Page 68 of Unwritten Rules (Rules 1)

I’d like to say that I hesitated. That the multiple sirens going off in my head were enough to restrain me. But they didn’t. I wanted to go. For the first time in forever, I didn’t care if it was wrong. Because nothing had ever felt more right.

“I DON’T BELIEVE IT FOR A second.” Haze shakes his head, the squeaking of the swing ringing in my ears.

Blatantly staring down at my feet, I try to remember the last time I swung in a park. I must’ve been around six years old. The streets are empty, enfolded in silence. I’d never be outside at this hour if Haze wasn’t with me.

“I swear.” I put my hands up. “I was alone for hours washing her car for Mother’s Day. I was so tiny I could barely reach the windows.”

“How old were you again?”

“Five.”

“You were one determined kid, that’s for sure. Was she happy?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. She never really said anything.”

Gratefulness would require for her to have a heart instead of a block of ice in its place.

“Sounds like your mom sucks.”

His bluntness amuses me.

“I wish I could hate her. I really do. But even after all of this, she’s still my mom, you know?”

He stares into the emptiness. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“What about you? Any good childhood stories?”

The chances of him actually confessing something to me are slim, but I try anyway. He opens his mouth to speak and closes it.

“Let me guess, you don’t want to talk about it?” I mentally chastise myself for hoping I could get something out of him. What was I thinking?

“It’s not that.” He looks conflicted. “It’s just…”

I wait for him to speak, holding my breath.

“I can’t think of a good memory.”

Ouch.

Then, like he got too close to a forbidden place, he shakes his head, trying to remove the unwanted thoughts from his brain. There are so many questions I want to ask, so much more I want to know.

“Want to go for a walk?” He gets up from the swing.

I nod, following him on the empty sidewalk that borders the park.

I watch the cars pass us. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“And who is that, may I ask?”

“A big-headed Mr. Know-it-all, player, daddy’s spoiled little boy.”

“And who am I now?”

“A decent big-headed Mr. Know-it-all, player, daddy’s spoiled little boy.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “How kind of you.”

“I know.” I laugh along with him.