Dinner with Jake was surprisingly pleasant. The awkwardness I had expected never arrived. Instead, we talked—about school, books, and random little things that didn’t seem important but filled the silence in a way that made me feel... normal. He wasn’t overbearing, didn’t ask invasive questions. For once, I didn’t feel like I had to guard every word I said.Afterward, we sat on his small couch, our plates balanced on the coffee table, the dim kitchen light spilling into the living room. He owned one of the nicest spots in the neighborhood. Considering how much he worked, I understood why—but I couldn’t fathom how he kept the place so spotless. Like he read my thoughts, he said, “Left home at sixteen, moved to D.C., found a job my first week, loved the pay, and haven’t looked back since.” When I stayed quiet, he shrugged. “I wanted to make it clear—I’m not trying to make you my next dinner or something.” I smiled, comforted by his easygoing tone. “Not that.” My eyes wandered ar
**JADE** "...It's one-two, two, one-two, three! And spin! Jade, Jade McCoy, what is up with you today?!" The coach yelled. I had no clue, but suddenly, the gown felt too tight—so tight I struggled for air instead of skating. Then came the gunfire, suddenly piercing my thoughts, leaving me gasping, panting, and almost tripping. It's Monday, and I can't concentrate. I almost died in an intense gun chase, and they wouldn’t know it. I fainted in the car. Listening to Eros banter with the person on the other end made my stomach churn. It told me everything I needed to know: *They had come for him*. He was used to this. As I fainted, I wondered why he never pulled out a gun—for I damn well knew he had one. I woke up in his house, still fully dressed, on a bed that smelled like him. He lived big—I listened to the quiet house—and alone, too. I snatched my coat, ready to race out of wherever this place was. But opening the door, there he was, drying his wet hands with a towel.
For the rest of the week, Tristan didn’t so much as breathe in my direction. It probably had something to do with the fact that I avoided both the rink and the canteen. Instead, I spent most of my days in the chemistry lab. Nat was always around, and whenever she was, most of our experiments ended up blowing up in our faces. We laughed until our stomachs hurt, quickly cleaning up the mess before the teachers noticed. The sharp smell of chemicals clung to our clothes as we left the lab, giggling like kids who had just gotten away with a prank. At home, the silence felt heavier than usual. Mum was out more often, and even when she was around, she seemed distant. Whenever I caught her, she smelled like scented candles. With all this free time, I buried myself in reading. My phone stayed silent—so unlike it usually was. I couldn’t help but wonder if Jade was okay. Friday arrived too quickly, knocking me off my feet. Every breath felt heavier as I reminded myself: It’s just a date. No
"So?" Jake raised an expectant brow, his eyes alight with anticipation. "You like it?" I chewed the venison, savoring the burst of flavor on my tongue, even as discomfort churned in my stomach. Swallowing, I glanced up. "You really gonna ask that about every dish I try?" Jake smiled sheepishly. "Maybe I just want everything to be perfect for you." Before I could answer, his hand reached out, covering mine. "I'm so glad you're here." Was I? Glad to be here? Not when I could feel Tristan’s gaze boring into me—suffocating tension thickened the air, heavy enough to slice with a knife. My stomach twisted. Our table was positioned just right—or wrong—so if I turned my head even slightly, I’d see him. And Tristan wasn’t making it easy to ignore. Like now. His eyes locked onto mine, unrelenting, before dropping to Jake's hand over mine. The glare that followed could’ve frozen hell over. I pulled my gaze back to Jake, forcing a smile. I didn’t want to be here. Being this close to Trist
**MYLES**"...If you think that's good, then you need to try this," Jake said when he was suddenly surrounded by three suited men, who loomed over him. "You'll need to come with us, sir," one of the men recited. "You're being detained for identity theft." My frown mirrored Jake's as I looked up at the men, who seemed to be closing in on our table with every second. "Uh," Jake began, an uncertain wry smile on his face as he looked from me to the men, "Is this a joke?" He laughed again. "It’s a joke, right?" The men didn’t look like they were joking. "Sir, we'd like for you to step outside." Jake’s laughter faded as he realized the suited men weren’t playing around. He glanced at me, his face contorting with confusion, then back at the men, who had stepped closer, their presence suffocating the space between us. "Woah." Jake rose quietly, as if careful not to draw attention, though it was already too late. "What identity theft? You don’t even know my name." "Jake Carter,"
**DOMENICO** [Third Person] Above the restaurant, behind the glass walls, Domenico sat on a sofa, watching his nephew stand behind the boy. A boy he'd seen in pictures, but now here, in the flesh. His hands clenched into fists against the arm of the chair, his pulse pounding with heat racing through his veins. What were the odds? “He still isn’t picking up,” Connor’s voice broke the silence, drawing closer. Domenico could feel the concern in his tone. “You shouldn’t have come here yourself.” Domenico stood, running a hand through his hair, trying to blink away what he'd just seen. So much for a fucking transactional relationship. He poured himself a drink, raised the glass to his lips—and then hurled it across the room. Rage clouded his gaze as the glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards beneath the blood-red lights above. He knew. He always knew when something was going wrong, when all his hard work teetered on the edge of ruin. The boy—Myles, or whatever the f
**MYLES** Thunder rumbled overhead, lightning illuminating the room in quick flashes. But even the storm couldn’t distract me from what he was doing to me. The kiss—his touch—it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t even a kiss. It was torture. Torture he inflicted as he pressed me against the wall, his fingers fumbling with my zipper. I should’ve shoved him away again. I should’ve done anything but melt into him. But I didn’t. I kissed him back, matching his pace, my fists curling into the front of his shirt as his tongue slid against mine, claiming me. I pulled him closer, craving the heat of his body against mine. Soon, I was gasping for air. I tried to pull away, but he didn’t budge. My head spun as I groaned softly into his mouth, yet he still didn’t relent. I could feel his arousal pressing against my thigh, his fingers digging into my skin. Just when I thought I’d pass out, he pulled back. I struggled to catch my breath, my wide eyes fixed on his chest as the cool air hit
TRISTANThe silence that followed her voice was deafening.I didn’t mean for it to happen. Christ, I thought it was Jake. If I’d known it was his mum, I wouldn’t have picked up.But the damage was done.***MYLES "Myles, why are you quiet? You're getting me worried," my mother's tired voice was becoming frantic.My blood ran cold as I stared into the dimness of the room, a chill running down my back. Tristan was still pressed against me—frozen, pressed against me.What did he just... How could he...I fought hard, calming my thudding heartbeat, and finally,"Hi, Ma..." My voice was low, tone breaking. "I'm fine. I just... Are you okay?"My mum's relieved chuckle came through. "Why did you stay quiet at first? Are you sick?""No, no... not at all, Mum. I'm fine, I promise. Just home. Late nights." If I choked on my lies, I'd deserve it. "Are you okay?""Yes... Yes, I am," she stuttered. "I just wanted to tell you I laid flowers on your dad's grave minutes ago. I know how busy you are—
JADEThe next two days, without Tristan occupying that seat beside Myles, I felt strange. The ward itself felt like a graveyard, the silence between Leo and Natalie growing heavier with each day. Filling the silence was the soft noise flowing from the TV. On it was Tristan, a god on the ice, Myles’ gear wrapped around him like a vice. He played like a zombie, programmed to floor the rink. But I knew it was his shattered heart. His rage.How Natalie convinced him to go? No clue. But he texted constantly—demanded photos, updates, proof Myles hadn’t slipped away. Judging by the hollows under his eyes on camera, I doubted he’d slept since leaving.I scrolled through my phone, thumb hovering over Tristan’s last text—”Tell me if he wakes up.”—but Myles hadn’t so much as twitched.Natalie stood rigid by the window, her reflection warped in the rain-streaked glass. Leo slouched in the corner, jaw clenched, eyes bloodshot. The TV droned in the background, replaying clips of Tristan’s game.
TRISTAN “…What the fuck are you saying?!” Tristan gritted, eyes blazing. I was surprised Coach wasn’t ash. “Tristan, listen—” “To you?” Disbelief and rage crackled in those grays. “Myles sacrificed every damn thing for you, for the team, but you’re ready to discard him? Replace him while he’s fighting to breathe? Why should I listen?” Fists coiled, he stalked to the window, staring blind at the glass. I doubted he saw anything but the ghost of Myles’ smirk before he became this. “I get it,” Coach said after a minute of suffocating silence. “You’re grieving. We all are. But this isn’t about Myles anymore.” Every word was gasoline, fueling Tristan’s rage. His shoulders tensed, knuckles bone-white. “He better stop talkin’,” Natalie muttered under her breath, catching Tristan’s first lethal glare. She knew. We all did. “Myles was a great Forward. I wish—more than anyone—he could be up there instead of you, but…” “Then postpone the fucking game until he gets better!” Tris
TRISTAN "...Let me get this straight," the investigator had said, pushing the recorder between us. "You knew when he left but pretended to be asleep. Two hours later, he was shot, but you didn't deem it fit to call him?" I'm sprawled on the chair, watching it all fade to oblivion. The seat, although now empty, in my head is occupied—by the thoughts of the older guy, a deep gash through his skull, spilling blood and brain matter on the table. "Your relationship with the victim—was it private?" "There... was no relationship." "No relationship, hmm... Then please, Mr. Tristan, tell me what it was all about and why it was private." "It was a deal." "What was the deal about?" "I can't tell. Myles wanted it private." "Myles, huh... or you? Are you out of the closet yet? Is it too far-fetched to say the victim wanted something more than being hidden?" "Yes." "Yes what?" "Too far-fetched. I was never in the closet." I had folded my hands across my chest, the mental i
JADE"I wish I had good news, but it was a close-range injury… so we wait." That’s what the doctor told us. "Wait for what?" Leo had asked, his voice steady, but I caught the way his fingers curled protectively around Natalie’s arm, rubbing soothing circles as she sobbed into his shoulder. The doctor had exhaled, a slow, measured breath. But it wasn’t the breath of someone delivering hope. No, it was hesitation—the kind that meant we weren’t just waiting for Myles to wake up. We were waiting for a sign of life. Or none at all.I couldn't cry. The numbness had settled deep, coiling around my chest, weighing my limbs down until I could only stare out the hospital window. The city outside moved as if nothing had happened—cars speeding by, people laughing, living as of I wasn't shattering inside. But inside this sterile room, time had frozen, trapped in the reaction of one gunshot. The neighbors heard it. They were the ones who found him. If they hadn't... My stomach churned
TRISTAN“…You saw Myles.” Al’s voice came from behind. I turned to find him by the door of the minibar, his eyes pinned on me as I laid cross-legged on the sofa. “I’m surprised you’re not drinking yourself dead.” It had crossed my mind—since last night, watching as he climbed into the cab without looking back. Now, I was sprawled on a settee in my own room, hating my own existence. I had wanted him to stay… then why, why couldn’t I just say it out loud? Tell him I wanted to see him again? Because he didn’t want that… He had a bright future ahead of him. The deal was over. There was nothing to hold him back. I shut my eyes, but I… I hadn’t wanted him to leave. I had thought of slamming the door at El Refugio shut so he never left me. Who was this person? This Tristan? What the fuck was wrong with him? “You didn’t tell him, then?” I opened my eyes, puzzlement etching my brows as I watched Al walk over to the mini counter, picking out a glass. “Tell him what?” Al shook hi
MYLESOnce again, his cock springs free, and once again, there's a lump in my throat. I’d never get used to this, would I? My fingers traced his length, earning a sharp inhale from him. I wrapped my hand firmly around his girth, stroking rhythmically, the pace increasing as his voice grew louder, each grunt reverberating with my name. He draped an arm over his eyes, his voice rough and ragged. "You're fucking killing me. Ah, fuck." He was so warm and hard, hips buckling against the chair, oozing pre-cum. "How… ah… how long are you planning to keep this up?" As long as I could, especially if he kept whining and shivering like that. Emboldened by his reaction, I leaned closer, letting my tongue trail along him. "Fuck… Fuck!" His hips jerked involuntarily, fingers gripping the armrest until his knuckles turned white. His breath hitched sharply as I swirled my tongue around the tip, tasting his saltiness. "Goddamn it, Myles," he groaned, his voice hoarse and laced with despe
MYLESI felt the cold air hit my naked arm as I was yanked out of the bus. When I groaned, they let me go. We'd been riding for an hour, and my legs were cramped up. "Are you okay?" said that gruff voice, just before the bag was pulled off my head. "Yeah," I answered reluctantly, wondering what the hell was going on. For men that had snatched me up against my will, it was as though they were concerned for my well-being. The gruff man leads the way, and I follow. It was not that surprising that we were before El Refugio. The pounding music that usually greeted me was nonexistent; replaced by soft piano notes. Why did that... My brows knit. Why did that reek of Tristan? I raised my head, catching him at the top of the stairs, leaning against the rail with his eyes stuck on me although he had company. I sighed. Of course. He's in a black dress shirt and suit pants that did so much justice to that body. I feel my throat go scorched; even the faint dark circles around his eyes
MYLESDays blurred together like smoke drifting out of a chimney, dissolving amongst the clouds. Before I knew it, like a punch to the gut, it was just two days until D-day.It was overwhelming—juggling exams, practice, and everything unraveling at home. I coped the only way I knew how: shutting down my brain. But even that wasn’t foolproof because the thought of him—of Tristan—always managed to creep in, knocking me completely off balance.It felt like he was avoiding me. Since the day he handed me the gear, he’d stayed out of sight. No calls. No texts. Not a single invitation to come over.I kept telling myself it was for the best, that maybe he couldn’t even wait for D-day to cut ties completely. Yet, when I saw him Tuesday, standing in front of a computer with the principal by the ICT lab, my chest tightened.He noticed me. His eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, everything seemed to halt. Then he smiled—warm, disarming, and utterly confusing. It knocked my thoughts into a fre
JADE"Did you see that guy?" The girls whispered in the locker room. "The red-haired guy that sticks with Tristan everywhere? Oh God, what happened to him?"I paused midway through shutting my locker, my book hugged tightly to my chest. Red hair? They had to be talking about Eros. What happened to him? Could that be why he wasn’t picking up my calls? I’d assumed he wasn’t at school—I hadn’t seen him anywhere—and trust me, with that fiery hair, Eros wasn’t exactly hard to spot."I thought it was just a slight limp at first," another voice chimed in, more animated than the first. "Then Mrs. Lydia made him unzip his face mask and, oh my God—"Oh her God, what? My grip on the locker door tightened. What did she mean, "oh my God"?"I bet Tristan did that to him. Maybe they got into a fight," the first voice guessed, already changing the subject. "Hey, are you going to eat this—"I slammed my locker shut with a bang, sending every pair of eyes in the room my way. My heart pounded as I stepp