Chapter 1
C H A P T E R1
Ghost of You
Cade
The Present
C upping my hands together under the faucet, I gathered water and splashed it on my face. Rivulets sluiced down the slopes of my cheeks as I glanced at my reflection, a blank expression staring back at me.
On the outside, everything appeared status quo. Dark hair, blue eyes, skin a hint tan —marred with a fading bruise near my jaw from my last fight. It seemed these days my canvas always harboured a wound or two, my body decorated with the story of my rougher days.
But it was never the scars visible to the naked eye that hurt.
No.
The most painful scars were the ones hidden under our armour, like black mold sequestered beneath a shiny surface. Those always took longer to heal. If they ever did.
These days, I barely recognized myself. I’d forgotten what living meant. I was simply surviving, going through the motions with an autopilot-like quality and no zeal.
I learned the hard way that sometimes it only took one prominent moment to forever alter you. That so-called moment fundamentally changed something inside me—like a final cog clicking into place—and there was no going back.
I was nineteen years old, but some days I felt beyond that number.
My cell phone vibrated on the bathroom counter and I was pulled out of my train wreck musings. Taking a washcloth, I patted my face and hands before grabbing it.
It was a text message from one of my best friends.
Are you coming tonight? —Shaun
My rational side screamed that I shouldn’t go when I had other issues to resolve, other demons to fight, other feelings to numb.
Yet my fingers had a mind of their own as they typed a reply.
I’ll be there. —Cade
The boys from the team are meeting in St. Victoria’s woods. Pre-gaming before Initiation Night begins. —Shaun
Sounds good. I’ll text you when I arrive. —Cade
Shaun sent a thumbs-up emoji.
Tonight was Initiation Night at St. Victoria high school. A twisted tradition that took place on the third Friday night of every October to induct new students on the hockey and cheerleading team.
I graduated high school a few months ago and was now attending Vesta University since September. However, first year alumni were always invited every single year for one last competition.
To be completely transparent, I didn’t give a rat’s ass about this tradition. If you asked me, it was just an excuse for trust fund teenagers to do something else besides attend a boozefest and pop pills.
The only reason I agreed to participate tonight was because I knew she would be there.
South Side’s very own princess.
The bane of my existence.
My unhealthy little obsession.
And my fucking ex-girlfriend.
We were no longer together for reasons I refused to acknowledge.
But I was obviously a masochist who still tortured himself with thoughts of her.
Ella Ximena Cordova was the kind of beautiful that transcended time. Never in my life had I seen such a stunning individual. Everything about her had me in a chokehold. Her spellbinding eyes, her playful smile, her flawless skin, so soft and sensitive under my touch, and her energy—kind and so fiery, it warmed you like the heat of a hundred suns.
The memories of her haunted me until I felt half moon mad with anger and longing, tossing, and turning in my bed at night. Wanting her. Hating her. Loving her. Wishing I’d never laid eyes on her.
I tried for three months to rip apart my fixation with her like a limb in dire need of amputation. It was impossible. I couldn’t eradicate her from my mind, my body, or my goddamned soul.
Her ghost was here to stay.
And I’d gladly give it a place in my bruised heart.
Stepping out of my en suite with a towel wrapped around my waist, I trudged out into my room, another towel hanging around my neck. I used it to rub the wetness out of my hair and pat the tattooed skin of my chest, now freshly healed after four weeks.
Tattoos were sacred to me. They were etched on my right arm and my torso, a web of defining memories serving as a reminder of the things that shaped me into the person I was today.
I also learned during the past summer that tattoos were the perfect coping mechanism to drown out your thoughts. When I sat in the chair and heard the gun’s buzzing and felt the grind of the needle against my skin, my mind paused.
As a result, my body was covered in various ink and I had no intention of stopping anytime soon.
With thirty minutes left to get ready, I walked over to my dresser and yanked out a pair of black briefs and jeans. I pulled open the top drawer and froze, my eyes spotting my thin gold chain, threaded with the promise ring, nestled between my folded black hoodies.
I wore it every day like a pathetic lovesick fool. I didn’t know how to be without it.
Fastening it around my neck, I breathed better once it settled between my inked pecs.
Without a knock, my door twisted open and Josh sauntered inside like he owned the place. My pet peeve was people entering without my permission and Josh had no concept of personal space. He parked his ass on the edge of my unmade bed like a lazy king lounging before his subject. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I returned, throwing on my black hoodie.
When I faced him, he was frowning, his eyes locked near my right rib. I ground my jaw. He saw that particular tattoo and chose not to comment on it.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Where are you going?”
“Out. I’m meeting Shaun and some of the boys from the team.” I didn’t tell him about Initiation Night because he’d know I was only going for Ella. The last thing I wanted was pity from my family. “What about you?”
Josh cleared his throat again. A trait that emphasized his nervousness. “Layla is coming over tonight, but…nobody knows.”
One thing about us Remington men?
We loved hard and forever.
If Ella was my obsession, then Layla was my brother’s. For all intents and purposes, she was his best friend, but he had it bad for her with a capital B. One night, we stole a bottle of whiskey from Uncle Vance’s stash, got drunk on the mansion’s rooftop, and Josh finally confessed he was in love with Layla.
“I want to marry her,” he’d slurred, halfway drunk. “I want to give her a big home and lots of babies.”
I’d laughed and taken a swig of the whiskey. “Does she know all of this?”
Josh had stared at the moon with awe, his mouth hanging half-open like an idiot. “N-No. But I’ll tell her one day.” He’d rubbed the left side of his chest like he was soothing his heart. “T-There’s only one thing I want in this whole world and…that’s to be her husband.”
I hoped Josh got his wish and that Layla too realized she was head over heels for him. Preferably in this decade.
“Good luck getting her past Julia and Vance.” I smirked, snapping on my watch and donning my silver rings. “If they catch you both, you’re getting the birds and the bees monologue.”
Uncle Vance actually gave me the talk when I started dating Ella. He also said there would be hell to pay if I made him a grandfather before I graduated university.
Josh scowled. “Yeah, no, thank you. I’d rather stab myself with a knife than hear Mom and Dad talk to me about sex and contraceptives.”
“If you need to sneak her in, do it using the east garden doors. No one will see you.”
To be frank, Layla often came over during the day so she and Josh could study and play videogames. Aunt Julia and Uncle Vance really liked her but assumed she was just their son’s ‘friend.’ If they found out Josh and Layla actually liked each other, Aunt Julia would throw a tea party and Uncle Vance would throw a box of condoms at Josh. Both equally embarrassing scenarios for the two.
“I shouldn’t have a problem sneaking her in.” Josh combed his fingers through his hair and joined his hands at the nape of his neck, glancing ceilingward as he exhaled slowly. “I hate to admit this, but I’m feeling nervous.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Why?”
“We’ve kissed before, but I don’t know if she’ll want to go all the way tonight.”
“Well, if she does, make sure you give her plenty of foreplay. Girls like that.”
“I’ve also never done it,” Josh admitted then groaned. “What if I screw up this entire thing?”
I crossed my arms over my chest and perched against my dresser. “You won’t, Josh. Sex isn’t a competition. It’s about communication and doing what feels right for both of you. Make sure you ask her how she’s feeling with everything you do, and don’t forget to tell her what you like as well. The rest will come naturally.”
“You’re right.” He cracked his knuckles and stood up. “Thanks for this.”
“Anytime, man.”
“Before I get going, I need to ask…Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
His eyes searched mine. “There’s something different about you for quite some time. I’d like to say it’s the stress from all the jobs we’ve been doing for Dad lately, but I have a feeling it has something to do with Ella.”
I stiffened.
He didn’t have to say it out loud. We both knew the truth.
I never got over my ex-girlfriend.
I was a fully functioning wreck without her.
When I remained silent, Josh grimaced. “Sorry. I don’t mean to overstep by assuming. I’m just worried about you.”
I forced a smile. “I’m fine, Josh. I just have a lot on my mind. Freshman year of university and midterms are already kicking my ass.”
Josh knew I was bullshitting. “Okay, if you say so.” He clapped my shoulder in a brotherly gesture. “Just remember I’m always here for you, all right?”
I truly hit the jackpot when I got adopted by the Remingtons. I gained great parents, a stable home, and an amazing brother who was nothing but loyal and supportive. Two things I always reciprocated.
Besides both being nineteen, Josh and I were identical in many ways. Dark hair, signature Remington chiseled jawline, tall heights, and athletic builds. When we were high schoolers, Josh had attended Westwood High for its exceptional football program, while I attended St. Victoria—located closer to our home in South Side—for its renowned hockey team. Since I played the sport until I was fifteen, Uncle Vance insisted I get back into it when I started living with them.
But that’s where our similarities ended.
Josh hadn’t been completely tarnished by the violence of our world. I, on the other hand, entered this world having already tasted its flavour. Life had forced me to grow up faster and tougher from a young age.
If there’s one language I was well-accustomed to, it was brutality.
I’d been on the receiving end and I knew how to fucking dish it.
Which made me a perfect soldier in Vance Remington’s eyes.
My uncle made it clear that our destiny was tied with being the successors of the Remington criminal empire. A role that Josh and me both embraced wholeheartedly.
“Thanks, J,” I told him. “I appreciate it.”
Josh left shortly afterwards.
I rummaged through my drawers for my wallet. I kept my space clean, but I wasn’t always the tidiest. Sometimes I misplaced my belongings. Cursing, I opened each one until I got to the bottom drawer.
An old baseball bat lay within, one I thought I effectively hid months ago.
The sight of it, with the letters E + C carved on the surface, sent a wave of pain through my chest. Longing. It burned my insides like acid.
I took a deep, shaky inhale, closing my eyes.
Everything in my space was a constant reminder of her.
The baseball bat. The promise ring around my neck. The tats on my body. The imprint she left on me.
In this lifetime, I was cursed with loving her and only her.
Once I found my wallet, I grabbed my keys, leather jacket, riding helmet, and my De la Croix gun before I took the elevator down to the underground garage, where my Ducati was parked.
Uncle Vance would not allow his little princes to leave his kingdom without security or weapons. Since I wasn’t exactly a stickler for rules, I omitted the former. But I’d be plain stupid to leave without a gun, especially when Montardor was brimming with filthy rats who had a vendetta against my family.
It was only when I got on my motorcycle and blazed out of the premise, that the longing quickly morphed into simmering excitement at the prospect of seeing the object of my affection once more.