Chase: A Devil & his Birdie: Havenwood University Book Two

Prologue

THE brISK EARLY morning air tingles through my chest and into my lungs as I inhale a deep breath in front of the hockey house. I roll my neck and swing my arms to shake out the aches and pains. Gotta make room for more.

It’s quiet but the intrusive thoughts in my head are already loud as hell. I reach down and touch my toes, stretching out my legs and checking my shoelaces one last time. The knots are tight, the laces looped securely. These beat-up, scuffed, and dirty sneakers have seen better fucking days… just like I have.

I check my smartwatch; I’ve been awake for eleven minutes and already wish this damn day was over. It’s now like this; I wait for the minutes to tick by, the miles to run down, and for my head and heart to shut the fuck up.

I used to have a different outlook on the start of a new day. I used to pack as much in as I could, jamming a crap ton into each hour, and spending as much time as possible with my friends, family, and team. Not anymore.

I don’t want to see anyone. Except her, always her. It’s why I’m out here at four in the fucking morning. There isn’t anyone else around.

I take off with a jog and follow the sidewalk down Jock Row passing the other team houses. The street lamps illuminate my dark shadow and it reminds me of why I’m running in the first place.

I’ve always worn my heart on my goddamn sleeve. I’m the sensitive triplet, the baby, the brother, and the friend everyone can count on. I’m loyal as hell, loving to a fault, and want everyone around me to be having a good time. The human equivalent of a golden retriever. Hell, I have more golden retriever energy than the actual one we had growing up. At least I did. At least that’s who I was.

I have an incessant need to fix things and to keep the people in my world happy. Especially my siblings, A and B. We’ve been through hell and back and our triplet-hood has taken hit after hit the past few years. I love my siblings and would do anything for them. Organ donation? Take my kidney. Getaway car? I’ll drive. Need to bury a body? I’ll grab the shovel. Stay away from my sister’s best friend even though I’m fucking obsessed with her? Easier said than done.

I’ve always run to get out of my damn head and to cope with whatever drove me to pound the fucking pavement in the first place. Long mind-numbing runs late at night, before the sun rises, or in the middle of the day, is what got me through some serious shit in the past and will no doubt get me through this now. That and a forced smile so no one really knows what”s going on.

The running started after my parents sat the three of us down and revealed that we were adopted. A was punching walls or whoever got in his way, and B shut herself away in our treehouse.

When I wasn’t holding my brother’s arms back and trying to convince my sister to come down, I was running. I ran three mornings a week before practice and school to deal with my own fucked up feelings.

I needed to get my mind right before I started my self-imposed full-time job of keeping an eye on my brother and sister. I felt compelled to keep the peace, reassure my parents that everything was fine while they were working, and tried my best to keep things normal among us.

At the time, I couldn’t put into words what I was feeling so therapy wasn’t an option for me. I sat in front of a therapist and nothing fucking happened. It was dead silent for an hour and I never went back.

I tried to lose myself in girls but that just backfired and ended up pushing B further into her shell. A and I were assholes and hooked up with her friends when they would sleep over. I should kick my own ass for being such an insensitive bastard to her.

I did the only thing I could think of to manage the daily stress. The only thing that worked. I increased my runs to five days a week and focused on hockey. I shattered scoring records and helped push our team toward winning states our senior year, securing my spot as a winger for Havenwood.

I desperately tried to keep everything together and then the world fucking imploded when my sister was attacked. Since then, I haven’t been able to go a goddamn day without running. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop now that history repeated itself.

At first, I was able to run and repent. Go on with the rest of my day while I worked through the guilt and shame of what I had done. I had slept with a rival’s on-and-off again girlfriend which set off an avalanche of shit for my sister. B forgave me and I was able to put it behind me. She insisted I give hockey my all and I did that.

I was happy when she decided she was ready to come here. It was gonna be a fresh start for her and for the three of us. Then I fucked up again. I lied to her. I didn’t tell her that those fucking dirtbags would be here at HU.

I kept my mouth shut which was so fucking dumb. In my head, I was trying to protect her. My silence led to my sister screaming as loud as she could. I’ve never felt more fucking broken than when I saw Evie unconscious in Max’s arms. It still devastates me when I think about it. When I think about who I’ve become.

Every morning, regardless of the weather, I crawl out of bed at 4:00 AM and run. I run until my lungs burn, my calves cramp, and my toes bleed. I run until my brain can no longer hold on to images of my sister lying on the pavement, sprawled out on her dorm floor, or in another hospital bed.

I run until the pain in my body is so intense, it’s hard to tell if the tears that stream down my face are from the physical exertion or the festering emotional wounds. Either way, they mix with the waterfall of sweat that drips down my forehead, so no one would know the difference anyway.

I run until I’m so fucking exhausted, that my body doesn’t try to get to Sloane. I run so I’m too tired to find her and the soul-craving moments of peace that only she can give me.

I run to get away from myself and who I’ve become. I run from my past, from my present, and from whatever the day has in store for me.

I run until the devil on one side of my shoulder falls asleep and the angel on the other side falls off. I’ve never felt more at war with myself than I do now.

I run until my heart only beats to keep up with each pounding step I take instead of beating for her. Sloane.

My feet are aching as I hit my seventh mile. The pain isn’t enough to stop me, I need to feel it. The agony reminds me of what I’ve done and keeps me in my goddamn place. This is the emotional consequence of all my fuckups. I deserve this.

I round a sharp corner and eye a giant fucking hill. Like every day of my life, today is going to be full of ups and downs that I’ll need to tackle. The majority of Havenwood’s students will be returning today before the spring semester starts on Monday.

It’s no secret that everyone moves in today to get settled in before parties break out all over campus tonight. I’m dreading it. I’ll have to do my best to wear my fake-as-fuck smile to hide what’s really going on inside of me.

I don’t want one person tipped off that something’s wrong. It’s not about me. It’s about my sister and her healing. I won’t allow a shred of attention to be taken from her and refocused on me.

I push myself further up the inclined sidewalk ignoring every throbbing muscle and tired bone. It feels like feather-light kisses all over my body compared to the heavy guilt that consumes every cell of my being. I’m so fucking tired of it all and have no idea how to make it stop.

I’ve developed two loud and distinct voices in my head since last fall. The cliche angel and devil have taken up residence and make daily appearances. That damn angel is currently rattling off a long list of questions for me to dwell on.

She likes to remind me that I’m a shit human and need to do better. I can see her wagging her halo in my face as she forces me to think about my sister’s second attack. How could I have put my sister in harm’s way again? Why didn’t I tell her that Ellis and Waterstone were coming to Havenwood?

My answers now feel hollow and don’t hold any goddamn weight, no matter how heavy they weighed on me. I hid behind an invisible cloak of excuses. I told myself that I was protecting her. That I knew better than she did.

My fucked up thinking led to real-life consequences. These disturbing questions and a hundred more form a list in my head. A list of all the things I’ve done to be in the hole I’m in. I’ve done this to myself. I can’t blame anyone else. This is on me.

It doesn’t matter how much effort I put into rebuilding my relationship with my sister, how many times I say I’m sorry and try to repent for what I’ve done, I still feel sick with throat-burning regret and gut-churning shame. I feel nauseous every time I think about what happened. I’m fucking disgusted with myself day in and day out.

I was by her side in the hospital with our family and Max while we waited for her to fully emerge from her unconscious state. I apologized a million times, recognized my role in her pain, and wished like hell I could go back in time to make better choices.

The initial jolt of adrenaline that shocked my system wore off and I was left with a mountain of guilt over what had happened… again. Remorse tunneled deep into my heart and dug out a giant-sized hole. A carving to permanently remind me of the damage I’ve caused.

I needed to escape the hurt I saw in my sister’s eyes. After we kicked some much-needed sense into Max for being a dumbass, I took off and ran for hours. I ran the longest I’d ever have. I ran until I collapsed on a park bench. A cop found me after sunrise and gave me a ride home.

My feet bled and burned and I knew I needed more of this. To push into the pain. Running had been a way for me to deal with my feelings, but now it was a way for me to punish myself. I’ve run myself into the ground every goddamn day since.

I force myself to run as far away from Havenwood as I can, for as long as I can. If I run inward on the paths of campus, I’ll find her. I’ll stay away but, I won’t be able to stop myself from watching her.

It started last semester. I’d be running through campus and I’d see her. I wouldn’t be able to fucking help myself and I’d just stop and stare. At first, I’d give myself five minutes to shamelessly spy on her, taking in where she was at the time of the day I had found her. Then I started keeping track. The need to shadow her schedule was overwhelming. It soothed me to know where she was.

Not only was I running in the morning but I’d go out for a jog when I knew I’d get my five-minute fix. It got to the point that I had to force myself to break away from her. I’d stay hidden behind buildings, trees, within groups of people, or I’d stay in plain sight.

If she knew I was there she never let on and I preferred it this way. It was as close to her as I’d allow myself to get. When the semester ended, I fucking missed her like crazy.

I’ve got it bad for my sister’s best friend and now I try like hell to outrun the feelings I have for her. With every step, each mile, and passing hours, my head reminds my heart of all the reasons why I’m not fucking good enough for Sloane.

I’ll never be close to being deserving of her. Look what I did to my own sister, I’ll only end up destroying her, too. I’m a worthless piece of shit and I’ll continue to repeat that in my head until my heart gets the message. So that my feelings will stop spreading every time I see her. I’m like a damn virus; she doesn’t need to become sick because of me.

I reach the crest and pick up the pace, sprinting down the hill. The momentum pushes me forward and I cover more steps away from Havenwood. Each breath I take burns deep inside my chest and I welcome the gnawing pain.

I feel it all over, inside and out, top to bottom. It’s overwhelming to think this is how things are always going to be from now on. I don’t think I’ll ever go back to being me, these feelings, this hell is all I’ll ever be now.

If I’m not running, skating, or in class, I’m sleeping. I’ve stopped going to the caf for meals unless I’m meeting B and even then, I always suggest she comes here so I can lock myself in my room after. She came back to campus with Max and the rest of us right after Christmas for our game schedule. We meet once a week for our triplet dinner but most of the time, okay, all of the time, A bails. He can’t even look her in the fucking eye at this point. Our bond feels fractured again and I hate it.

She’s the one who’s had to survive hell twice because of us, and here she is texting about meals, calling about getting together, showing up to do our laundry, and to love us. I don’t deserve hers or anyone’s love. Hell, our fucking bio-mom didn’t even love us.

I make it down the hill and my pace slows as I hit a smooth, straight stretch of welcoming sidewalk at mile nine. If only the rest of my life was this easy to navigate. I need to try to use whatever brain energy I have and keep my focus on rebuilding my relationship with my sister. Everything else can wait.

I’m hoping the more we heal, the better I’ll start to feel. I’m making every attempt to be a better brother and make a solid effort to see B when Sloane is in class or at rehearsal. It’s just easier that way. If she’s in the room, I can’t think about anything or anyone else.

No matter how much I try to keep my feelings for Sloane in check, I–without a goddamn doubt–always end up dreaming about red hair, green silk, and whiskey eyes. I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of her standing in the frame of my bedroom door in skimpy pajamas out of my head. It’s on constant replay every time I step in the shower and I end up hand fucking my dick.

I’ve never been drawn to anyone like I am her, but that’s all it can be. B has been through enough and I’m not going to ruin a good thing in her life and date and probably fuck things up between her and her best friend. It’s just not an option.

I don’t deserve someone as wholesome and good as she is. She’s perfect. I’ve made terrible choices that have led to unforgivable consequences. I’ve proved just how selfish I can be and refuse to do anything that could put a target on my sister or Sloane’s back. Those shitstains, Ellis and Waterstone, figured out who she was when I idiotically pointed at her in the stands during the tournament. If they had gotten to her too, I would have never fucking forgiven myself. I honestly don’t know if I would have been able to handle it. I’d be under an indefinite psychiatric hold if something had happened to both of them.

I grind into my tenth mile and harden my resolve to remain focused on coasting through my classes, playing auto-pilot hockey, and being a better person because I’ve sucked as a human lately…and if anyone deserves the best of the best, it’s Sloane Higgins. And the person to give her the goddamn world… isn’t me.