters. He never brings them up.
“Okay, damn! I heard you.”
He hangs up, throws his phone on the couch, and curses.
“Let me guess, you have to go,” I say.
“I’m sorry. Trust me, you have no idea how much I’d rather stay and strip you naked right now.” He tightens his grasp on my waist for a second, fighting himself. Then, he curses and takes his hands off me. “I’ll get you a cab. We can’t risk them seeing us together. They’re way too suspicious.”
I shift away from him.
“So what if they find out about us? What are they going to do? Kill me?” I joke, but Haze doesn’t laugh, which tells me that this is a lot more serious than I thought.
“You don’t need to worry about that because that’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.” He smiles and furthers himself from me to call a cab.
He comes back two minutes later.
“The cab will be here in five.”
I nod. His eyes flash.
“Hold on.”
He sprints to his room. I hear him move stuff around until he finds what he’s looking for. He walks back into the kitchen with…
Is he serious?
“I want you to have this.” He hands it to me.
I crinkle my nose. “Pepper spray?”
“Keep it with you at all times, okay?”
“Is it really that bad?”
He knows where I’m going with this. Are his fighters coming after me? Should I be worried?
Unspoken Rules Page 25
