Chapter 36
Adora
The world around me should look different. I should look different. The fact that everything seems to be the same, feels like an insult right now.
My thoughts drift like loose papers, never settling long enough to be read.
Every so often something flickers at the edge of my awareness.
Gunfire, glass, weight. A pair of dark, heated eyes.
The memory sits somewhere behind my eyes, pulsing softly, like a bruise I don’t dare touch.
But my mind slides away from it all, refusing to engage.
This is safer. There’s not enough space inside me to make room for anything else except the numbness.
Flashes of red, too much of it, throw themselves at me, but disappear just as fast.
My hands are in my lap, looking innocent and clean, but that feels wrong.
There's a small stain under one of my nails, too red and out of place, that seems to agree with me.
I stare at it until the sides of my vision blur, until everything else recedes, like I could fall into that tiny speck and disappear within.
Firm hands grip my shoulders, shaking me hard enough that my teeth click.
“Adora.”
The voice pierces through the fog like a bright light.
“Adora — look at me.”
The sound of my name drags me back into my body with brutal force. The room snaps into focus, and my heart slams against my ribs, wild and painful.
I suck in a breath so fast, it burns.
Ria is in front of me. Her brows are pinched together, eyes searching mine like she’s afraid she won’t find me there.
“Adora,” she says again, softer now, but with a hint of desperation that sounds wrong coming from her. “I’ve been calling you for minutes now.”
And just like that, the fog breaks. Reality rushes in, and instant tears flood my face, my body shaking with powerful sobs.
She should get far away from me. I’m a curse on everyone, only bringing misery to every life I touch. She never should’ve dragged me out of that river. I miss the waves. They were cold, but they brought me peace.
Ria’s face twists, like she’s in pain. She drops into the chair beside mine and pulls me into a hug, her hand patting my hair softly. It’s strangely comforting, even though I don’t deserve it. I fall apart in her arms, drowning in salty tears as the agony of what happened comes to the surface.
“It’s okay, everything will be okay,” she whispers when I finally settle, and my sobs break down into hiccups.
“I stepped on my phone when I was getting up, and it shattered,” I whisper back, my chest still shaking. “I never unmuted him. There were so many texts. Voicemails. I’ll never know what they said now.” My heart squeezes to the point of bleeding. “There will be no more paper notes.”
Her fingers move through my hair in slow, steady strokes. “You don’t know that. He’s still in surgery. It’s not wrong to have hope.”
“Hope is for fools,” I say, my voice cracking. “Every time I start to hope, things go to shit.”
She shifts slightly and pulls out her phone.
“I don’t think hope is for fools,” she murmurs, her voice gentle.
“And I think Ghost would agree with me.” She presses a headphone into my hand.
“If he didn’t believe in hope, he would’ve given up on winning you back a long time ago.
And he definitely wouldn’t have composed this beautiful track for you. ”
She taps her screen and hits play.
I put the headphone in, and she does the same with the other one. The first notes of the violin hit my soul from all sides. I close my eyes and picture Dominic sitting beside me, playing it himself. Then I remember that I broke his violin, and the illusion scatters like ash.
“There’s hope in this music,” Ria says softly, taking my hand and threading her fingers through mine.
“How long has it been since they took him into surgery?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.
Her chest rises with a deep breath. “Over six hours.”
Such a long fucking time. For the first time tonight, anger cuts through the dread and grief. My jaw tightens until it aches.
“Did you talk to Tank?” My voice is dangerously calm. “Did they catch him?”
She nods slowly. “Both him and the guy who was driving.”
My heart stutters, almost content. Bowie is fucked.
I don’t say anything else. I just listen to the music, holding onto the sound, begging for the shadows to go away and the sun to rise again.
Week One
The first week is the worst.
He survives the surgery, but he isn’t stable. His heart stops two times in the first two days, and every time it happens, mine stops right alongside his.
The doctors keep talking about his spine, about how he may never walk again — but they can’t be sure until he wakes up. I just want him to wake up. Anything else can be dealt with later. I just need him to open his eyes, and we’ll take it from there.
It’s day six now, and there’s no change. I’m trying to hold on to the hope Ria was talking about, but it thins a little more with every passing day, stretching so tight I’m afraid it’ll snap.
I lift my hand and brush his hair back from his forehead, my fingers trembling. Someone like him shouldn’t look this pale. This empty. He was always all presence — power, danger, something. Now, every part of him is too still.
“Mama wants to trim your beard,” I murmur softly.
“She doesn’t trust the hospital staff with it, but she can’t stop crying and shaking long enough to do it herself.
So you should probably wake up soon, Dominic.
” My throat tightens. “Otherwise you’re going to end up with a lot of tiny cuts on your very handsome face. ”
I don’t know when it started, these one-sided conversations. Somewhere along the way, they became necessary. They help, strangely, like saying the words out loud keeps him tethered here with me.
But, of course, he never answers.
I sigh and reach into my bag, pulling out my wireless headphones.
I slip one into his ear, one into mine. On my new phone, I press play.
Then I take his hand in mine, lean back in the chair, and close my eyes.
I let the violin fill the space between us, let it hold the hope I’m struggling to keep alive.
Ghost
The Beginning
The neon sign of La Jaula buzzes across the street, the red letters flickering through the dark. I’m just about to swing a leg over my bike when I hear a velvety, unexpected voice.
“Wow, nice bike.”
I glance up. She’s standing on the curb, just a few steps away, one hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
She looks too clean for a place like this, wearing that spotless white dress.
She’s got no business being on this side of town.
Is that what makes it impossible to look away from her?
Or is it those warm, hypnotizing hazel eyes?
“Wow indeed,” I hear myself say before my brain catches up to my mouth. “Do you have a Band-Aid, beautiful? I think I just scraped my ass falling for you.”
Fuck! Did I really just say that? Really? Of all the things Tank shoved into my head against my will about flirting, I just had to choose that line. Smooth. Real fucking smooth.
For a second, I brace myself for the look — the one girls give when they decide you’re not worth the time. But instead, she laughs. Not a polite little giggle, but a real laugh. Bright and surprised, not an ounce of control. It hits me straight in the chest.
“That’s terrible,” she says between laughs, shaking her head.
“Yeah,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck and wincing. “Not my best moment.”
She’s still smiling when she steps closer, the bar’s light painting her skin in shadows. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, or maybe it’s the summer heat. Either way, she looks fucking magical.
“I’m Dominic,” I say, holding out my hand. Fuck again! Did I really just give her my real name?
“Adora,” she replies, her fingers warm against mine.
The name rolls through my head like honey. Adora. It fits her perfectly — the unguarded smile, the pink in her cheeks, the way her eyes glitter when they land on mine. She’s fucking adorable.
“Can I get your number, Adora?” I’m suddenly pissed I have to go back to the clubhouse tonight. I’d blow Bones off for her in a heartbeat, but I can’t do the same to Pops.
She hesitates for a split second, then nods. Is she just as bewitched as me? I hand her my phone, and she types it in. When she gives it back, her fingers brush mine again. It’s quick, but so fucking electric it zaps through my spine.
“I have to go. See you around, Dominic,” she says, turning the other way. My name on her lips is so addictive, I want to hear her say it again. Soon.
“Yeah,” I murmur, watching her go. “You definitely will.”
The engine growls beneath me when I finally start the bike, but my heartbeat is so much louder.
I call her the very next day. That night she’s on the back of my bike. I take her to the viewpoint outside Willow Harbor, where we talk about everything and nothing at all.
For some reason, I don’t want to stay quiet near her. I don’t want to hide. Those warm eyes of hers make me want to spill every secret I’ve ever buried. Which would be dangerous, but could also lead to something so fucking beautiful.
“You’re not a good girl, are you?” I ask, leaning against my bike, watching her a few feet away, hands gripping the guardrail as she sways slightly from side to side.
Her eyebrows lift. She steps toward me slowly, a sinful smile stretching her lips.
“And what if I’m not?” she whispers, every word a dare.
I’m hooked.
She stops between my legs and traces my lips with her finger. Fuck. I’m done for.
“What if I’m a very, very bad girl?” she murmurs, voice low and wicked, eyes half-lidded. “What would you do to me, Dominic?”
My mind fractures. I don’t fucking know.
Actually, I do. I so fucking do!
“I’ll show you,” I hiss, my hands clamping onto her asscheeks and hauling her closer.