Chapter 10
TEN
Buzzing wakes me, dragging me from sleep. I blink against the darkness, my head heavy and my limbs sluggish. The only light in the room is the glow of my phone on the nightstand.
Jinx isn’t here anymore, and neither is Sylus. I reach for the phone, the screen almost blinding, and I have to squint to see that I’ve got a text message from her.
Brat
I dare you to text me back.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Even after everything, she’s still her.
My Trouble. My girl.
My fucking life.
My chest aches with a longing that’s burned for years, buried beneath guilt and grief, now clawing its way to the surface.
I barely have time to process it before I hear a soft sound outside my door. Muffled, like someone sliding down to sit against it.
I don’t need to look. I know it’s her.
Sylus’s words echo in my head.
“Give her the chance to decide that.”
“You’re both alive, man. The rest, we’ll figure it out.”
With a pounding heart, I take a deep breath and swing my legs off the bed to walk toward the door. When I reach it, I slide down to the floor, pressing my back against the wood. Closing my eyes, I let myself feel the weight of her presence on the other side.
We’re back-to-back, almost like we used to sit, but this time, there’s a barrier between us, a door that feels as insurmountable as the years we’ve spent apart. I listen to her breathing, trying to match mine with hers, creating the illusion that we’re closer than we really are.
Lifting my phone, I type out the words before I can second-guess myself.
You’re on.
There’s a muffled sound from the other side, a sob quickly stifled like she’s holding her hand over her mouth.
Fuck. Sylus was right. She’s hurting just as much.
A moment later, another message comes through.
I don’t even know where to start.
Neither do I. But I don’t say that. Instead, I let my head rest against the door, staring blankly at the ceiling as I try to will away the weight crushing my chest.
The phone buzzes again in my hand.
I thought you were dead.
I thought I’d killed you.
And Rosalee.
Rosalee. Her twin. Her other half. Gone because of me.
Why doesn’t she hate me?
The self-loathing I’ve carried for years surges forward, drowning me. I don’t know what’s worse. Thinking I killed the love of my life or knowing she survived but lost her twin because of me.
I carried that every day. The guilt, the grief. It’s all I’ve had. And now… now you’re here, and I don’t know how to handle it.
My hands shake as I type.
I don’t know how to do this, Nova.
I don’t know how to even look at you without feeling like I’m drowning in it all over again.
You have no idea who I am today, what happened, what made me that way.
I’m not the boy you missed.
The silence from the other side of the door feels like a lifetime. My stomach twists, torn between wanting her to respond and dreading whatever she’ll say next.
Finally, I hear her shift, the rustle of fabric against the door.
“I don’t know how to do this either,” she whispers. “But I want to try. Please. Just… let me try.”
Her words hang between us. And God, did I miss her voice.
It still sounds the same, just a little more mature and a lot sadder.
Tears prick the corner of my eyes as I press the back of my head against the door, closing them as a shaky breath escapes through my teeth.
After a few deep breaths, another text comes through.
Yes, I missed my Ace, but I’m not the same Nova I was either. Maybe present Ace and present Nova have been through enough shit that they still fit together the same way the sweet teen versions of us did.
Fuck.
I don’t answer. I don’t know how. It’s too much—this, her, everything.
The phone buzzes again.
Tell me what happened?
My fingers curl around the phone.
What happened?
Where do I even begin?
I start to type, then stop, then start again. Fuck, this isn’t a conversation you do over text. It’s not a confession you do through a door either, but shit, it’s all I’ve got. All I can give her right now.
“I’ll tell you.” My throat tightens, the words catching like glass in my chest. “But… I don’t know if you’ll still want me back in your life after you know.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Ace. No matter what.”
I close my eyes, the ache in my chest easing just enough to let me take another breath. I press my head even harder against the wood, trying to will the words out.
“I woke up in a hospital. Everything was a blur. My body hurt, my head felt like it had been smashed into a thousand pieces. My skull was fractured in two places, and the seat belt cracked the ribs on my right side. My dad was there, sitting by the bed, and I remember thinking it was strange. He never sat still for anyone, let alone me. He told me I’d been out for a long time.
A coma. He said there was a trial, that I’d been convicted for murdering someone while speeding.
Vehicular manslaughter. Five years.” Her sharp intake of breath comes from the other side of the door.
“Five years,” I repeat, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“They said I was lucky. If I’d been older, it would’ve been more.
But since I was still a teenager, they went easy on me. Easy.” I huff a bitter laugh.
There’s a faint rustle, the sound of her shifting against the door, and it grounds me enough to keep going.
She’s still here.
“My dad…” I pause, the bitterness rising in my throat.
“He was furious. At me, at you, at the world. He hated me for being so stupid, for getting myself locked up, for bringing attention to him and the things he was doing. He didn’t care that I was grieving or broken.
All he cared about was that I’d fucked up his life.
” I rub a hand over my face. “And I couldn’t care less about his anger.
Shortly after, when I was better, they sent me to juvie. ”
“But how?” she asks, disbelief in her voice. “How is it possible that nobody ever told you it was Rosalee who died and not me?”
“Everything in court was done while I was still in a coma.” A breath shudders out of me.
“My dad handled it. I was underage, so he had control of everything. The only documents I ever saw had only Ms. Evans written on them. I figured it was you… because if you were still alive, you would’ve come to see me.
Even if it was only to yell at me for ruining your life. ”
A sharp sob escapes her, and she may as well have ripped what was left of my heart out of my chest.
I can’t stand her being so hurt.
“They told me you died, too,” she whispers. “My foster parents… they told me you both died. And when I went to your dad to ask where your ashes were, he ran me off. Told me I was the reason he’d lost his son.”
“He didn’t lose me.” A bitter laugh escapes me, full of years of resentment. “He cut me off. Didn’t talk to me or visit me after I got sent to juvie. He was the one who let go of me. But yeah… probably you made him lose the son he wanted.”
“I can’t believe it,” she mutters. “Fuck them. All of them. But especially my foster parents. To think I had to live with them for almost two more years. That they lied all this time.”
“They probably thought they were protecting you. They always wanted you to stay away from me. And they had even more reason to after. They probably didn’t want you to have a boyfriend that’s in jail.
One that killed your sister.” I let out a shaky breath that turns into a sob. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nova.”
“We’re both to blame, Ace. This isn’t only on you.”
“It was my idea.”
“It was my dare,” she counters. “We did this.”
Silence settles between us, and it feels alive, breathing, stretching, pressing against my chest until I can barely stand it.
“You said you are different. What happened?”
Her question is a hook, snagging on all the parts of me I’ve been trying to ignore, but then a memory pulls me under.
The cell reeks of sweat, piss, and despair. It’s stifling, oppressive, like the air’s trying to crush me along with the weight in my chest. I sit on the edge of the metal cot, head in my hands, willing myself to disappear.
I deserve every miserable second of this.
The sound of boots echoes down the hallway, getting closer. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, but I don’t lift my head. It’s probably him again, Holloway. The guy who decided from day one that I was easy prey. Quiet, scrawny, broken. His favorite.
But then I hear the voice of a guard, the jingle of keys, the scrape of the cell door, and my muscles coil, ready for whatever is coming.
The guards are just as brutal as the other inmates.
The bedframe creaks as someone sits across from me, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease.
“Hey,” comes a calm voice, like the guy isn’t surrounded by steel bars and razor wire. “I’m Oscar.”
My head jerks up at that, and I freeze.
Oscar-fucking-Lane.
He’s sitting in front of me. My childhood hero. The guy I used to idolize as a teen. The one I wanted to grow up and be like someday.
And now, here he is. Right across from me. In the same godforsaken hole.
For the first time in years, a spark ignites inside me, something other than the endless, dull numbness. I stare at him, taking in the wiry build, the sharp features, and that easy smirk that used to light up television screens and Vegas stages.
It looks out of place here.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
His eyebrows lift, a flicker of amusement in his expression. “Something wrong?”
“Just didn’t expect to see you in here.” I lean back against the wall. “Guess celebrities don’t get VIP treatment after all.”
“You’d be surprised.” Oscar chuckles. “But I’m guessing you’re not rolling out the red carpet for me, either, huh?”
“Yeah.” I huff a humorless laugh. “No selfies, sorry. They took my phone on the way in.” He smirks at me, and it’s almost enough to make me forget where we are. Almost. “What’d they get you for? Stealing the spotlight?”