Chapter 1
East
7 Years Ago
“Itoldyouthiswas gonna be legendary.”
Declan’s grin is a slash of white in the gathering dusk, lighting up the whole damn parking lot. He tosses the keys to his dad’s midnight-black Range Rover to me. The metal catches the last of the sun’s glow in a brief, silver flash. “Warehouse party. No parents. No rules. Just vibes.”
The keys land in my palm with a solid clink, still warm from his hand. The weight feels like a promise. I toss them right back. “You’re driving. I’m drinking.”
He laughs, a deep, booming sound that vibrates right through the asphalt. It’s a physical thing, his laugh, making his whole body shake. “Cool. Just promise me you won’t do that tragic shoulder shimmy again. It haunts my dreams.”
A genuine smile stretches across my face, the muscles around my mouth aching with the easy joy of it. “You’re still thinking about that? Damn. Didn’t realize I made that big of an impression.”
“You did. On everyone. Some girl actually asked me if you were having a seizure.”
I shove his shoulder; the contact solid and familiar. “That girl was your ex.”
“She was concerned.”
“She was bitter.”
“She was both.”
Laughter rips from my chest, raw and unfiltered. It’s the kind that starts deep in your gut and makes your face hurt. The kind you only get with someone who has seen every stupid, broken, and ugly version of you and stuck around anyway. The air hangs heavy with the scent of a perfect summer night: hot asphalt, engine oil, and the faint, illicit tang of cigarette smoke. It’s a good filthy, a smell that wraps around your ribs and makes you feel eighteen and fucking invincible.
We’re reckless. We’re dumb in that specific way that feels untouchable. The warehouse looms ahead of us, a rusted, hunched silhouette half-swallowed by weeds, its shadow stretching toward us like a claw. The moon hangs too low in the sky, a silent, silver witness.
We hit the fence running. My boots find purchase, and I swing myself over, landing with a soft thud on the other side. Declan is right behind me. We jog a few more feet into the lot, the expected thrum of bass and shouting voices completely absent.
Then I stop short. So does Declan.
The silence is the first thing that hits me. It’s not just quiet; it’s a physical presence. A heavy, listening stillness broken only by the hollow echo of our footsteps on the cracked pavement and the nervous, high-pitched buzz of cicadas in the overgrownweeds. A faint, sour smell of old exhaust and burnt rubber clings to the air, the ghost of a party that isn’t here.
The feeling of invincibility in my chest cracks, just a little. A cold knot of something that feels like dread forms in my gut.
“We’re early?” Declan asks, his grin finally slipping a notch. The confidence in his voice sounds a little thinner now.
“Better be,” I mutter, my voice a low growl. I need this night to be what he promised. I hop the next fence, the gravel crunching loudly under my boots. The sound is an intrusion. “If there’s no illegal fireworks, I’m leaving and taking the Range Rover.”
He snorts, catching up. “You wouldn’t even know where the hazard lights are.”
“You mean the emergency party strobes? Please.”
Declan adjusts the collar of the tailored jacket he’s wearing, his dark hair curling against the expensive fabric. He’s trying to look older, cooler, less like the kid who fell off my roof last summer and blamed it on a phantom raccoon. “Relax,” he says, bumping my shoulder. “You’ll get your pyro fix. And maybe a girl or two.”
My mind doesn’t go to a girl or two. It goes to one. Darla. The thought is a spark, hot and immediate, followed by a familiar, bitter wave of guilt. Declan’s girl. The one girl in this whole damn town I’m not allowed to want.
“Or three,” I toss back, the bravado a shield. I jog a few steps ahead and spin to face him, walking backward. “I’ve got options. Unlike you and your tragic love life.”
He scoffs, but the knowing smirk that crosses his face twists the knife of my guilt. “Tragic? Please. I’m emotionally selective. You’re out for a good time, brother. I’m in it for the long haul.”
Yeah, with her. The unspoken name hangs between us, and the words land with a quiet finality, a subtle drawing of a line in the sand. He’s reminding me where I stand. And it’s not at her side.
Laughter rips from my chest again, but this one is louder, a little more forced. It’s too easy with him. Always has been.The jacket Declan’s wearing was a birthday gift, an expensive, tailored thing that looks heavy on him, like he’s wearing a future he hasn’t grown into yet. It reminds me of Winston. The man always looks at me like I’m the dirt under his polished shoes, the influence he wants to scrub from his perfect world. Good. I take a swig from the backup flask I’m holding for Declan, the bite of bourbon a low simmer in my gut.
The warehouse looms, its windows boarded, the door cracked open just enough to suggest something waits inside. But the place is quiet. Too quiet. A black car is parked by the loading dock, its engine idling with a low, steady thrum.
