Page 25

G lass shards decorate the pavement as I push myself to my feet, my entire body numb. A roar of heat pulses to my right, and I turn my head to it, blinking rapidly to clear my vision.

As I squint my eyes, the orange blur shifts into hungry flames, lapping at the oxygen around the burning car.

What happened?

His purple eyes appear in my mind, and my heart drops.

Micah.

A roar tears through me, his name a prayer, slicing through the air around me. “Micah!”

“Malik!”

Hands are on my shoulders, and without thought, I swing at the blurry face above me, my fist colliding with a strong jaw.

He’s not going to get away with this.

“Malik!”

The familiar voice suddenly registers. It’s not my uncle yelling my name, but Griffin.

Rubbing my eyes, I wince. “I’m sorry, bro. Fuck, my bad.”

He steps away from me and leans against the fireplace. “It’s been a while since you had one of those.”

I sigh as agonizing pain strikes my heart. “It’s about right. It’s almost the twenty-first.”

He knows what happened on that date … Micah was killed.

“I know, man. I’m sorry,” he says genuinely, knowing some of the pain I’m facing.

“I’m sorry if I woke you or something …” I trail off, covering my eyes with the back of my hand, blocking out the blinding light that he must have turned on when he came in.

“You’re good. You’re not the only one who’s woken up, screaming, in this house before,” he admits, and I remember when he told me Blair had to come and shake him awake a time or two.

“And that’s why you’re my best friend.” I grin.

He chuckles. “Because I also have terrible recurring nightmares?”

Lifting my hand, I glare at him. “No, smart-ass. Because of our trauma .”

“Oh, right.” He clicks his tongue.

A moment of silence passes between us, as neither of us quite knows what to say.

“Do you want to talk about it? Was it Micah?”

Nodding, I sit up, back myself against the headboard, and wipe the beading sweat from my forehead. “Yeah …” But there’s more to it than that.

“The accident?” he asks, and I nod.

“Fuck,” I grumble, tossing my head into my hands, fighting the real story trying to come out, something I’m starting to get really exhausted by. “So many times, I wish it had been me that night. I mean, shit, every time I think about it, I feel that way.”

Griffin walks over and sits on the opposite end of the bed, bending one leg on top of the comforter with his other foot planted on the floor. “Malik, you, more than anyone, know I understand that guilt, that weight. It’s something you’ve got to stop running through your mind. I know that’s easier said than done. But eventually, you’ll forgive yourself for surviving when the one you loved didn’t.”

A sob heaves out of my chest as tears flood my eyes. I punch the bed beside me. “Fuck!”

As if my heart were skinned alive, it burns and writhes inside of me. My cheeks dampen as the anger, frustration, and sadness roll down my cheeks.

Griffin sits across from me, silently, but not absently. He’s letting me feel this moment, live through it, while being here for support.

My heavy gasps for air begin to settle, and I wipe my eyes clean. “It was Alora’s dad, Griffin. He killed my brother.”

His voice is horrified and quiet. “What?”

Even that simple terrifying sentence feels good to speak out loud, as painful as it is.

“Congressman Daniel Briarwood. Trustworthy. Kind. And true. A man for the people. A man who got so intoxicated that he had to be carried out to his car. A man who got behind the wheel. A man who plowed Micah over like a pebble in the road.”

The hyperventilating cries rip through me. “The man who paid my uncle for his silence. The same uncle who is hiding Micah’s ashes from me so I don’t say a goddamn word. The same uncle who brokered the deal with the fucking devil.”

Speaking the truth into existence for the first time suddenly makes everything so clear—that I’m a piece of shit and Alora deserves better.

Griffin lets me get it all out.

“Alora attended our high school our senior year before I realized exactly who she was. I even liked her, but the second I heard her last name, I knew I could never be with her. Hell, there’s a part of me that still thinks it might end up that way. But not because of us, but because of him.

“I put her through hell . At a high school hockey game, I had the entire school laugh at her until she ran out, crying. Had people harass her every day if it wasn’t me personally doing it. But even though I couldn’t have her, I couldn’t bear seeing anyone else with her. God, there were so many guys I beat into lockers, the ground, the ice, all because they wanted her. But I couldn’t stand it, and I made sure they never succeeded.”

Tears and snot pool together as years of built-up emotion pour out of me. “She graduated early just to get away from me. And the moment she was gone, it was like I was on my own all over again. I hated her. I hated her family. That she got this life of luxury and no worries while I lived out of my car until my coach found out and opened his home to me.”

“Then …” I sniffle, unable to stop. “Then I ran into a random dorm room to get away from Dean and Ash because I pranked them and they were chasing me, only for it to be her room. I mean, what are the odds? Of us attending the same high school? Of me getting a scholarship here? Of her transferring to HEAU? Just for us to come together after I wrote the end on our story.”

I ripped the lid off of my mouth, and it’s like I can’t quit. Every thought, worry, and fear fall from my lips as much as I want it to stop. “Now … now everything’s changed, yet somehow, so much hasn’t. Her dad is still threatening me; he made a little appearance on campus a while back and told me to stay away from Alora.

“I tried. But I can’t. I stopped fighting my feelings for her, and I’m not going back to the way it was. But I don’t know where to go from here. I mean, am I the monster if I choose her? If I tell her the truth and ruin her reality forever, will it all end anyway?”

Utter exhaustion from crying so hard starts to sink into my body, and when I force my eyes back to Griffin’s, I find tears of his own.

“Christ, Malik.” He pauses, looking at me carefully. “Why the fuck did you keep all of that locked in?”

Glaring at him, I point out the obvious—that he did a very similar thing with his pain; he just hid it in the west wing of his house and forced it out of his mind.

“Touché.” He smiles heavily.

Silence, comforting and free, lightens the room. It’s like a thousand pounds has lifted from my chest, and I can fucking breathe again.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Looking at me with confidence and pride, he mutters, “Yeah, you do. Because you love her—that’s plain as day—and you’d be an idiot to fuck it up just because you’re scared.”

Resisting the confirmation in my mind, I sigh, but it’s no use. Because he’s right—I fucking love her.