Chapter 1
Silas
Not all fights are worth it. Most of them aren’t. They don’t prove anything. You don’t win a prize or walk away a better man. You just end up sore. Bruised. Maybe a little emptier than before. But I still throw the punch. Because sometimes, it’s the only language people understand.
And yeah, maybe I’m always the one swinging first. But it’s not like anyone’s stopping me.
“His nose is bleeding, Silas!” Jenny screeches like I ran the guy over with my car.
I glance down at him—sprawled out on the grass, groaning, blood leaking like a faucet someone forgot to shut off.
“It bleeds when you get hit, Jenny,” I mutter. Not even looking at her. Just watching the guy groan and roll onto his side like the world just betrayed him. Drama queen.
“You’re impossible,” she spits. “You think being right makes you untouchable? You’re unbearable. Arrogant. An absolute asshole.”
She doesn’t wait for me to reply. She storms off—heels clicking like gunshots across the driveway.
I lean against the side of the car. Let the night breathe around me.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I’m aware.”
I didn’t want to come here. Let’s start there. I was supposed to be working—hot chocolate, marshmallows, making coffee for people I don't know. Surrounded by people who wanted peace and a piece of pie if they can. Peace. But no. I let Enzo guilt me into coming.
Enzo texted.
And when Enzo asks, I show up.
I hate myself for that sometimes.
I told myself I’d just drop by. Say hi. Make sure he didn’t drink himself into a coma. Leave before the cops show up.
Instead, I’m out here with bruised knuckles and a pretend girlfriend next to me.
She’s probably texting her therapist about me right now. Or her mom.
I don’t even blame her. If I were her, I’d hate myself too.
This party’s a mess. Everyone is pretending they’re alive while killing their brains sip by sip. God, I sound like a damn preacher.
I walk around the house and sink into the grass, ignoring the way my thigh throbs from earlier. Rob, being a drunk guy, swung a bat like he thought he was Babe Ruth. The idiot didn’t even hit hard. Just enough to leave a bruise. But the look on Mom's face was enough for me to feel empty. As long as he doesn't hit her. I tell myself. I don't know how long I can put up with him before I end up in a body bag. But as long as the asshole lives with us, I have to protect her.
What happens outside the home is a different story. Here, I have built up a reputation for myself as being untouchable. And when people like the scumbag whom I beat up, they avoid me and when they fight, they half-commit. Like they’re scared I’ll retaliate too hard. Like they know I’ve got less to lose than they do.
The silence is nice. Brief. Before chaos calls again.
I hear yelling. Up front.
Something in my chest goes tight.
Please don’t be Enzo.
I push up. Limp-run toward the noise.
And there he is. On the ground. Of course.
“Fucking hell, Enzo.”
I don’t even hesitate. I punch the guy closest to him. His face snaps sideways. He stumbles, and another one lunges at me, and I’m already swinging again. It’s all instinct. All adrenaline. I don’t even hear the shouting behind me until—
“Silas! Stop! Just stop! Enzo started it. Not him!”
Abby’s voice cuts through like a slap.
I pause. Just for a second. Fists still clenched.
“It doesn’t matter who started it,” I growl. “He was on the ground. Nobody gets to do that to him but me.”
“God, you two and your weird-ass bromance.”
I grin, blood on my teeth. “Don’t worry, your prince is still yours. He’s a virgin, too.”
“I’m not,” Enzo groans from the dirt. “Kind of.”
“Sure,” I tell him flatly. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“She knows. Right, baby? Tell him what we did that day—”
She slaps a hand over his mouth and starts dragging him away.
I almost laugh. Almost.
And that’s when Jenny shows up again. Because, of course, she does.
“What is your problem, Silas? Wherever you go, there’s a fight. Why can’t you just chill and enjoy the party?”
“Because chaos follows me, Jenny. Don’t like it? You’re not chained to my wrist. Leave. Or you know what? I'll leave.”
Then, without thinking, I grab her face and kiss her—hard. She melts into it, clinging to me, needing more.
So I pull back.
She’s breathless. So am I.
“Good fucking night, Jenny baby,” I whisper. “I’m out.”
I turn and walk away.
Was that harsh? Maybe. But she knows who I am. Take it or leave it.
I get in my car, start it, and drive. Not going home. Not to that dump. Not to Rob. I just drive. The headlights cut through the dark like a blade, but everything still feels heavy. My hands are still stained red. Not with blood, not anymore—just the memory of it. Memory sticks worse than anything else. Blood washes off. What stays are the thoughts that crawl under your skin, nestle in your head, and whisper on loop: What if you’d gotten there sooner? What if you hadn’t left?
Then I think. He’s blackout drunk. Abby can’t carry him home alone. I sigh, turn back.
Then I see the lights. Sirens. Red and blue everywhere. My heart lurches. Please don’t be them. Not Enzo and Abby.
I speed up. It’s a crash. I park. I run.
The scene is brutal. Blood. Twisted metal. A mangled car. I shove through the crowd.
Two stretchers.
I recognize the woman. I know her. Sweet, kind—one of the few adults who gave a damn.
I hear a phone buzzing. A cracked screen lights up with a name.
Nora.
Shit.
I answer.
“Mom? Where are you? I’ve been calling. I’m home. Please come home…”
My chest caves in.
“Something happened. Stay where you are. I’m coming.”
“Who is this? Where’s my mom?”
“Are you alone?”
“Tell me where my mom is!”
“There’s been an accident.”
Silence.
“Nora?”
I rush to her house, praying she’s still there.
She is.
Standing alone in the driveway, eyes blank, head tilted to the sky. When she sees me, she collapses.
I catch her. Carry her to my car. I take her to the hospital.
When I get there, I don’t go in right away. Just sit for a second with the engine running. The air feels stale, too quiet, like the whole world’s holding its breath. Then I get out and walk in.
They’ve just brought them in. ICU.
I don’t go inside. Just stand there like I don’t know what I’m doing — and maybe I don’t. There’s a woman sitting outside the ICU. Something about the curve of her shoulders. The way her hands are twisted up in her coat. She looks like her.
Her mom.
Not exactly. A little older. Hair shorter. But the resemblance cuts. Twin sister, maybe.
I walk over.
“Hey…” My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to. “Are you Mrs. Spencer’s sister?”
Her eyes are wrecked. Wet, red-rimmed, like she’s been crying for hours. She just nods.
So I tell her about Nora.
She straightens. “Where is she? Who are you?”
“I’m…” I hesitate. The word friend doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel true. “I go to her school.”
That’s all I can say. I tell her what happened — the call, the car, how Nora passed out.
“She’s in my car. I didn’t know where else to take her.”
The woman gets up immediately. No hesitation. We go out together.
Nora’s still curled in the passenger seat, unconscious but breathing. The woman opens the door, checks her pulse like she’s done it before. Then waves someone down. A nurse or a security guard — it blurs. They take her in.
I stay by the door until I know they’re not asking questions.
Then I turn to leave.
“Hey…”
I stop.
It’s her. Nora’s aunt.
“Thank you for bringing her here.”
I nod.
I want to say I’m sorry. But sorry feels cheap. I don’t know what I’m sorry for — that I answered the phone? That she called at all?
I open my mouth. Close it. No words. Just the silence again.
So I ask the only thing that’s been echoing in my head.
“Did they…?” I trail off.
She shakes her head. Gone.
Damn.
I swallow. “So, what happens to her? She’s a minor. Right?”
“I’ll take her home with me,” she says. “She’ll stay with me.”
I nod again.
One last look at her — this mirror of her mother — and then I go.
When I get back to my car, my phone lights up.
It is Abby.
“How could you ditch me like that, Silas? Alone with this idiot?”
I laugh. “Calm down, princess. I’m on my way. Make sure he hasn’t burned the place down.”
“Trying. Hurry up.”
Click. I tap the steering wheel. Once. Twice. Harder the third time. I hate hospitals. I hate how they smell like bleach and despair. I hate the look in people’s eyes when they’re waiting for a miracle they know won’t come.
And Nora… She didn’t cry. Not even when she collapsed. That scared me more than the blood. I should’ve said something. Anything. Instead, I just handed her off to her aunt like she was a goddamn parcel and walked away. That’s what I do. Walk away. Leave the mess behind and pretend I’m fine.
Except I’m not.
The tires hum against the road as I drive back. It’s quiet. Too quiet. No sirens. No yelling. Just my brain, full of everything I didn’t say, and the taste of Jenny still burning on my lips. That was a dick move—I know that. But she pissed me off. And the thing with Jenny is, she’s like fire. Beautiful to look at, warm to be near, but she’ll burn you if you get too close. I don’t know if I kissed her because I wanted to or because I wanted to hurt her. Probably both.
I pull into the driveway of the party house again. The bass is still thumping, lights still flickering. Like nothing happened. Like the world didn’t just shatter somewhere down the road.
I step out of the car. The night air slaps me awake a little. I head toward the house, ducking under the low-hanging branches in the front yard. There’s a couple making out against the side wall. Someone puking into the bushes. And in the middle of it, I spot her.
Abby.
Her arms are crossed, one leg bouncing with impatience, and Enzo’s slumped beside her on the porch steps with a bottle in hand, humming something completely out of tune.
“Finally,” Abby snaps when she sees me. “Where the hell did you go?”
I don’t answer. Just shove my hands into my jacket pockets and nod toward Enzo.
“He's still a problem?”
“He’s your problem,” she says, standing. “He won’t stop talking about something called ‘magical spaghetti’ and he’s been trying to take his shirt off for twenty minutes.”
“That’s pretty tame for him,” I mutter.
“Where were you, Silas?” Her voice is quieter now. Not angry. Just... curious. Maybe concerned. Maybe not. Hard to tell with Abby.
“Somewhere I didn’t plan to be.” I glance at Enzo. “Get him in the car. I’ll drive.”
She studies me for a beat longer, like she’s trying to decide whether to press or not. Then she nods. “Fine. But you’re explaining everything on the way back.”
I don’t respond. Just open the door and help Enzo up. He leans into me, muttering something about dragons and marshmallows. I shake my head. Same old Enzo. Same old chaos.
Enzo’s passed out in the back seat, head tilted against the window, still in his stupid letterman jacket. His parents are gonna freak if they see him like this, but that’s not my problem tonight.
Abby’s sitting up front, arms folded, biting the inside of her cheek like she’s trying not to ask the question. I don’t offer anything. I just drive.
The heater rattles low. My knuckles ache on the wheel. There’s still glass in my shoes, I think. Phantom pieces. The kind you can’t shake loose.
She wasn’t even there.
Nora. She didn’t see the wreck. Didn’t smell the smoke or hear her mom’s voice go silent on the other end. All she did was call. Just—called her mom like it was any other night. Asked her to bring home dinner. A movie maybe.
And I answered.
She said, “Mom?” And I said nothing. Because what the hell do you say?
By the time I got to her place, she was on the porch in socks, phone clutched in both hands like it was a detonator. She took one look at me and dropped. Didn’t scream. Didn’t ask. Just crumpled like a string got cut.
I caught her before she hit the ground.
Abby shifts beside me. “You okay?”
The dumbest question anyone’s ever asked.
I nod once, eyes on the road. “Yeah.”
“Where’d you go after the party?”
“Hospital.”
“For you?”
“No.”
She stares at me. “Silas—”
“There was an accident. Nora's parents. She was calling and I answered her mom’s phone,” I say. Voice tight. “Told her what happened. Drove to her house. She collapsed. Took her in.”
Silence. Not the good kind. Not the quiet that makes you feel safe. This kind’s too loud.
“I went to the hospital and saw her aunt,” I add after a beat. “Didn’t say much. Just handed her over and walked back.”
Abby swallows. “You didn’t stay?”
“No.”
“You should’ve.”
“Why?” I glance at her, sharp. “So I could sit in fluorescent lights while she cried into someone else’s shoulder? So I could pretend like it was okay she had to hear it from me?”
“You did the right thing.”
“Yeah? Then why do I feel like I broke something that isn’t mine?”
We pull into Enzo’s driveway. Lights off. Porch light buzzing. I nudge him awake, and he stumbles out, barely upright, mumbling something I don’t catch. His front door opens a crack, his dad’s silhouette in the frame.
Abby stays quiet until we’re back on the road.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly.
I nod, jaw clenched.
She doesn’t ask about Nora again. Doesn’t need to.
Because I still hear her voice. Still see her in those socks on the porch. Still feel the way she folded in my arms without a word.
And I know I won’t sleep tonight.
Because I left her.
And part of me’s still standing there.
