The Rules of Being Friends (A Pact Between the Forgotten Series Book 2)

by Jessica Sorensen

  He doesn’t appear too impressed, but I don’t think Zay is the type of guy to get impressed very easily. He sets the food down on the counter then bends down to take a pan out of the cupboard. Hunter walks off down the hallway, and Jax exits the pantry with bread. He places that down on the counter then rolls up his sleeves and walks around me, offering me a small smile as he passes. Then he crosses the kitchen into the dining room and opens up the doors to an armoire. Inside is a stereo system, and he pushes a couple of buttons then returns back over to us, digging out his phone from his pocket.

  He swipes his finger across the screen then hands his phone to me. “You wanna pick the music?”

  “Sure.” I take the phone from him and start scrolling through his playlist, kind of excited to do so.

  I honestly believe that you can learn a lot about a person from looking at their playlists. But when I see that Jax listens to a lot of the same music I do, I’m unsure what to make of it. Music is my security; it blocks out the noise and ugliness of the world and helps with my anxiety. I pick songs that speak to my soul, that sing about the dark stuff I can relate to. Is it the same for Jax? I don’t know because I don’t know much about him, but I find myself wanting to.

  After scrolling through a handful of songs, I finally pick one. When I tap on it, music fills the room. I glance around and notice speakers are mounted on the walls.

  Jax and Zay have already started on the grilled ham and cheese. Jax is spreading butter onto the bread, and Zay is tossing the bread onto the pan and adding slices of ham and cheese to it. As I head over to help, I notice how they seem to move in unison—all three of them do really. It’s like they know what to do to get things done quickly, and it’s just something they know, like they’ve done this hundreds of times before. They said they’ve been friends forever, but how much time have they spent together? A lot, I’m guessing.

  As I step up behind them, Jax turns around to face me. “Nice song choice.” He smiles then hands me the butter knife. “Here. Take my place. I’m going to heat up some mac and cheese to go with this.”

  I roll up my sleeves since I’m wearing Jax’s hoodie still and the sleeves are long. Then I take the knife from him, step up beside Zay, and start buttering slices of bread while Jax digs out a box of frozen mac and cheese from the freezer.

  For a few minutes, no one talks, and I’m okay with that. Music is playing in the background, and it’s a good song, one I know the lyrics to. I quietly mouth them to myself. Normally, if I were alone, I’d belt them out, but like hell am I going to do that here.

  “You’re not buttering it all the way to the corners,” Zay suddenly says in that bossy tone he uses a lot, I’m noticing.

  “I’m doing it on purpose,” I inform him. “It tastes better this way. The bread’s less greasy.”

  He angles his head toward me. “Grilled cheese is supposed to be greasy.”

  “That might be your preference, but not mine.” I pick up another slice of bread. “If you want, I can slather butter all over yours.”

  “Do. I like mine greasy.” He picks up the spatula to turn over the sandwiches he’s cooking.

  “Okay, one heart attack coming up.” I slather a crap ton of butter all over the bread. He extends his hand to take it from me, but I move it out of his reach. “Hold on. I missed a corner.” I butter a tiny spot that I missed, making sure to get it good.

  Zay stares at me, unimpressed. “Do you always take things so literally?”

  “No.” I hand him the bread. “Do you always take things so seriously?”

  Jax chokes on a laugh from behind us. Zay throws a look of warning at him, to which Jax just shrugs. Rolling his eyes, Zay returns to the grilled cheese while Jax trades a smile with me.

  Still smiling, I turn back around and pick up another slice of bread to butter.

  Zay moves the cooked sandwiches onto a plate to get ready to make another batch. “This thing with the cameras,” he says, changing the subject, “we’re all going to have to get into the house to install them. And while we do, we’re going to need someone to keep an eye on the camera that’s set up near the road to make sure no one shows up.”

  “And you want me to do that?” I ask.

  He nods. “I know it’s your house, but you don’t know how to set up the cameras.”

  “It’s fine.” I pause. “You’re not going to set up any in my room, right?” I mean, I know he already said that, but I want to be extra certain.

  “I already told you I wouldn’t.”

  “What about near my room?” You know, close enough that one of them could possibly hear what’s happening during those nights my uncle sneaks in.

  His gaze flits to me. “I’m not sure.” He keeps his gaze on me as he takes the slice of buttered bread I’m holding. “What are you afraid of us overhearing?”

  “Oh, you know, my off-pitch voice as I sing in the shower,” I lie. “I suck at singing.”

  I don’t think he’s buying my bullshit, but that’s okay. I won’t crack. The wounds and scars on my side start to throb against his intense gaze.

  “Having a stare down already, huh?” Hunter steps up behind me and reaches around to grab a sandwich off the plate, standing so close that his chest touches my back.

  Zay returns to cooking, not bothering to remark on what Hunter said. “Did you get the equipment?” he asks.

  “Yep.” Hunter pries the butter knife out of my hand then laces his fingers through mine. “And now I’m going to go look at this beautiful girl’s phone and see if I can figure out who the hell is sending her those texts while you finish cooking.” He pulls me away from the counter and tows me with him as he heads back down the hallway. I grow nervous, knowing he’s going to read those texts.

  What the heck am I going to say to him if he does ask questions?

  No answer comes to me, and by the time he pulls me into the living room, I’m sweating. When he lets go of my hand, I try to discreetly wipe off my damp palms as I take in the room. It has a fireplace, two sofas and a chair and, like the wall beside the stairway, framed photos hang everywhere. I get a better look at these ones, but one in particular snags my attention. It’s of an old tree on top of a hill. The sky is shadowy, and the tree is shedding leaves that are floating around it. It’s a haunting photo, but that’s not why I’m staring at it. It’s that I feel like I’ve seen the tree before.

  “Where is this?” I wonder as I walk over to get a better look at the photo.

  Hunter is standing beside me, digging through a box, and while I’m not fully looking at him, I can almost feel how tense he gets, as if it’s so powerful it crackles through the air.

  “It’s on my father’s land,” he explains in an odd tone. “Zay, Jax, and I used to go there to escape the shit going on in our homes when we were too young to drive. It was a place of solitude until … someone we knew died. We used to spend time with her there. Now it’s a place that reminds us of the worst day we ever had.”

  That was not what I expected him to say.

  I look at him then, and his expression is crammed with anguish. This guy, who has been nothing but smiles and sunshine.

  I want to ask him who died there, but I know how hard it can be to talk about stuff like that. So, instead I ask, “If this tree reminds you of so much pain, then why do you keep a photo of it on your wall?”

  He collects an iPad from the box. “Because, while it’s hard to look at, I don’t want to forget about her either.”

  Her? Maybe it was a sister or one of the guy’s sisters.

  Again, I keep those questions to myself, not wanting to force him to talk about stuff that is clearly painful for him.

  “Come sit down with me, and I’ll see if I can figure out who’s stalking you.” He heads to the sofa, nodding at me to follow him.

  I do, sitting down beside him. Then, with reluctance, I retrieve my phone from my pocket.

  He extends his hand toward it, but I move it out of his reach. He cocks his he
ad to the side, confused amusement written all over his expression.

  “I’m going to need to see your phone, pretty Raven, or I can’t do much of anything.”

  “I know.” I clutch my phone. I know I’m going to have to tell the guys a little about my past eventually—I know this. And with that note I have balled up in my backpack, I’m well aware that people in the school probably already know. Add that to these texts, and it’s inevitable. I don’t want to, though. At all. But I think I’d rather them hear it from me. So, sucking in a deep breath, I say, “I need to tell you something before I do.”

  His puzzlement magnifies. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “It’s about me, and it’s bad,” I add, figuring I need to prepare him for this and prepare myself to get dumped by these guys who have been nicer to me than anyone else has for a long time—even cranky Zay. “And honestly, I don’t really want to tell you, but these texts are going to make you have questions about it. Plus, I’m pretty sure someone at school has already found out about it, so it’s only a matter of time before you guys do, too.” I stare down at my lap while continuing because I can’t look him in the eyes when I say this.

  “When my parents were murdered, I was found with them … with blood all over my hands and not a drop of memory of what happened … I still don’t remember. I became a suspect and was put in a psych ward for a bit before the police stopped investigating me. Then I was released and handed over to my aunt and uncle. But, even though I was released, there’s no proof I didn’t do it. There’s just not enough proof that I did.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut as red fills my vision. Then I summon a deep inhale and open my eyes again, willing them to stay dry. I tell myself to look at him, because the silence is getting awkward. But I’m a coward. I never thought this would be an issue with me—I’m usually tougher than this—but I guess nice guys are my kryptonite.

  Hunter fixes his finger underneath my chin and angles my head up so our gazes unite. Weirdly, not an ounce of disgust is in those pretty blue eyes of him.

  “I already knew that,” he tells me softly. “We already looked into your past, remember?”

  My heart is thundering in my chest. “But you said you couldn’t find much about my past, that I was off the grid or whatever.”

  “That’s more of a recent thing. But there is info about what happened with your parents.”

  My lips form an O, my heart an erratic mess inside my chest as I wait for him to say what he thinks of this, for him to tell me that I’m a murderer like everyone else always does.

  But all he says is, “No one’s gonna judge you. We all have our dark pasts. And you’re safe with us.” With that, he lowers his finger from my chin.

  Way, way into the future, when I look back at this moment, I’ll realize that I may have fallen in love with Hunter Hathingford just a tiny bit just then. Although, at the time, I wasn’t aware of this, because I didn’t know what love was.

  He offers me the kindest smile ever. “Can I see your phone now?”

  I nod unsteady, my heart still acting like a total lunatic, but for different reasons than being worried. When I hand him my phone, my fingers tremble like little shitheads, and he totally notices but doesn’t remark, just giving my hand a gentle squeeze before taking the phone and plugging into the iPad.

  I release a quiet exhale and pull myself together. “So, how do you even try to track down this person? Yesterday, you said the phone number was registered in a town in Wyoming, but how do you find out who it is?”

  Amusement glitters in his eyes as he glances at me. “You wanna know how I hack shit?”

  “Yeah, kind of.”

  Smiling, he scoots back in the sofa then pats the spot beside him, indicating for me to scoot closer. I inch closer to him, but apparently not enough since he gently grabs me by the thigh and drags me over until my leg is pressed up against his. Then he taps open my phone and opens the text thread from the unknown sender.

  A beat of silence ticks by, and then he grips the phone. “This is what they sent you last night?” he asks, looking at me.

  I nod, even though I’m sure it was a rhetorical question. “I have no idea how they got that photo of that pendant either, or why they think it’s important, but I do know my uncle has it. He was actually trying to burn it before we moved, but I went out and picked it up. When he saw it on me, he freaked out and ripped it off me. Last night, while you were spying on him, he was actually sitting at the kitchen table, staring at it. But I have no clue why.”

  He nods, seeming distracted by the photo. “We’ll look into that more,” he mumbles. Then he blinks and looks at me. “But first, I want to deal with this little threat they sent you last night, because like hell am I gonna let this person threaten you.”

  “I’m not a fan of that either,” I agree. “But how can we do anything when we don’t even know who it is?”

  “Oh, we’re gonna find out who it is and deal with them.” He lets out this eerie, almost manic laugh as he cracks his knuckles.

  It might frighten me, but after spending months in the psych ward, only to be released into my uncle’s cruel hands, it takes a lot more to scare me.

  Zay enters the room then with a plate of sandwiches in his hand. “What’s going on?”

  Hunter taps a bunch of buttons on the iPad. “What’s going on is that a stalker is gonna get their ass beat.”

  Zay slants against the doorway. “Sounds like fun, but you need to figure out who it is first.”

  “Oh, I will,” Hunter assures him as my phone lets out a series of beeps.

  Hunter sinks into silence then as he gets all intense, clicking buttons and muttering underneath his breath. Zay stares at me, something I’m starting to notice he does, and I’m not certain why. And he does it so openly, as if he doesn’t give a crap if I’m aware he’s doing it.

  After a few seconds of simply looking at me, he pushes away from the doorway and crosses the room, holding the plate out to Hunter. Without looking up from the screen, Hunter grabs a sandwich and takes a huge bite. Then, in a surprising move, Zay puts the plate out for me to take one.

  I reach for one, but he moves the plate out of the way. “Not that one. Take the middle one.” He puts the plate back in front of me.

  “Why? Is that the one you poisoned?” I joke as I pick up the middle one.

  He gives me a hardy har har look. “No, smartass, that’s the one that didn’t get butter all the way to the corners. You know, the less greasy one that you were raving about in the kitchen.”

  “Oh … Thanks then.” It was kind of nice of him to make sure I got that one.

  At least, that’s what I think until he shrugs and says, “No one else wants to eat it. We like greasy.” He sinks down onto the coffee table that’s in front of us.

  “Well, you’re all missing out, ’cause this way is the best.” I take a big bite and lick up some cheese that drips onto the side of my hand.

  Zay is watching me with an indecipherable, but I’m guessing it’s more than likely due to my unladylike eating etiquette. But the whole term ladylike is stupid, in my opinion. Like, just because I have a vagina, I can’t lick yummy cheese off my hand? Yeah, screw that.

  Finally, Zay drags his gaze off me. “I heard a rumor today that one of the families might be sending trouble our way,” he tells Hunter.

  “Story of our damn lives,” Hunter mutters, half-listening.

  I freeze mid-bite. “Families?”

  Zay leans back on one hand while taking a bite of his sandwich. “Yeah, families. Has no one explained this to you yet? I thought someone would’ve gossiped about it by now.”

  “No one’s really talked to me except for you guys, and Harlow.” I pick a chunk of sandwich off and pop it into my mouth. “And she mentioned it today but said she didn’t want to talk about it while we were in school and someone could overhear us. She seemed kind of twitchy about it.”

  “She should be,” Zay tells me. “The families aren�
�t something anyone should be gossiping about in the hallways. Even Low.”

  “Why do you say it like that? Like she’s … I don’t know … exempt from certain rules or something.”

  Hunter, who up until this point has been pushing buttons like a mad man, freezes.

  Zay looks at him then, and Hunter lifts his gaze to him. They exchange a look.

  “We’re going to have to tell her sometime,” Zay says like they actually had a conversation. “She’s with us now, which means she’s at risk if she doesn’t know.”

  Reluctance masks his expression. “I know but … I like that she’s unaware of the messed-up shit that we come from.”

  Zay’s gaze turns cold. “You need to check yourself.”

  Hunter glares at him. “Fuck you.”

  I feel beyond uncomfortable and, to be honest, confused. Why is Hunter getting so mad at him? And what does he by, he needs to check himself?

  “Zay’s right; she needs to know.” Jax enters the room with a sandwich in his hand and a plate of mac and cheese in the other. “She won’t be safe if we don’t tell her eventually.” He looks at me then, and his expression softens. “I’m sorry if I’m scaring you.”

  “You’re not,” I tell him. “And I think we already established that I don’t scare easily.”

  His lips remain in a thin line. “If something is going to scare you, this’ll be it. And to be honest, I’d prefer if you could just stay out of it. But Zay’s right; you do need to know. It’s important if you’re going to stay safe while you’re here.”

  “You said this wasn’t mobster stuff.” I eye him over. “But again, with the way that you’re acting, it sounds awful mobster-ish.”

  “That’s because it is,” Zay states. “Jax just likes to pretend it’s not.”

  Jax scowls at him. “I don’t like to pretend. No one’s ever given anyone the official title of a mobster. Therefore, I prefer to see it in a different light.”

  “Yeah, the delusional one,” Zay mumbles with an eye roll.

  Jax shakes his head in annoyance then sets the plate of mac and cheese onto the table before sinking down onto the sofa beside me so that I’m not wedged between him and Hunter. I try to slide over to make more room for Jax, but Hunter is way too in La La Land to acknowledge what I’m trying to do, so instead, I just end up with my leg pressed against his along with my arm. I lean to the other side to give him some space, but that just makes it so I’m pressed up against Jax. I expect Jax to scoot over the other way, since there’s room on that side, but he just reclines back in the sofa, keeping his leg resting against mine, along with his hip and shoulder—basically the entire left side of him. The scent of him floods my nostrils again, and I discreetly breathe it in. There’s something about the way he smells that’s familiar. I’m not sure why, but whatever it reminds me of, it makes me feel warm inside.