Page 1 of Forbidden Titan (North Shore Titans Hockey #4)

Prologue

Merci

It’s strange here, in the Knight Manor. It’s too big, too fancy, too perfect. Nothing like the cramped apartment where I could hear every creak of the floor, every muffled argument through the walls, every siren blaring outside the windows. The silence is loud in this place, and I’m no more than a speck lost inside of it.

I don’t belong.

My fork clinks against my plate as I push the last bits of dinner around. The food tasted fine, but everything here is so foreign that it might as well have come from another planet.

Across the table, Mr. Knight—my new stepfather—checks his phone, his thumb tapping the screen, texting in that quiet yet forceful way that says someone’s in deep shit. I don’t know him well enough to read all his moods, but tonight, even I can tell he’s frustrated .

Mom shifts beside me, her fingers twisting in her lap like always when she’s nervous. It’s been two months in this house, and she’s still figuring out how to fit in. Just like me. While Mr. Knight is nothing like my real dad, it’s hard to shake off all those years of abuse.

Mr. Knight’s eyes flick to the empty chair across from me, then back to his phone. “Where the hell is my son?”

Mom offers a weak smile. “He’s probably—”

“No.” He shakes his head, firmly cutting her off. “He knew tonight mattered.”

My stomach twists and clenches. Tonight. Because it’s my birthday—a day that only serves as a reminder that things don’t work out.

My real dad hated me. He hated that I was even born. And he made sure to tell me every chance he got. My birthday was one of those special days he loved to rub it in.

Mom was never allowed to get me gifts, and if she did, he’d beat the fuck out of her, then throw whatever present she got away. She never stopped getting them. Except, whenever I saw a wrapped gift hidden in my drawer, I threw up, knowing what it would lead to. And although we finally left my father and we were free to celebrate my birthdays, the fear remained.

Today is no different. Fear hovers like a shadow. And my new stepbrother not being here only makes it worse because it’s pissing off my stepfather. The last thing I want is for Zach to get in trouble.

Not that I owe him anything. We only met a month ago. He’s a skilled hockey player who plays for a team in Massachusetts, so he boards with a family there. But the season is over and he’s back home.

Sometimes, I think he hates me. Most of the time, he doesn’t even acknowledge my existence. Maybe he wants nothing to do with me because he’s seventeen and I’m only in tenth grade. High school social dynamics suck ass.

Mr. Knight grumbles and drops his phone on the table causing the silverware to rattle.

I flinch, then stare at the cake in the middle of the table, perfectly frosted, candles unlit. I’m fifteen today and shouldn’t feel like a terrified little kid anymore.

But I do.

Mom and Mr. Knight wanted to take me out to eat, but I nearly had a panic attack when they mentioned the idea. Okay, I did have a panic attack. So, they decided to keep things small and at home. I wouldn’t be surprised if my therapist suggested the latter of the two ideas.

My stepfather’s gaze softens when it meets mine. “I’m sorry, Merci. Didn’t mean to scare you. I just really wanted this to be perfect for you. For us to celebrate you as a family. ”

“It’s fine,” I whisper, hoping to disappear with my words.

“No, it’s not. I hope one day you’ll learn how much you deserve and that my son’s behavior is unacceptable.” He smiles and gets up from the table, returning a second later with matches. “C’mon. Let’s enjoy some cake.”

While he lights the candles, Mom disappears into another room only to come back carrying gifts. My stomach twists, bile rising in my throat.

I focus on the bright flickering candles as they sing “Happy Birthday” and try to focus on that thing you’re supposed to do when you blow them out. The problem is, I’ve never really had much luck with wishes. Or with anything, really.

My breath catches as I lean forward, make a wish I don’t believe in, then blow out the candles. The flames sputter out, and Mom claps while Mr. Knight rests a warm and steady hand on my shoulder.

“I hope you get everything you wish for, sweetheart.” Mom kisses my forehead.

Just as I’m about to respond, the front door slams, the noise so sudden it makes me jump. All of us turn just as my stepbrother stomps past.

“Zach,” Mr. Knight calls, his voice tight. He strides after Zach, his shoes squeaking against the polished floor. “Get back here. ”

My stepbrother doesn’t stop, doesn’t even look back. The only response any of us get is the fading sound of his footsteps on the hardwood as he makes his way upstairs.

Mr. Knight lets out a slow breath, his hand running through his hair, eyes softening as he glances back. “I just don’t know what to do with him anymore.”

Mom’s eyes flick to me, her smile gone as I shrink in my seat. It’s . . . my fault. I don’t know why or how, but Zach wouldn’t hate being here so much if not for me.

“Sorry, Merci. I didn’t mean for this to ruin your birthday.” Mr. Knight sighs, then walks out of the room.

“Have some cake, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

I push the plate away when Mom leaves and stare at the melted wax as I swallow past the growing lump in my throat. Why would this year be any different?

Stupidly, for a moment, I’d wished for a happy life where I could finally allow myself to adjust.

Though, I guess I understand why Zach isn’t exactly welcoming. He never asked for a stepmother or a stepbrother.

It probably doesn’t help that this dinner came across as our parents' way of forcing us to build some kind of bond.

Sometimes I wake up and see him standing in my doorway in the dark. It scares the shit out of me.

And he never smiles. Not ever .

He’s cold and distant.

When Mom still doesn’t come back, I stand and grab the plates to clean up. After I load the last of them into the dishwasher, I glance at the cake again and bite my bottom lip. Maybe Zach wants a piece.

He missed dinner, after all. And I haven’t exactly tried to befriend him. I usually keep to myself.

I cut a slice, put it on a plate, and then head upstairs. My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I approach his room. My footsteps falter as I swallow past the lump lodged in my throat.

What the hell am I doing?

My stepbrother hates me. I know it. The way he looks at me sometimes . . . it’s like I’m an intruder in his world, someone he’s forced to tolerate.

I'm about to abort this dumb ass plan when I notice his door is slightly ajar. It's gotta be a sign.

If I can fix tonight, maybe he might give us a chance to at least be friends.

When I push the door open fully, the room is dark, shadows flickering across the walls from the faint glow of the outdoor lights. Zach sits on his bed, his broad frame hunched over, elbows on his knees. He’s staring at his hands as though the sight of them is foreign.

“Zach?” I whisper, his name sticking in my throat. “I . . . I brought you some cake. ”

He doesn’t turn to look at me. Instead, his shoulders tremble, and it takes me a second to realize . . . he’s wiping his eyes.

My stomach twists at the sight. I’ve never seen him cry. As the tears stream down his cheeks, his expression is blank, almost confused, like he doesn’t know what tears are.

“Are you . . . okay?” I ask, my voice catching.

His head snaps up, eyes locking onto mine. They’re wild and glassy, but there’s nothing there—no recognition, no anger—just emptiness like he’s not seeing me at all.

“Get out, Laurent.” He uses my last name, his words flat, mechanical, as if spoken by someone else.

I flinch, taking a step back. “I just thought . . . I brought you a piece of cake.” My voice wobbles as I offer the plate.

He lets out a growl, then lunges at me. I yelp, dropping the plate. Cake splatters across the floor as I bolt out the door.

Zach is fast. He catches up to me just as I reach the top landing of the stairs and grabs my arm, his grip iron-tight as he swings me around. The next thing I know, I’m flying through the air, crashing into the small closet.

The door slams shut behind me, and everything goes dark .

“No, no, no!” I shriek, my hands scrambling for the doorknob, nails scratching, desperate.

Not this. Anything but this.

I slam my body against the door as ragged sobs tear from me, raw and jagged. I pound with my fists, nails scratching until they burn, my head spinning and ears ringing. “Let me out! Let me OUT!”

The door doesn’t budge.

My eyes sting, tears blurring everything. My breath comes in abrupt, panicked gasps that catch in my throat. The closet is too tight, too dark, and I’m trapped.

Again.

I continue to scratch at the wood, slamming my hands and body against it as I scream over and over. Or at least I think I am. Everything sounds muffled, like I’m underwater.

Can anyone even hear me?

Suddenly, the door swings open, and the light crashes in. I let out a high-pitched scream while surging forward right into something solid. I push with all my strength, wanting to get away.

I turn to run but drop to my knees after a few steps, my heart pounding so fast I think it’ll explode.

Arms wrap around me as I thrash around and scratch.

“Merci, it’s okay. Shh. It’s okay, baby.” Mom’s voice filters through the panic as she holds me tight .

My chest heaves as I sob, finally curling into her.

Another hand is on my back, rubbing soothing circles.

“We’re here, Merci. You’re safe.” Mr. Knight’s voice is solid and strong. Just like the day he burst into our kitchen after my father . . .

After he saved us.

I sob harder, shame and weakness consuming me. “I’m sorry. . .” I gasp between breaths, unable to meet their eyes.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Mom whispers, her hand smoothing my hair back.

But it’s not. None of this is okay.

All I wanted to do was comfort my stepbrother. Narrowing my eyes, I spin, wanting to tell him off. But when I look over my shoulder, Zach is at the bottom of the staircase, not moving.

His body is sprawled across the tile. One arm is bent wrong, with a bone sticking through the skin. Blood pools near his head, bright and too much, spreading like it’s trying to fill every crack in the marble.

My stomach drops. “Z-Zach. . .”

“Oh my god. Steven.” My mother points to my stepbrother.

Mr. Knight races down the stairs, his phone already pressed to his ear. “I need help. Send an ambulance! ”

Mom stands, pulling me to my feet. My legs are jelly, my heart pounds so hard it hurts, and my stomach clenches. I’m going to be sick.

“Merci, come on.” Her voice trembles as she tries to usher me away, shielding me from seeing anything more.

But I can’t unsee it.

The blood, his lifeless body . . . it plays in my mind like a bad dream I can’t wake from.

“I—” My throat closes.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Did I do that?

Everything blurs together and a ringing in my ears becomes so overpowering my hands clamp around them as if to keep the sound out.

“I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t—” My words cut off as fresh sobs claw their way up my throat, overpowering me.

Mom continues ushering me somewhere, but my feet stumble as I drag them like walking through thick mud. When we make it to my room, she sits with me on the edge of the bed.

“I killed him.” The words slip from my lips, barely there. “I killed Zach.”

It’s my fault.

The ringing in my ears grows louder, drowning out the world.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a fresh start. A better life for Mom and me.

Instead, I broke everything.