Chapter 8
Hayden
“Boulevard of Broken Dreams-Green Day”
“You’re alive…”
Those words have been lodged in my skull since she said them.
Soft. Shaky. Broken, like she couldn’t breathe around the truth of it.
At first, I thought she was being dramatic.
But the more I replay that moment in my head, the more wrong it feels. Because my Firefly didn’t look shocked—she looked haunted.
Shoving open the apartment door, I stalk into the dark space. My place in Daggerspoint isn’t much. Just a one bedroom with bare walls and a black couch I barely use. But it’s mine. No guards. No bars. No Whitestone.
Still doesn’t feel like freedom though.
I rip my bloodied shirt over my head and toss it across the room before heading towards the bathroom. I stand in front of the mirror, leaning against the porcelain sink as I look at myself.
Bruises already darkened across my ribs and cheek bone. Brayden got a few decent hits in. Not enough though.
Prison carved me into someone I barely recognize sometimes. Tattoos snake across my chest and arms now. Scars too. My eyes look older—meaner.
Dead things wear my face better than boys ever did.
Curling my fingers around the edge of the sink, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“You let me think you were dead.”
The accusation guts me all over again.
Because I didn’t.
I wrote her letters for months inside Whitestone. Hundreds of them. I begged for visits that never came. I nearly got my ass beat to death twice protecting the stupid little photos of her from my wallet that I kept hidden beneath my mattress.
So why the fuck did she think I was dead?
A sick feeling crawls through my stomach.
Slowly, I push off the sink and head towards the kitchen counter where my laptop is buried beneath unopened mail and gun parts. Harley gave me access to a few things after I got out.
Databases, court archives. Newspaper records, but I never looked beyond that. I literally came home and got to work.
I didn’t want to see her because I knew this would happen. I was afraid that if I decided to do what I have done—stalked her life for the past two weeks—that I’d obsess and never let her go again.
I wanted revenge. I wanted her to feel the pain I felt the entire time I was away from her.
But this?
Her thinking I was dead?
That was not anything that’s ever crossed my mind. Not once.
So now I regret not utilizing the things Harley gave me to find the truth.
And now his words ring in my head.
He fucking knew.
He fucking knew this whole time and never said shit.
Did the twins know? What the fuck?
Grabbing the laptop, I take it over to the couch and throw it down on the coffee table harder than expected.
Opening it up, I power it on and look up my name, and immediately feel my blood turn to ice.
HAYDEN KINGSTON MARKS DEAD AT FIFTEEN IN DRUNK DRIVING TRAGEDY ALONG WITH BEST FRIEND JUSTIN COLE BANKS
I stop breathing.
No! No fucking way.
My hands shake as I click the article open.
A grainy photo of me and Justin stare back from the screen.
According to the article, we stole a vehicle while intoxicated, crashed into another car and both died at the scene due to severe injuries.
Dead… declared dead.
Buried.
My pulse pounds loudly in my ears while I keep reading.
Whitestone Penitentiary is never mentioned.
No prison sentence.
No trial details.
Nothing. It’s like I vanished from existence after that night.
Like somebody erased me completely.
Rage detonates inside my chest so fast I punch the table hard enough to crack the wood.
“That motherfucker!” I roar.
Judge Fitzgerald. He didn’t just bury me in prison. He buried me in the world too.
Fake death certificate. Corrupted records. Closed case.
Nobody would look for a dead boy. No wonder I never had any visitors. Nobody would question where I went.
A laugh bubbles from my throat and I let it out.
Loud and broken.
Ophelia thought for the last three years that I was dead. Mourned me while I sat inside a cage thinking she abandoned me.
Jesus Christ.
I let my head fall, trying to slow down my breathing, then I drag my hands down my face roughly. I hurt her tonight and the realization of that twists like a knife beneath my ribs.
All those tears.
The heartbreak in her voice.
The way she looked at me like she finally got a miracle, only for me to rip it away seconds later.
“Fuck!” I yell as the guilt of it all sits unfamiliar and ugly inside me.
I hold my head in my hands.
I don’t know what to do with all this because I wanted revenge.
But not like this.
Not if she really believed I was dead.
I lean back and shut my eyes, hoping that with some sleep I can clear my mind enough to come up with some sort of a plan, but sleep never comes.
By three in the morning, I’m pacing my apartment like a caged animal with too much rage and nowhere to put it.
So I grab my bike keys and leave.
There’s only one place I need to go to help me settle my mind.
The cemetery sits silently beneath the moonlight when I pull in. The cold wind rustles through the trees while gravel crunches beneath my boots.
Justin’s grave isn’t hard to find. I stop in front of the headstone and stare down at his name for a long time.
Justin Cole Banks
Beloved Son.
Beloved Brother
Beloved Friend.
The ache that hits me nearly drops me to my knees because out of everyone… Justin deserved a life. A real one.
I slowly crouch down and run a finger over the cold stone. “Hey asshole,” I say, my voice cracking, so I try to clear it. “It’s been awhile.”
Silence answers me, and I swallow hard. “They told everyone I died with you.” The words sound insane outloud.
“I guess in a way I did.” My chest tightens painfully while memories crash through me.
Justin laughing so hard he snorted milk out of his nose at thirteen. Justin teaching me how to throw punches behind the trailer park. Justin crying after his first breakup while insisting he wasn’t crying.
My brother. My best fucking friend. My only true friend.
“You would’ve hated prison,” I whisper with a weak laugh.
“Food was dogshit,” I say as tears burn unexpectedly behind my eyes.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” I choke.
That’s the truth buried deep inside me. I replay that night constantly.
The blood.
The screaming.
Justin trapped between twisted metal while I tried to pull him free.
I failed him, and somehow, I lived anyway.
“Firefly thought I was dead too,” I whisper.
Saying it aloud hurts more than I expected.
“She cried when she saw me tonight, Jus,” I say as I stare down at the stone helplessly. “And I still fucking hurt her.”
Wind brushes through the cemetery softly as leaves whip around me. “She still loves me though. Even if I don’t deserve it,” I say under my breath, and that terrifies me more than prison ever did, because I still love her too.
Even with all the hate.
I never truly stopped.
And that alone is enough to ruin us both.
“I know what you would tell me. Fix it, asshole. Go get your girl and fix it. I know, I know. But it’s not that easy.” I sigh and take a deep breath.
“Alright, Brother. Rest easy. I’ll come see you soon. Jus. Love you man,” I say, then press my lips against the cold stone and get to my feet.
There’s only one thing left to do… go to her.
Some habits never die.
The second I climb onto the Fitzgerald Estate balcony, muscle memory takes over completely.
Three years disappear the moment I slip inside her room.
The moonlight spills across her sleeping body tangled in the blankets.
And fuck… the sight of her nearly destroys me. She’s curled towards me, my old hoodie clutched tightly against her chest. Tears stain her cheeks even in her sleep. I step closer and see her face twist like she’s trapped inside a nightmare… because of me.
A crack splits straight through my chest, and I move toward her slowly before I can stop myself. The mattress dips beneath my weight as I sit beside her.
She whimpers softly in her sleep. “Hayden…” My eyes slam shut briefly.
Jesus Christ.
I reach for her carefully, almost afraid she will disappear if I touch her. But the second I pull her against my chest, her body melts into mine instinctively.
Like home.
A broken breath leaves me as I bury my face in her hair and inhale deeply. Coconut and sea salt.
My Firefly.
God, I missed this.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper against her forehead. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
She shifts slightly, and I see tears slipping from beneath her closed lashes.
“No… don’t leave me…”
The plea guts me alive and my arms tighten around her automatically.
“I’m right here, baby,” I choke. “I got you.” And for a few stolen moments, I let myself pretend nothing happened.
No prison.
No death.
No Brayden.
No hatred.
Just me and my girl again.
I press a kiss softly against her temple. “I love you always, Firefly,” I whisper. “Even when I shouldn’t.”
Then I force myself to let her go before I lose the ability completely. I slide out of her bed, bringing the covers over her and leaving just one more kiss on her tear stained cheek.
God, I wish I could stay but I know I can’t.
So, I stand here staring at her one last time while she sleeps curled around my hoodie and broken dreams.
Leaving hurts worse this time, because now I know she never stopped loving me either.