There was something familiar about her. She looked to be sixteen years old too, but we definitely didn’t run in the same circles.
Before fate handed me new cards, I was a pauper.
And she was a rich princess, living in the proverbial ivory tower.
But when she smirked knowingly and leaned forward, bracing her forearms on the balcony railing, it struck me like a thunderbolt.
Oh, fuck.
It washer.
The girl I’d sold marijuana to last week in MacGregor’s alleyway.
The one who captivated me at first glance, making my heart race embarrassingly fast.
Instead of freaking out and running inside to tell her parents that one of the dinner guests was her drug dealer, she simply arched an eyebrow at my speechlessness. A flirtatious grinplayed across her lips.
Utterly entranced by this girl, I hissed when ash from my cigarette tumbled onto my hand.
I caught her chuckling and my cheeks flushed.
She quickly finished her joint, threw me a saucy wink, then disappeared inside.
I wistfully stared at the place she vacated, my eyes conjuring her body and the air of confidence she left behind.
There was something about her that sparked a flame in my heart. It lit me up from within, eradicating the darkness looming over my being like a thick, suffocating cloud.
Her playfulness and the fact that she was the first person to stare at me without an ounce of pity—unbeknown to my sob story—had me unexpectedly smiling.
She made me feel like a normal sixteen-year-old rather than a broken boy whose skin bore more lacerations than she could count on her pretty fingers.
There was a bounce to my step after I finished my cigarette and went to join my family, who waited for me on the front porch. Aunt Julia looked resigned, Olivia confused, Josh bored, and I entirely ignored Uncle Vance’s angry expression as we entered the residence.
Quiet excitement simmered in my gut at the prospect of seeing heragain.
I couldn’t have known then that Ella Ximena Cordova would be the first girl I’d ever love.
Or that she’d be the first one to rip out my heart.
Three years later…
C H A P T E R1
Ghost of You
Cade
The Present
Cupping my hands together under the faucet, I gathered water and splashed it on my face. Rivulets sluiced down the slopes of my cheeks as I glanced at my reflection, a blank expression staring back at me.
On the outside, everything appeared status quo. Dark hair, blue eyes, skin a hint tan —marred with a fading bruise near my jaw from my last fight. It seemed these days my canvas always harboured a wound or two, my body decorated with the story of my rougher days.
But it was never the scars visible to the naked eye that hurt.
No.
The most painful scars were the ones hidden under our armour, like black mold sequestered beneath a shiny surface. Those always took longer to heal.Ifthey ever did.
