Page 18

North

The drive home was suffocating.

The air inside the car felt thick, the low hum of the engine drowned out by Connor’s incessant chatter. He sat in the backseat, practically vibrating with excitement, replaying the events of the night like some highlight reel of a game-winning play.

“Man, that was perfect,” he cackled, drumming his hands against the back of Victor’s seat. “Did you see her face? She looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole. Classic.”

I gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My jaw clenched, muscles locking as Connor’s words clawed at my skull. I should’ve told him to shut the fuck up. Should’ve told him it wasn’t funny. But my throat felt like it was filled with cement, heavy and unmovable.

“Yeah,” I muttered instead, my voice flat, empty.

Victor, sitting in the passenger seat, finally spoke, his tone clipped with irritation. “Connor, shut up. No one wants to hear your play-by-play.”

Connor snorted, leaning forward between us. “Oh, come on, Vic. You’re acting like you didn’t enjoy it. What’s the deal? Feeling sorry for the murderer’s daughter?” He scoffed. “Jesus, man. It’s Quinn fucking Harley. She had it coming.”

Something inside me snapped.

I pressed harder on the gas, the car jerking slightly forward, making Connor stumble back into his seat with a curse. For a moment, there was silence, then he turned to me with a glare. “Man, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You! You keep going on and fucking on about it. You got the revenge you wanted for Aiden, so shut the fuck up,” I snapped, but that was wrong. It was him and Quinn fucking Harley. Connor’s mouth dropped open, his eyes sharp and furious—I couldn’t have cared less. “I fucking mean it, Connor. Not another fucking word.”

“Seriously?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes at me. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown conscious all of a sudden, North. You could’ve stopped this at any point, but you didn’t.”

The words made my stomach turn. The way Connor said it like she was some inhuman thing that deserved whatever we threw at her. But the worst part? The part that made my chest ache and my fingers tighten around the wheel until they ached?

I had thought the same thing.

Or at least, I had tried to.

Tried to remind myself who she was. Who her father was. Why was this supposed to be justice? Why was she just a means to an end?

So why the fuck did it feel like a betrayal?

We pulled into the driveway, the house looming in front of us like something out of a nightmare. The sight of Evie’s car parked in its usual spot sent a jolt of unease through my chest.

Connor stretched, yawning as he pushed open the door. “Let’s see if there’s any fallout. Maybe she left a trail of tissues or something.”

Victor shot him a glare. “You’re an idiot.”

I said nothing, stepping out of the car, my stomach twisting tighter with every step toward the house. I didn’t want to go inside. I didn’t want to face what was waiting for me.

But I had no choice.

***

The house was silent.

Too silent.

Connor wandered in first, immediately heading toward the kitchen with a stupid grin on his face. “Quinn?” he called in a mocking tone. “Are you hiding in shame?”

My teeth ground together. My nails dug into my palms. I told myself it didn’t matter. Told myself I didn’t care.

But I did.

Victor sighed, leaning against the counter as he scanned the empty room. “She’s probably waiting to rip into you. Can’t say you don’t deserve it.” He tipped his head, and my stomach tightened at the sight of Evie’s bag on the table. My sister was here. She knew.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to push past the tension coiling in my gut.

Connor flopped onto the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table like he owned the fucking place. “Looks like she left,” he said, almost disappointed. “Damn. Would’ve been fun to see her cry a little more.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. I just turned on my heel and walked toward the gym, needing to hit something. Anything.

Victor followed, muttering under his breath as he scrolled through his phone. “Summer won’t leave me alone. She’s acting like I orchestrated the whole damn thing.”

I let out a bitter smirk. “Guilt makes people dramatic.”

Victor stopped, leveling me with a look. “You’re one to fucking talk. Did you have to be such an asshole to her this morning?”

The question made something inside me twist. I shrugged. “She’ll get over it.”

Victor’s jaw tightened. “You really think that?”

No. I didn’t.

But I didn’t answer.

Connor, oblivious as ever, chuckled. “Please. Summer is being dramatic. She thinks she made a friend, and that’s her own damn fault. Don’t worry. She’ll get over it.”

Will she?

The thought crept in before I could push it away.

And what if she doesn’t? What if this is the thing that ruins her?

But I wasn’t thinking about Summer.

I was thinking about Quinn.

About the way she looked at me last night. Like I had destroyed something inside of her. Something fragile, something real.

Victor sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “You’re fucked up, North. You know that?”

I turned to him, smirking coldly. “Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.”

Victor shook his head, but there was something else there now—a crack in his usual indifference. “You don’t even realize what you did, do you?”

I said nothing. Just grabbed the boxing gloves from the bench, shoving my hands into them. I needed to hit something. To make this feeling go away.

Victor didn’t stop me. Just watched, his gaze dark and unreadable. Then he exhaled sharply. “If someone did that to my sister,” he muttered, more to himself than to me, “I’d fucking kill them.”

That made me freeze. “You know she’s not my fucking sister.”

He realized it the moment the words left his mouth. His own sister had been friends with Quinn. Had comforted her last night. Had been the one she ran to.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she deserved it,” Victor murmured, his voice quieter now. “I think we might’ve gone too far with this.”

My throat felt tight. I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Instead, I stepped up to the bag, bracing myself before slamming my fist into it, the force rattling up my arms. It wasn’t enough. I hit it again. Harder. Again.

But no matter how hard I hit, it didn’t change a damn thing.

Didn’t erase the image of Quinn’s face from my mind.

Didn’t make the guilt stop clawing at my chest.

Didn’t make me feel any less fucking hollow.

And for the first time, I wondered if there was any way to fix this. Or if I had already burned every bridge I had left.

Victor didn’t stop me. Just watched, his gaze dark and unreadable.

I didn’t know how long I kept going. The sound of my fists slamming into the bag, the sweat dripping down my spine, the burn in my muscles—it was all I could focus on. All I allowed myself to feel.

Until Victor finally spoke again, his voice low. “Delete the video, man. That’s the least you can do.”

I froze.

The silence stretched between us, thick, suffocating.

I turned slowly, meeting Victor’s gaze, my breath still coming fast. “What?”

Victor sighed, crossing his arms. “You heard me.”

“That’s not going to change a damn thing,” I told him, my heart rattling.

Victor’s eyes darkened. “Maybe not. But you owe it to her.”

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t say that I already knew that. Didn’t say that I had known it the second I saw the tears in her eyes last night. Instead, I turned back to the punching bag, rolling my shoulders, and setting my stance.

And I hit.

And hit.

And hit.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was already too late.