Chapter 9 #2
I repeated it until I believed it, until it became the foundation I built everything else on.
When I got out of juvie in New York, I went straight to the Fury Vipers. Digger didn’t hesitate to offer me a place, nor did Octavia. They opened their lives to me.
They gave me structure and rules. They gave me a place where the violence had somewhere to go that wasn’t into the people around me. But no matter how tight I kept my control, I couldn’t outrun what I’d done. The line I crossed that couldn’t be uncrossed.
They never saw me as someone other than the boy who shot Octavia. I wasn’t met with open hostility, it was worse: disappointment, distance, the kind that sticks to your skin. I couldn’t escape my past there.
So I asked for the transfer.
Dublin was far enough that I could breathe again. Far enough that I could pretend I was more than the worst thing I’d done.
New chapter, same patch, same promise.
I became the quiet one, the controlled one, the one who never lost his temper.
I locked it down so tight I almost convinced myself the violence was gone.
Until Everly.
She makes me want to let it loose, makes me want to stop controlling every reaction.
And that's what terrifies me most.
Because the second I stop controlling it is the second I prove every fear I have about myself is true.
I'm standing on the cliff watching the Irish Sea when I hear her car pull up.
She walks over and stands beside me, doesn't say anything for a long time.
"You okay?" she asks finally.
"No."
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Okay."
We stand there in the wind and the silence feels comfortable instead of awkward.
"I spent five years in juvie," I say eventually.
She doesn't react, just keeps looking out at the water.
"I shot my teacher when I was thirteen, held her kid at gunpoint, tried to save my sister."
"I know."
I look at her. "How do you know?"
"Chloe told me. She thought I should know what I'm getting into."
"And you're still here."
"Yeah, I'm still here."
"Why?"
"Because you're more than the worst thing you've ever done."
The words hit like a punch and I have to look away.
"In juvie I learned how to survive," I say. "I learned how to fight, how to hurt people, how to make them back off. And I learned that I'm good at it. The violence comes easy."
"Okay."
"That doesn't scare you?"
"No."
"It should."
"Stop telling me what I should feel."
I almost smile. "You're stubborn."
"You're evasive."
"Fair."
The wind picks up and she shivers. I want to put my arm around her but I don't.
"I made a promise to myself in juvie," I say. "Never to lose control again, never to let the violence win. And I've kept that promise for eight years."
"And?"
"And you make it harder to keep."
She turns to face me. "How?"
"Because when I'm near you, I want to let my guard down. I want to stop controlling every reaction. And that terrifies me."
"Why?"
"Because the second I stop controlling it is the second someone gets hurt."
"You think you're going to hurt me?"
"I think I'm capable of it."
She steps closer. "I'm not afraid of you, Rush."
"You should be."
"Stop saying that."
"It's true."
"No, it's you being scared and using me as an excuse."
She's right and I hate it. I am scared and I am using her as an excuse.
But that doesn't make the fear less real.
"I don't know how to do this," I say.
"Do what?"
"Let someone in without destroying them."
"Then we'll figure it out."
"What if we can't?"
"Then we deal with it, but you don't get to make that decision for me. I get to choose whether the risk is worth it."
The wind whips her hair around her face and she looks fierce and beautiful and completely unafraid.
And I realize something.
She's not going to back down. She's not going to walk away. She's going to keep pushing until I either let her in or break completely.
"You're going to regret this," I say.
"Maybe, but that's my choice to make."
"Everly—"
"Stop. Just stop. I know what you are, I know what you've done, I know what you're afraid of. And I'm still here. So either you want me or you don't, but stop trying to protect me from you."
The words land and I feel something shift in my chest.
She's right. I've been trying to protect her from me.
But maybe that's not my choice to make.
Maybe she gets to decide if I'm worth the risk.
I step closer and my hand comes to her face. The touch is rough and possessive.
"If I do this, I'm not going to be gentle," I say.
"I don't want gentle."
"I'm going to fuck it up."
"Probably."
"And you're still here."
"Yeah, I'm still here."
I lean in and this time, I don't stop myself. I kiss her hard and hungry and without holding back.
She makes a sound against my mouth and her hands fist in my cut, pulling me closer.
This is want, raw and unfiltered, and it's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
I pull back just enough to breathe. "We should stop."
"No."
"Everly—"
"I said no. I'm done stopping. I'm done pretending this isn't happening."
She pulls me back in and I go. I stop fighting it and I let myself want her.
The kiss is messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue and need.
My hand slides into her hair and I tilt her head back, deepening it.
She gasps and I swallow the sound. I can't get close enough, can't get deep enough.
The violence is there, humming under my skin, but it's different with her. It's not rage or fear.
It's hunger, it's need, it's the desperate certainty that I'll die if I don't have her.
I pull back and we're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen and her eyes are dark.
"Come home with me," I say.
"Okay."
"I'm serious—if you come home with me, I'm not going to stop."
"Good."
"Everly—"
"Rush, shut up and take me home."
I kiss her again, hard and fast, then I pull back.
"Follow me."
She gets in her car, and I wait for her to start the engine before I climb on my bike and ride, keeping her car in my mirrors the entire time, my heart pounding the whole way.
This is happening. This is really happening.
And I'm terrified but I'm not stopping it.
Because Everly's right. I've been scared for too long.
I've been letting the past control the present, letting fear make my decisions.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I'm taking what I want and dealing with the consequences later.
The promise I made in juvie is still there—never lose control, never let the violence win.
But maybe control doesn't mean locking everything down.
Maybe it means choosing when to let go.
And right now, with Everly, I'm choosing to let go.
Even if it terrifies me.
Even if I don't know how it ends.
I'm done running.