Relapse (Rave To Ruin #2)

Chapter One

Blair

My name is Blair.

And I didn’t come back to Severance Point to heal.

I came to disappear.

To find what they tried to erase.

To figure out what really happened to my sister.

Even if it takes me with her.

I drag another inhale, cough like it personally offended me, and blow smoke into the kind of muggy morning that sticks to your skin like a bad decision.

The street’s quiet in that hungover, beach-town kind of way.

Gravel crunches under my boots, and the air smells like hot asphalt, salt, and sunscreen that’s given up.

The ocean’s close enough to taste—humid, thick, and vaguely fishy, like California’s trying to remind you it’s not just pretty sunsets and palm trees. It’s rot underneath, too.

Then I see it.

A black bike idles at the curb. Matte chrome, purring low and dark, like a secret that’s been waiting to be whispered.

And him, leaning against the frame. A cigarette burning lazily between two fingers, sleeves shoved up, with his inked arms on full display. His boots are planted wide and his head is tilted just enough to say yeah, I see you.

Like he knew I’d look, because I always do.

His eyes track me. Slow. Steady, like he’s not surprised.

Like I’m his favorite fucking fix.

He flicks the ash to the pavement, smirks, and just like that—

The overdose begins.

I don’t even think about it.

One second I’m standing there with a cigarette hanging off my lip like I’ve got my life together, watching him like I’ve just spotted a ghost I’d absolutely follow into hell, and the next, I’m clattering down a set of deck stairs that look like they’ve survived at least three lawsuits and a small fire.

Honestly? If I eat shit and die right here, that’s on brand.

I make it down in one piece—tragic, and step off the curb.

Gravel crunches under my boots, loud in the quiet morning air, like the whole damn street is narrating my bad decisions in surround sound.

Here she goes again, folks. Watch her make the same mistake twice—no, wait—bigger this time.

Love that for me.

He watches me every step, because duh, of course he does. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even acknowledge how fucking weird this entire situation is.

He just leans there like he owns the whole fucking moment. Like he’s had this whole thing already written and I’m just late to my cue.

Yeah.

That pisses me off.

The closer I get, the clearer everything becomes.

Suddenly shit isn’t hazy or dreamlike anymore. At least not in that floaty, drug-laced blur I’ve been diving headfirst back into while waiting for this very fucking moment to happen.

Now everything is sharp.

Annoyingly fucking sharp.

The ink on his arms. The way his fingers flex around the cigarette. The cocky tilt of his head like he knew all along this is where we’d end up.

And his eyes—

God.

His eyes drag over me slow. Too fucking slow. Familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense, like he’s already memorized the shape of me and is just checking to make sure nothing’s changed. Like he’s tasting something he already knows he likes.

Which—cool. Great. Fantastic. Love that journey for me.

Except—

No.

No, no, no.

Mad, Blair.

You’re supposed to be furious. Angry. Fucking outraged. Not standing here letting him look at you like that. Not noticing the way your pulse just kicked into overdrive like it’s training for a marathon you absolutely did not sign up for. Not… this. Jesus. Get it together.

I mentally grab myself by the shoulders and give myself a little shake.

You were literally just mad. Stay on that. Be mad. Be a bitch. Be difficult.

Instead, I take another step forward like an idiot.

I stop a few feet in front of him, folding my arms over my chest like that’s going to do anything other than give me something to do with my hands. Like it’s going to magically block out the fact that my heart is beating way too fast and my body has already decided to betray me.

Cool.

Super cool.

My thighs press together automatically, subtle—hopefully—but noticeable enough to me that I want to scream.

Really? Right now? This is what we’re doing?

I shift my weight onto one hip, forcing a smirk onto my face like I’ve got even a shred of control left in this situation.

“You always stare at girls like you’re about to ruin their lives,” I say, voice dry, sharp, exactly where it should be, “or am I just getting the VIP experience?”

There.

That’s better.

Focus on that.

Not the way he’s looking at you and definitely not how with a single fucking look he’s making your brain short circuit.

“I missed you too, little relapse.”

He says it like it’s a joke, but his body doesn’t match it.

He pushes off the bike slow, real slow, like he’s in no rush because he already knows I’m not going anywhere. Boots scraping lightly against the pavement, shoulders rolling back as he closes the distance just enough to make it feel intentional.

His head tilts, just slightly, eyes dragging over me again, unapologetic, and clearly amused, like he’s already clocked exactly how much of a problem this is going to be for me.

That smirk doesn’t leave his mouth.

If anything, it deepens.

Like he’s enjoying this, knew exactly what I’d do the second I saw him, and I just proved him right.

“You know, you’ve got a real talent for dramatic exits,” I say, voice rough, a little wrecked, but still carrying just enough bite to keep things interesting.

“Disappear, erase everything, and leave me in some random ass hospital, alone, thinking I hallucinated everything. Real fucking cinematic. Grammy award worthy no doubt”

His mouth twitches.

It’s not a full smile, but it's enough to make me want to throat punch him.

“Yeah?” he says, dragging on the cigarette like he’s not being accused of anything remotely serious. “And yet you look like you handled it fine.”

I let out a short laugh.

Sharp. Humorless.

“Oh, yeah. Totally fine,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes. “Woke up on a bathroom floor this morning with zero memory of how I got there, who I came with, or what I took, and somehow?” I shrug, smirking. “Still one of the easier mornings I’ve had lately.”

His eyes narrow slightly.

There it is.

Good.

I step in closer before he can say anything, tilting my head, letting my gaze drag over him slow and teasingly.

“Funny thing is,” I add, voice dropping just enough to bite, “I wasn’t even looking for answers anymore. I was just seeing how long it’d take.”

His brow shifts, just slightly.

“How long would take?”

“For you to show up,” I say, like it’s obvious. “Or him. Or both of you lurking around like you weren’t already watching.”

A beat.

I smile, sharp and mean.

His jaw tightens just a fraction, maybe not enough for most people to notice, but plenty for me.

“Yeah well if you didn’t want to be watched, maybe you shouldn't have come back here. You weren’t supposed to. That was the point of everything we did, little relapse.” he says.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I add sarcastically as I step closer.

Not like, aggressively, but just enough to make a fucking point.

“I’m sorry that you idiots, dropped me at a hospital half fucking dead,” I continue, ticking it off like I’m listing charges.

“Wiped my phone, cleared the motel, and made it look like the warehouse never existed. Sorry that me coming back to bury my sister, and having your pills wash up on the shore through a dent in your grand master plan.”

He flicks ash to the pavement, completely unfazed and steps toward me.

“It wasn’t some big, master fucking plan like you seem to think,” he snaps, voice rough, edges sharp with something that sounds a lot like anger, and something else he’s trying not to let through.

Before I can roll my eyes or fire something back, his hand comes up, fast and certain, fingers hooking under my chin.

He tilts my face up and forces me to look at him. Not rough enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear I’m not looking anywhere else.

“The only thing on our mind that night was you,” he says, quieter now, but heavier. Which is so much fucking worse.

His grip tightens slightly when I try to pull back.

Nope. Not happening.

“We hated every second of it,” he continues, eyes locked on mine like he’s trying to force the words into my skull. “Every second of seeing you like that—” he swears under his breath, jaw ticking before he keeps going, “—and knowing we couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

His thumb shifts just slightly against my jaw. Soft, and weirdly gentle.

“Fuck, Blair… that shit messed both of us up,” he mutters, voice dropping, still angry but threaded with something heavier now. “You have no idea.”

He leans in just enough that I can feel his breath.

“Everything we did that night—every call, every fucking move—we did it for you,” he adds, quieter now, but no less intense. “To keep you breathing, and to keep you from ending up in the same fucking whole Brynne ended up in. It was all for you.”

I stare at him for a second.

Then laugh again.

“For me?” I repeat, incredulous. “That’s what we’re telling ourselves to feel better?

Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you tried to make me think I lost my fucking mind after abandoning me.

” I snap, pulling my chin from his grip “Did either of you even check in on me? Or were you both just done with me by that point.”

His gaze hardens slightly.

“Of course we fucking care,” he snaps, dragging a hand through his hair, jaw tight as his gaze flicks up to the sky like he needs a second before looking at me again. “We checked in with your doctors every goddamn day.”

He lets out a sharp breath, then looks back down at me, eyes harder now.

“And yeah, you’ve got every right to be pissed,” he adds, voice cutting. “You think we don’t know what we did was fucked up after everything? I know exactly how fucked it was. It fucking killed me to do that to you.”. His jaw ticks.