Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Blood sprays and digital bodies drop, but my sight is hazy. I take out another enemy on the screen, and my controller vibrates, but my hands might as well be numb for how much it registers. The kill-confirmed sound pings in my headphones, but it falls on deaf ears.
Picking up the blunt from the ashtray beside me, I take a slow drag. My head is somewhere else entirely—somewhere glittery and impossible to shake off.
The smoke curls through my lungs, trying its best to force some chill into me, but there’s none to be found.
The room around me is dim, lit mostly by the blue glow of my monitor.
My bed is unmade, sheets tangled like I’ve been fighting with them.
The desk is cluttered with energy drink cans and ashtrays overflowing with roaches.
Everything feels too familiar, too damn quiet.
Like everything is still while I’m spinning.
Three months. Three fucking months of obsessing over her.
Over that glitter-covered, gorgeous mess of a woman who’s got me twisted up in ways I didn’t even think were possible.
I can’t explain it. Hell, I can’t even fully understand it.
But from the moment I laid eyes on her, something clicked in me that had been lying dormant for years and woke up.
She didn’t just wake me up. She set me on fire.
And I fucked it all up in one night.
Another enemy pops up on the screen, and I blow his pixelated head off without blinking, but instead of the rush I usually get from the victory, my brain immediately wanders back to her, to the way her body moved under my mouth, the way she looked at me right before she kicked me out.
She’s gorgeous in a way that makes me want to forget my name, but it’s more than physical.
It’s how she holds herself like she’s carrying the weight of a world no one else can see.
Her laughter has this edge as if she’s daring the universe to knock her down, or she can make the room brighter just by existing in it.
And yeah, I’m fully aware of how insane it sounds to fall this hard for someone I barely know.
But I’m not just some lovesick idiot. I’ve been around enough to know when something is real.
And with her? It feels fucking real.
Last night, I spent hours combing through four different strip clubs looking for her and even went back to Vortex. Nothing. No sign of her. How the hell does someone that sparkly just disappear? It’s like losing a star in the night sky.
Maybe I should show up at her place. Knock on her door and tell her we need to talk. But fuck, that’d be creepy, right? I’d look like a fucking stalker.
I mean, if I found her at work, that’s cute, right?
Not creepy.
My thumb slips on the joystick, and my character gets shot in the head.
A bright red ELIMINATED flashes across the screen.
I slam the controller down, growling under my breath as I lean back, staring up at the ceiling.
“Get a grip, Sy,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
“You’re acting like a goddamn teenager.”
Weed usually calms me down, slows the shitstorm in my brain, but tonight I may as well be pouring water on a grease fire. Useless.
Fuck, I should have done something, said something more. Instead, I let her kick me out like a goddamn idiot.
Sparkle has got me by the balls, and I’m losing it.
Closing my eyes, I tune in to the music blaring through my headphones, trying to pull me under the way it always does. Tonight, even the music can’t drown out the thought of her, shimmering like glitter in the back of my mind, refusing to be shaken off.
Gaming doesn’t help. Weed doesn’t help. Hell, even the thought of fucking anybody else doesn’t help anymore.
I take one last drag of the blunt and flick it into the tray, the orange ember glowing for a second before dying out.
I need something else, something physical to get her out of my system. Standing, I stretch my arms above my head and glance at the clock. It’s early evening, but maybe Ezra is home. I crack my neck as I head for his room next to mine, finding the door ajar. But when I peek in, the room is empty.
“Ez?” I call out softly, pushing the door a little more, but the only answer is silence.
Great.
I shove my hands into my basketball shorts pockets and make my way downstairs, only to find him in the kitchen, getting a glass of water like it’s the most normal thing in the world while I’m over here practically losing my shit.
“Ez.” I lean against the doorframe. “Down for a session?”
Ezra turns, giving me one of those looks, the kind that tells me he doesn’t even need to ask what’s wrong because he already fucking knows. I don’t try to hide the edge in my voice or my restlessness. My energy is a mess, my thoughts are tangled up in her, and I need to hit something.
Hard.
“Sure.” He doesn’t call me out, though, just sets the glass down. Before we can move, the sound of the front door opening and closing pulls my attention.
Koen and Levi stride into the kitchen, looking as though they’ve been deep in conversation.
“How was it?” I ask, more out of habit than actual interest, anything to distract me from the chaos in my head.
Levi grins. “Oh, that girl is so damn good.”
Koen fumbles with his hair as he mutters, almost reluctantly, “Yeah, she’s good. I don’t know if she’s good enough, though. We need her to be at least as good as Ric.”
I snort. “Nobody’s as good as Ric.”
Koen shoots me a dry look. “Fine. Nearly as good.”
Ezra, who is now leaning against the counter, raises an eyebrow. “He still hasn’t changed his mind?”
Koen’s face tightens. “No, the stubborn little shit. I have no idea why he’s acting this way. It was his plan, after all. He made it with Oscar in prison. He loved Oscar. Why wouldn’t he want to see it through?”
Oscar. The guy who was so damn good at everything he did that even his absence feels louder than my presence. An absence that feels like a void he left behind and all of us try to fill.
It’s why I’m like this, why I’m so fucking drawn to her.
Because Sparkle doesn’t fill the void, she’s the opposite of a replacement. She’s something entirely new. Something unexpected, chaotic, and real. And maybe that’s what I need to remind myself that I’m more than the chaos people see, more than a boy Oscar picked up from the street.
Ezra’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Why are you so blind when it comes to Alaric?”
Koen stiffens, his brow furrowing. “What?”
Ezra glances at the rest of us before turning back to Koen. “You really can’t see it, can you?”
Levi straightens, his eyes flicking between Ezra and Koen. “Can’t see what?”
Ezra sighs, rubbing his temples as if we’re all idiots. “Alaric’s afraid. He was nothing but a thief, an anxiety-ridden jail rat Oscar brought home. He’s scared you’re replacing him.”
I bristle at jail rat and shoot Ezra a sharp look. “Don’t talk about him like that. You—”
He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “It’s not meant as an insult.”
Levi looks at Ezra. “You’re always insulting him, Ezy.”
Ezra shrugs. “It’s only the truth, Dove. Alaric’s been hiding, thinking he’s worthless without Oscar.”
Shit.
“You’re such an asshole,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. Except he’s right, so maybe we’re the assholes.
Koen doesn’t reply, but the gears are clearly turning in his head as he processes the information. Eventually, his face softens, but there’s still a hardness in his eyes as he addresses Ezra. “We’re not replacing him.”
“I know that.” Ezra shrugs again. “But he doesn’t. I’m not lucky enough to get rid of that kid. All that boy needs is reassurance. You tell him he’s not being replaced, that she’s simply the means to an end, and as soon as he believes you, he’ll help.”
Koen drops his gaze to the floor for a moment, biting his lip, and I take the opening to tell him what I’m thinking. “He’s right. My impression yesterday was the same. He’s… hurt, not angry.”
Koen glances up at me, his mouth twitching in annoyance. “Huh.”
I grin, unable to resist. “Oh, is this the first time you misread someone’s body language, Mr. Mentalist?”
Levi chuckles from beside me, clearly enjoying the dig.
“Fuck you.” Koen glares at me, but there’s no real heat behind it.
“Happens to the best of us, brother.” Levi slaps his twin on the back. “Come on, let’s eat something and figure out what to say to him.”
“You do that.” I grab Ezra by the arm and drag him toward the gym. He doesn’t resist, letting me pull him along, his usual calm composure firmly in place.
“Is this training, or do you have something to get off your mind?” he asks as we enter the gym.
“The latter,” I mutter, throwing a few half-hearted jabs at the air.
“Come on…” Ezra heads for the sandbag and throws me the boxing gloves, which I pull on before he steps behind it. “I’m not going to get my face pummeled again because you’ve got demons to deal with.”
I snort, but it’s humorless. He’s right. I need to hit something that won’t get hurt and won’t hit back.
Squaring up to the sandbag, fists clenched, I start pounding into it. Each punch is hard, fast, and deliberate. The impact sends shockwaves through my body, but it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.
Not until I figure this out.
Not until I figure her out.
Ezra’s gaze is heavy on me as he asks, “Does this have anything to do with that split lip you’re sporting?”
“No.” I keep punching the bag, but the lie hangs in the air, a heavy weight. Of course, it has to do with the split lip. Only not with the guy who gave it to me, but the reason behind it. I punch the sandbag harder, my knuckles already starting to sting.
Ezra doesn’t buy it. “You’re fucking lying.”
I grit my teeth, throwing one last hard punch at the bag before steadying it and resting my gloves against it. “Maybe.”