Page 147 of Dark Little Game

The first few buttons on the top of his shirt are undone, and from this close, I can see the edge of his tattoo along his collarbone.

Those wings that I love so much. Beautiful ink on his smooth skin that he put there to remind himself he’s free.

You deserve to be free.

Flying high and away, higher than all of us, because you deserve the whole world.

I curse softly under my breath. “Fuck.Fuck.”

“You’re right when you say I shouldn’t fall for you,” he says, stroking my hair like he’s holding something precious. “But I did fall for you. I still am. Tell me you’re fucked up, tell me you’re broken, and I’m still going to be here with you.”

I exhale, resting my head on his shoulder.

The whole world feels too raw, too hostile.

But I want a world wherethiscan be something real.

“No one’s ever wanted that,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

No one’s ever wanted me.

He hums, kissing my head again. “Lucky me. I got to you first.”

25

Rayne

Back then, in high school, Hunter never sat alone during lunch because he didn’t come to the cafeteria at all.

I always sat with Weston.

Both of us never knew where his brother went.

I found out where Hunter ate lunch one day by accident.

Not because I saw Hunter himself, but because I saw what he left behind.

He’d been in the library computer lab, at a desk in the back. Even back then, Hunter always drank little cans of black coffee, and I saw a forgotten empty one left at one of the desks.

He attempted to log out, but the computer didn’t complete the task. Hunter’s account was still logged in.

Along with his search history.

The first few were about different fencing swords. No surprise.

But one search was different.

It was a search for grief counselors in the area.

Hunter always said that he was forced into therapy against his will. That he hated it all. That he was comfortable as himself, fucked up and all.

But there was something inside him reaching out, even back then.

Even when the fire inside him was at its worst, there was an untouched, weathered stone inside him, surviving through so much pain.

That’s the thing about fire, no matter how strong the blaze.

It’s almost never hot enough to melt stone.