Page 21 of Nevermore (A Cruel Love #1)

NINETEEN

REIGN

The ride is quiet save for the roar of Mama’s crappy engine.

Santiago looks so out of place, it’s almost funny.

In his expensive clothes, he sits on the dirty seat, his elegant fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

Since I can’t drive, I’ve been giving him directions on where to go, but he hasn’t asked about our destination.

I’m grateful for it because it gives him less of a chance of telling me how ridiculous I am.

Even though I have a feeling now that he wouldn’t.

The change I’ve seen in him is giving me whiplash. Somehow, one kiss has turned him into someone else. He still speaks the same way, has the same mannerisms, and might still be a douche, but he’s… softer now. Gentler. Almost like he cares.

And it’s doing fucked up things to my dick.

Because that’s really what I’ve wanted all along, even if I couldn’t admit it.

He’s this mysterious guy that’s become my stepbrother but only in name.

He was apathetic and cruel, but maybe I lowkey hate myself, because it’s what drew me to him.

It still is. He wanted to see me snap? I want to see his layers peeled back until the real Santiago is in front of me.

And maybe this little venture will get me one step closer.

We pull up to my favorite spot and Santiago’s eyes couldn’t be wider. I chuckle because he surprised me with the school pool and now it’s my turn.

“Where exactly are we?” he questions as he kills the engine. “It’s so…”

“Cool?” I question which only earns me a glare. I give his shoes a look and snort. “Should have worn some sneakers.”

He rolls his eyes and gets out of the car as I follow suit.

He stands, unsure of himself, until I jut my chin in the direction of a little patch of land where we’ll sit.

He goes there as I snag a blanket from the truck bed.

I lay it on the ground and sit, patting the spot beside me when he hesitates. “Trust me?”

Those two words earn me a sort of confused stare. His brown eyes stay trained on mine as he sits and makes himself comfortable. He clears his throat after a moment and gestures at the view in front of him. “Explain.”

I lean back on my elbows and cross my legs at the ankles. Taking in the scenery, I smile. “What? Never seen a land rig before?”

It’s not surprising. Even though he lives in Texas, I doubt he’s ever been to this part. We’re perched on the closest thing you could consider a hill for this part of the country. We have the perfect view of an old land rig that’s still functioning.

“Are we allowed to be here?” Santiago asks, grimacing as he picks a bit of dirt off his shoes.

I snort. “I guess there are some things money just can’t buy. Like critical thinkin’.” He narrows his eyes and I shrug. “The rig is on private land but it rests right at the edge of the property line. We’re fine sittin’ here.”

He nods and turns his gaze to the land rig. “And what are we doing here?”

“It’s cool to look at,” I say simply.

He raises a skeptical brow. “Really? That’s it? Apparently, I’m sitting next to a genius. I’d thought you’d be more poetic than that.”

Now it’s my turn to scowl. “Fuck off.”

His eyes widen at my words, but when he realizes I’m just teasing him, he chuckles. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard that sound come out of his mouth. It’s… nice.

“Okay, well, how much do you know about land rigs?” I relent after a few seconds.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“They’re shit for the environment,” I explain. “Pollution, oil spills, soil degradation. You name it and it probably affects it.”

He nods along. “So why sit here and watch them?”

I sigh. “Because they give us somethin’ vital. They’re the safest of a horrible practice, believe it or not. Lesser of two evils.”

“And what would you know about the lesser of two evils?”

I don’t bristle at his question because he has a point. My interest stems deeper than I’m letting on. People who work on rigs are considered roughnecks. Not much respect is given to them even though they’re risking their lives every day. It’s almost sad.

“I used to hitch rides up here sometimes,” I say. “I think it’s interestin’ that people give hardworkin’ men shit for not havin’ fancy college degrees when this work is necessary. I dunno.”

He turns to face me, his interest now focused on the side of my face. “I want the truth. There’s more you’re not telling me.”

I shake my head through a lie. “No.”

In an instant, too quickly for me to register, his fingers are pinching my chin and forcing me to look at him. “What did I tell you about listening to me? When I say to do something, you do it .”

I gulp, unable to break the tense eye contact between us.

But it’s not tense because I’m uncomfortable, more like I’m drawn to it.

To the way he so easily takes command in a way I never have.

It’s what compels me to spill the truth.

“They’re big and powerful. So powerful they…

” My words are caught in my throat but I push through. “My dad died workin’ a land rig.”

The truth spills through a subdued sob. Years later, and I still haven’t gotten over his death. It took Mama so long to put herself back out there, but she was a mess when it happened. I was only five, so maybe I didn’t really understand, but I knew enough to become the person she needed.

Even if it took my youth, even if it took my confidence with others, even if it isolated me.

It startles me when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to Santiago, unsure of what I’ll see, and I hold back a gasp at the look he’s giving me. It’s so tender and soft, almost comforting, and as he squeezes my shoulder, I can feel it.

A loss shared.

“My mother…” He digs his fingers into my shoulder. “She’s dead too.”

“How?” I ask, realizing too late that it’s not an easy question to answer. “I mean, you don’t have to?—”

“A robbery gone wrong,” he says quickly. He drops his head, his bangs flickering in the wind and covering his eyes. “She didn’t have anything to do with it. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I notice the way he averts my gaze and bites down on his bottom lip, almost as if he’s holding something back. I don’t point it out because it really isn’t any of my business. “When did this happen?”

“Two years ago.”

No wonder he is the way he is. It all becomes so clear. The memory of his mom is still fresh. Emiliano has moved on—which is okay—but I bet Santiago was thinking it might take him more time. I can see the anger now, the one that simmered under the disinterested facade.

I can see that maybe we’re more alike than I originally thought.

So, we spend the rest of the day just staring at the land rig. Eventually, day turns to afternoon, which turns to evening, and we only leave when our stomachs start rumbling. We don’t talk about much, just sit together in a peaceful silence as we stare at a man-made tragedy in front of us.

Because even something horrific can be beautiful.