CHAPTER 01 - Bryan Trevor
Wait, I still want you
Come back, I still need you
Let me take your hand, I’ll make it right
I swear to love you all my life
Wait, I still need you
Hold On – Chord Overstreet
EPHEMERAL
Temporary. Fleeting.
The perfect words to sum up what we had.
But completely wrong for what stayed inside me.
The flame didn’t go out. It didn’t even dim.
It grew. Fed off time itself.
Day after day. Month after month. Year after year.
One thousand eight hundred and sixty-five days since the last time I heard your voice.
Just over five years of merely surviving—because I stopped existing the exact moment those empty eyes became my last memory.
I died when I read your words saying you’d be better off without me.
That I was a killer!
And she wasn’t wrong about that.
I really was a killer, and after that night, I dragged even more lives down with me.
I became a human weapon.
Addicted to destroying whoever crosses my path.
And I feel no remorse whatsoever, let alone regret.
If I had to do it all over again, I’d do it without thinking twice.
Maybe that’s exactly why my knuckles are white as I grip the steering wheel and gather the courage to turn the ignition.
Going back to that godforsaken place was the last thing I wanted, but I have no choice, not anymore.
I need to go, and even though I’m not sure what’s happened over the past few years, my gut is screaming at me to give up and find another way.
I don’t know if she went back to living in that hellhole, or if she decided never to return after college.
What she did after she cut me loose.
Sometimes I wonder if she’s even still alive, or if fate took her from this world.
For the past few years, I haven’t tried to find out anything about her or where she is.
Even though, every single day, I wanted to do the opposite.
I controlled myself. Didn’t look for her.
I did exactly what she asked and disappeared without a trace.
And right now, what scares me most is having no idea what will happen if I find her.
If she went back.
If she’s with someone.
Because I’m a bastard who can’t stand the thought of another man having touched her.
Because I’m still as obsessed with her as I was all those years ago.
And imagining her happy with someone else makes me see nothing but red.
Blood red.
The phone in the glove compartment vibrates, snapping me out of my dark thoughts, and I see a notification from my brother asking what time I’ll pick him up tomorrow.
I won’t, but he doesn’t need to know that until I’m already long gone.
If someone’s going to walk into hell, let it be me, not him.
Luke has done nothing but follow me without looking back.
Even though he’s a strong man now and the person I trust most in this world, I don’t want him with me on this trip.
I need him to stay here and take care of our company.
We launched Prestige Shield three years ago, and with the contacts our former boss, Elliot Walton, passed on to us, we managed to build the company’s reputation faster than most do in a decade.
Today we’re a leader in executive protection, private security, confidential investigations, and operations that fall outside the law.
Our team is made up of highly skilled professionals, selected through a rigorous process that ensures top-tier service. We serve hundreds of clients who trust our discretion, our precision, and the results we deliver—so when I say we’re good at what we do, it’s because we are.
The irony of this son-of-a-bitch twist of fate is that I ended up in the security business when I couldn’t even protect the only person I’ve ever loved in my entire life.
When I failed the girl I swore to protect at all costs!
I shake off the thoughts because I hate wallowing in the past.
I take a deep breath, turn the key in the ignition, and finally start the engine.
The streets of Las Vegas are chaotic as always, so the drive to Shield’s private jet takes about forty minutes.
I leave the car in the parking lot and head straight to the aircraft, which is already waiting for me.
I greet the pilot and copilot with just a nod and board, settling in while they prepare for takeoff.
I open my briefcase, grab my laptop, and decide to spend the next three hours in the air with my head buried in work and figuring out what I’ll need to do to get my mother to let go of the past and come back with me.
She's wasting away in that trailer.
Alone. Bitter. Full of ghosts she refuses to bury.
And even though she said horrible things to me in the past, even though every word cut like a knife when she called me a monster, said she was disgusted by my very presence, I can't let her die in that godforsaken place.
She's my mother.
And no matter how much resentment still lingers between us, I'll do what any son would do: I'll take care of her.
Even if it eats me alive.
Even if she keeps looking at me like I destroyed everything good in her life.
I close my eyes for a few seconds.
The sound of the engines spooling up pulls me back to reality.
To what awaits me.
I don't know what it'll be like to set foot in that town again—the place where everything fell apart.
Where every corner echoes with disaster. But I have to do this.
My plan is to arrive in the dead of night and leave before sunrise.
The only person I plan to see is my mother.
Only her. No one else!
The plane starts to move, and I force myself to look at my laptop screen, focusing on contracts, classified information, risk spreadsheets.
Everything that should distract me, but nothing works.
Because the truth is, I'm going back to my own personal hell.
I just hope I don't have to burn it all down like I've always dreamed.
Hours later, the jet lands on an abandoned runway, and I clench my jaw as I look around.
Williston.
The name still tastes like rust in my mouth, and when I descend the aircraft steps, I have to pull my overcoat closed because the bitter North Dakota wind hits me like a fist.
The runway asphalt is cracked, swallowed by dry weeds at the edges, as if the earth itself were trying to erase any sign of civilization. The nearest hangar looks like a rusted skeleton—missing tiles, windows caked with grime.
A black car sits at the edge of the runway, exactly where I requested, but there's no one inside.
My eyes scan the surroundings for something—or someone—but all I find is darkness broken by flickering streetlights and the distant clang of something metallic in the wind.
I walk to the car with steady steps, feeling the tension building in my body. I open the driver's door and find the key already in the ignition, as agreed.
I settle behind the wheel, slam the door, and close my eyes for an instant, but I quickly open them again and start the engine, letting the headlights illuminate the potholed road ahead.
I drive slowly through the narrow streets, guided only by the memory of paths I spent years trying to forget.
The town is dead.
Not literally, but in the way nothing pulses here.
The houses are shadows of what they once were: peeling paint, broken fences, trash piled on the sidewalks as if no one bothers pretending to live here anymore—at least not on this side.
I pass a market with boarded-up windows.
A gas station where the neon sign still flashes “OPEN,” even though there's not a soul in sight.
A bar that looks more like a hole waiting to swallow whoever walks in.
And for an instant, all of this feels too familiar.
As if time had frozen the moment I left. But I know that's not true—time kept moving, dragging the pieces with it.
The old GPS mounted on the dashboard beeps and signals the next turn. I don't know why it's even on—I could never forget every inch of this place, no matter how hard I tried.
They say our brains erase bad memories to protect us, and for six months, mine did exactly that. But the memories came back, reminding me daily of everything that happened.
Every scene. Every scream. Every hollow stare. Every ounce of pain.
I turn left, then right, entering the dead-end street, and then I see it—the trailer that was my home for twenty-four years.
It looks the same as before.
Rusted, sunken into the dry earth, surrounded by tall weeds and dead vines. One look confirms what I suspected: she never touched the money Luke and I sent every month.
I park in front, grateful that all the surrounding trailers have their lights off. I turn off the engine but stay inside, staring at the structure as if it could collapse at any second.
I decide to get this over with and step out of the car.
As I approach, I notice the front window is cracked, with only a grimy curtain swaying behind the glass.
Up close, it's worse than I remembered. Much worse.
The last time I was here…
I push the thought away and walk to the door, noticing it's unlocked the moment I turn the handle.
“Mom?” My voice comes out quieter than I intended.
No answer.
I push the door and it creaks open slowly, revealing the dark, stuffy interior of the trailer. The smell of mold, stale cigarettes, and something sour hits me—proof she's stopped caring about how she lives.
“Mom, it’s me, Bryan.” I take two steps inside and the floor creaks under my feet.
My eyes start adjusting to the dimness, and I see the couch is covered with clothes tossed everywhere. There’s an overturned mug on the floor, cigarette butts and food wrappers piled on the table.
And in the back, a silhouette lying on the bed, eyes open, staring at me.
“What are you doing here?” Her dry voice reminds me of the night she told me I wasn’t and never would be anybody.
That I deserved what Gavin was doing.
“I came to get you,” I reply, slipping my hands into my pockets without reacting to her indifference.
Her face is lit by the TV beside her, and it’s obvious how much the illness and the past few years have wrecked her.
“Then you can leave, because I’m not going anywhere!”
“Mom...”
“No,” she cuts me off, trying to get up. I move closer when I notice her struggling, but she shoots me a sharp look and I back off. She lies back down when she can’t manage to rise. “You need to leave, Bryan. I don’t want you in this place.”
“This isn’t about what you want anymore. I’m not asking. I’m telling you,” I say firmly, and she lets out a dry laugh. “I have a plane waiting for us, so get ready and let’s get out of here.”
“You don’t understand.” There’s desperation in her voice. “It’s almost time for my medication, and you need to get out of here.”
I’m about to demand an explanation when I hear the door creak open behind me. I spin on instinct, muscles tensed, and automatically pull the pistol from my waist, ready to shoot whoever’s breaking into the trailer at two in the morning.
But then I see her.
And the world goes silent.
My heart doesn’t race.
It simply stops beating for a few seconds.
And the air becomes too heavy to breathe when my eyes lock onto Noah’s pale eyes.
My Noah!
My entire body stiffens.
It’s like taking a bullet and staying on your feet, agonizing.
I feel like I’m being swallowed alive by a memory I spent years trying to forget.
Noah is standing in front of me with the same face that haunts my sleepless nights, but something’s different.
Her eyes aren’t just frightened.
They’re empty. Hollow. Lifeless.
The color drains from her face as if she’s seeing a ghost, or worse, as if she’s standing in front of a monster.
She doesn’t say my name.
Doesn’t look at me for more than two seconds.
The pill bottle falls from her hand, bounces on the floor, and rolls until it stops near my foot.
And then, without a word, she turns and runs.
And me? I can’t move a muscle.
I stand there like an idiot.
With my body on fire and my soul disintegrating inside.
The impact of her presence hits me like a punch.
A punch that shatters.
I feel the fire returning, but not the kind that warms—the kind that burns, hurts, and tears every piece of me apart.
My throat closes.
My chest tightens with such force I think it’s going to explode.
And in the middle of this unbearable pain, it comes.
Love.
The fucking love that never died.
That lay dormant like a silent disease, waiting for the right moment to consume me again.
And now it’s here.
More alive. Sicker. More cruel.
But along with it comes the rage.
The fury.
The hatred.
Because she still has this power over me.
Because she looked at me as if I were the worst part of the hell she carries.
But mainly, because I still care.
I want to run after her.
I want to grab her by the shoulders, shake her, and ask what she’s been doing all these years, but I don’t move because I don’t know what will come out of me if I touch her now.
Maybe I’ll beg for explanations.
Maybe I’ll explode from all the conflict inside me.
Maybe I’ll do both at once and fall apart once and for all.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I taste the metallic tang of rage flooding my mouth.
The knot in my stomach tightening.
I lower the gun, and even though I didn’t actually shoot, it feels like I fired at my own chest, because everything burns.
She’s still here and hates me just as much as before.
And me?
I still love her in the most fucked-up, insane, destructive way a person can love.
And the worst part?
I can’t control this shit!