Chapter 5
Hazel
Our beat-up green trailer looked the same as always, the metal door squeaking the second you touched it.
I pushed inside. The smell of burned meat and vodka hit me in the face. Saren was slumped on the couch, TV flickering, a glass and half-empty bottle on the coffee table. She heard the door and turned.
"There you are, sweetie."
Saren leaned forward, still a little drunk—probably why she seemed in a decent mood.
"So how was it? That party last night, was it fancy?" Her eyes lit up. "I knew Anya's family had money, but damn, I didn't know they had that much."
She paused, squinting at me, her tone turning bitter. "All this time, she really kept that under wraps. But I get it. Families like that, they don't want people knowing."
She patted my arm, playing the doting mother for once. "Hazel, listen to me. You need to keep that friendship with Anya strong, you hear me? Friends like that, they're worth their weight in gold. I never dreamed our family could have any connection to people like them—"
I walked to the kitchen without a word and poured myself water.
I didn't want to explain.
My nerves were shot, every bone in my body ached. I just wanted to lie down somewhere.
"I know," I said, setting the glass aside. "I'm tired. I need to sleep."
Saren frowned.
"Hold on, what's with you? Your dress is all wrinkled." She stared at me, then her eyes went wide. "Did you sleep with Tyler last night?"
"No. I didn't." Irritation flared, but I forced patience. "I just drank too much."
"Girl." Saren shook her head, all sage-like. "Tyler's loaded. You want to land a guy like that, you can't give it up too easy, understand? Men are dogs. The easier you make it, the less they care. Trust me, I'm living proof."
I closed my eyes. I'd heard this lecture before, but now it just pissed me off.
Land the cheating bastard. What a joke.
I brushed past Saren toward my room—barely big enough for a twin bed.
That's when the curtain behind the other room tore open. My brother Jimmy burst out in a stained tank top, hair wild, eyes bloodshot. Another all-nighter gambling.
"Hazel." He blocked my path. "Hold up."
I stopped, suspicious.
"Word's going around." Jimmy stared at me, his Adam's apple bobbing. "They're saying you screwed up at the Gromov place last night. Pissed off Anya. Got thrown out this morning. That true?"
Jimmy's spit practically sprayed my face. I closed my eyes, exhausted.
News traveled fast. Couldn't they let me rest for one damn minute?
"I'm talking to you." His voice shook. "Did you piss off the Gromovs? Did you?"
Jimmy started shaking me, but I still didn't know what to say.
That night. That man. Anya's look of disappointment—I didn't want to talk about any of it.
"What did you do?"
Saren's face changed. She stared at me, eyes widening.
"You crossed the Gromovs? You pissed off people like that, and you had the nerve to come back here?"
"Anya and I had a falling out," I admitted quietly.
"Get out." She shot up from the couch. Her elbow knocked over the glass. Vodka spilled everywhere. She didn't even look at it, just pointed at the door.
"Get out. Now."
"What?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"You heard me." Her voice went high and shaky. She shrank back into the corner of the couch, looking at me with no trace of maternal feeling—just wariness, like I was a stranger bringing trouble. "If those people are after you, that's on you. Your brother and I still have to live. Go. Leave. Now."
What did I just hear? My mother was throwing me out?
"Where am I supposed to go? This is my home." I stared at the woman I called my mother in disbelief.
But she just turned her head, avoiding my eyes.
After a suffocating silence, Saren finally spoke.
"You're grown now, Hazel."
Her meaning was crystal clear. She wanted me gone.
My mother didn't care what I'd been through last night, whether there'd been some misunderstanding. She just wanted to sweep her troublemaking daughter out the door.
I felt my heart suffocating.
Jimmy stood to the side, didn't say a word in my defense. He backed up farther, scared that standing too close would drag him down with me.
Something inside me shattered completely.
All these years—being yelled at, chased off, treated like dead weight—I'd endured it all. I knew Saren's life hadn't been easy. My father abandoned her. She raised Jimmy and me alone.
She drank, she raged, she cut deep, but I always told myself she loved me. She just didn't know how to show it.
But now that last illusion crumbled too.
Yeah, this was reality. I'd known it all along.
I didn't even cry.
I turned and walked into my tiny room, shoving my few belongings into a backpack. An old sweater, two pairs of jeans, some underwear, my toiletry bag, and the envelope hidden under the mattress—the cash I'd saved from odd jobs.
That was everything I owned.
When I walked out with my bag, Saren was back on the couch, pouring another drink, eyes fixed on the TV. She didn't spare me a glance. Jimmy had disappeared somewhere.
I stopped at the door, couldn't help looking at Saren one last time.
She didn't turn around.
At least the money I'd saved from odd jobs was enough to rent a place in the south side.
Though after paying rent, the envelope went flat real fast.
But the location was convenient, plenty of nice little shops nearby. Every day I went door to door asking if they needed help.
On the fourth day, luck finally smiled on me.
The coffee shop was a ten-minute walk from my place.
Business was good—always a line at the register, tables piling up with dirty cups. The manager was a gray-haired guy everyone called old Leo.
Leo was decent, but an injury left him pretty useless. I was on my own, working till my back gave out.
I had to memorize dozens of coffee recipes, steam milk while customers snapped at me, pull shots, ring up orders, make change.
The regulars were all Leo's friends. They loved teasing me. Not mean, but still exhausting.
By the time I got back to my moldy little room at night, I was too tired to cook. I'd just collapse on the bed.
But this life brought an unexpected calm.
I'd always thought I couldn't survive without my mother.
Taking care of her when she was drunk, cleaning up that house—it was instinct. I thought I needed that place, even knowing it was broken. Part of me still depended on it.
But now, actually living on my own, I realized—it wasn't so bad.
Freedom felt incredible.
No one woke me at midnight to clean up vomit. No one pounded on the door over gambling debts. No one drunkenly called me a waste of money.
I decided what I ate for dinner. I spent every dollar I earned on myself. When I was tired, I slept, without worrying someone would shake me awake at three a.m.
Though sometimes I still woke up crying. Though I was still thinking about Anya.
I rolled over in bed twice before opening my phone.
Sure enough, Anya hadn't replied.
I sat on that creaking bed, typing and deleting, deleting and typing, revising God knows how many times.
But eventually, I sent her those stupid little updates.
I told her about my new place, about finding work, about screwing up a coffee order and getting yelled at.
But still, no reply.
I felt hollow inside. Cold.
I scrolled through our chat from top to bottom. At the very beginning were our conversations from school, all stupid jokes and emojis.
In the middle, she was excitedly telling me about the graduation party, saying she had a surprise for me.
At the bottom, my dozen unanswered messages hung there, one after another, completely ignored.
I closed my phone and flipped it face-down on the bed.
Okay, I told myself. That's that.
No one in this world is required to stay in your life.
I once had a friend who gave me the warmest memories I'd ever have.
That was already pretty good, wasn't it? I couldn't be greedy.
I wiped away the tears that had started falling without my noticing. I was about to put my phone away and grab something to eat when a wave of nausea hit me out of nowhere.
I practically stumbled into the bathroom and threw up violently into the toilet.
My stomach churned. I puked till I saw stars, tears streaming down my face. When it finally stopped, I slumped against the wall, gasping.
What the hell?
Did I eat something bad today?
I tried to remember what I'd had—breakfast was toast and coffee, lunch was leftover pizza Leo heated up, dinner I hadn't gotten to yet—
Wait.
I froze.
This wasn't the first time.
I'd thrown up two days ago too. Thought I'd caught a chill. And before that, I'd felt queasy but not this bad.
Then I realized something else—
I hadn't had my period in a long time.
I sat rigid on the cold tile floor, my mind racing through dates.
When was my last period?
Almost two months ago.
A cold dread crawled up from my feet, climbing my spine, leaving me shaking all over.
I didn't want to think it.
But just to be sure, just for peace of mind—
I forced myself to walk into the corner drugstore, hovering between the condoms and tampons for way too long before grabbing a pregnancy test, keeping my head down at checkout, not looking at the cashier once.
Back in my room, I set the little shopping bag on the table.
I stared at it forever, like it was a bomb about to go off.
I was scared, but I told myself—only one time, the odds couldn't be that bad.
I grabbed the test and went into the bathroom.
I set it on the edge of the sink, then backed against the wall, arms crossed, staring at that little plastic stick.
Three minutes.
I'd never felt three minutes last so long.
I don't know how much time passed before I worked up the nerve to look.
Two lines.
My legs buckled. I grabbed the sink to keep from sliding to the floor. I picked up the test, held it close, and checked it against the diagram in the instructions.
I was pregnant.
I was carrying that man's child. The man who'd thrown me out without saying a word in my defense. The man who ran Los Angeles from the shadows. Viktor Gromov.
My world collapsed.
How was I supposed to raise a kid?
When I could barely feed myself?
I didn't sleep that whole night. I lay in bed, hand on my still-flat stomach, thinking over and over—what do I do?
Get rid of it? I could barely pay rent. Where would I get the money?
Keep it?
I didn't dare go to that man. I knew how the mafia operated. When Jimmy owed money, he'd brought those types to our door. They trashed the place. A few times, I really thought they'd kill us. That's why Saren had been so terrified when she heard I'd crossed Viktor.
And Viktor wasn't just mafia—he was the most powerful one of them all. Worse, his impression of me had to be rock bottom—some gold digger who crawled into his bed, some manipulative bitch using his daughter.
If I went to him and told him I was pregnant, what would he do?
Give me money for an abortion? Or just have me taken care of?
I shuddered.
Near dawn, I dozed off briefly, then the alarm woke me. I dragged myself up mechanically—washed my face, changed clothes, stumbled through the alley in the dark, and stood at the coffee machine right on time.
That morning, the shop was chaos as usual. I pulled shots and steamed milk while my mind raced in circles.
But I still hadn't made a decision. Hadn't figured anything out.
I just knew I couldn't fall apart. I couldn't lose this job, because now it wasn't just me anymore.
Whether I wanted it or not, there was a life inside me now, tied to mine.
Near noon, Leo walked in from outside and called over to me.
"Hazel."
"Yeah." I didn't look up, busy ringing up a customer.
"Some guy's here for you." He jerked his chin toward the glass door. "Been standing there a while. Says he's waiting for you."
For me? Who would be looking for me?
In this whole city, not a single person knew I was here.
Who could it be?
I slowly set down the receipt, lifted my head, and looked toward the door where Leo had pointed.
Blinding sunlight streamed through the dirty glass. Backlit, a man's silhouette stood outside.
I squinted, and the face came into focus.
The face I'd once loved.
Tyler.