5. Five
FIVE
WRENLY
A fter barricading my broken back door, finding my phone, and cleaning the mess and smashed things in my room, I climbed into bed. But try as I might, sleep never found me. I tossed and turned, jolting upright at every creak, existent or not. My mind convinced me Connor would return and finish what he’d started. The echoes of our conversation, of his voice screaming at me, replayed in my mind.
“Who do you think you are, you little bitch? Do you think you can break up with me ? Do you know who the fuck I am? I’ll fucking ruin you.”
“Connor, you’re drunk. You need to leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Either you leave, or I call the cops,” I threatened, pulling out my phone and starting to type in 911.
He smacked the phone out of my hand, sending it flying across my room.
“You’re nothing without me. You’ll just be a little freak whore, spreading your legs for every dick in the city.”
“Fuck you, Connor. Get the fuck out of my house!”
It took me a minute to register the pain that hit my face like a freight train before I realized he had hit me.
Hard.
The memory of that pain kept me awake, staring at the ceiling, my heart pounding in my chest. I could feel the bruise forming on my cheek, a throbbing reminder of Connor’s rage. I couldn’t believe it had come to this—that the boy I’d once loved, the one who had swept me off my feet with his charm and confidence, had become a monster.
I thought about calling the police, but a part of me hesitated. What if they didn’t believe me? What if Connor somehow turned it around and made it seem like I was the crazy one? He was the son of a politician, after all. He had a way of twisting things, of making me doubt myself.
The slap left me reeling, stumbling backward until I hit the wall. My cheek burned, and I could feel the tears filling my eyes. But I refused to let them fall. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
“Get out,” I said again, my voice trembling with fear and anger. “Get out now, or I swear to god, I’ll scream so loud, the whole neighborhood will hear.”
Connor’s eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. For a moment, I thought he was going to hit me again.
And then, he was there.
Theo West.
The green-eyed devil came rushing into my room like a knight in shining armor, ready to defend my honor.
It had taken everything in me to send him away when all I’d wanted to do was explore whatever this feeling was that had buried itself deep into my stomach. Maybe it had been the adrenaline, or perhaps it had been something else entirely.
As the night wore on, every shadow seemed to morph into Connor’s looming figure, every creak of the floorboards, his approaching footsteps. I huddled under the covers, trying to make myself as small as possible, as if I could disappear entirely.
When morning finally came, I dragged myself out of bed, my body heavy with exhaustion. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and winced. The bruise on my cheek had blossomed into a mottled purple, impossible to hide.
“Fuck me,” I sighed, digging around in my makeup bag to find some concealer.
As I blended the makeup over my angry bruise, my mind drifted back to Theo. He had rushed in, ready to defend me, his eyes blazing with a protective fury. His sudden appearance last night had caught me off guard. I barely knew him, yet something about his presence unnerved and intrigued me. His green eyes had seemed to pierce right through me, as if he could see all the broken pieces I tried so hard to hide.
I shook my head, pushing those thoughts aside. I had bigger problems to deal with. Like the fact that Connor was still out there, probably fuming and plotting his revenge.
I finished my makeup and dressed, choosing a long-sleeve shirt despite the warm weather. I didn’t want anyone to see the bruises on my arms, the ones Connor had left when he’d grabbed me. I headed downstairs, bracing myself for the day ahead. But as I stepped into the kitchen, I froze. Theo sat at the table with a mug of coffee in his hands. He was wearing a long-sleeve brown shirt, and I couldn’t help but stare at the bright colors of his tattoos as they peeked out from the sleeves and snaked up his neck.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “I hope you don’t mind, but I let myself in.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Fixing your door.”
“Shit. Sorry, I forgot. Thanks for coming so early.” I tried to act nonchalant as I poured myself a cup of coffee, my hands shaking slightly. Theo’s presence filled the kitchen, his gaze following me as I moved.
“No problem,” he replied, sipping his coffee. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “After last night, I mean.”
I shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I’m fine.”
Theo nodded, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. He stood up, walking over to where I stood by the counter. Our proximity made my breath catch in my throat. His green eyes studied me intently, lingering for a moment on my cheek. I self-consciously touched the spot, knowing the concealer couldn’t entirely mask the bruise.
When his jaw clenched, I thought he might reach out and touch me. But he didn’t. Instead, he stepped back, his hands sliding into his jean pockets .
“I’ll get started on the door,” he said, his tone neutral. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
I nodded, relieved for the change of subject. “Thanks again. I really do appreciate it.”
He flashed me a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No problem.”
As he headed to the back door, I busied myself in the living room, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I could hear him working, the sounds of tools and the occasional muttered curse word filtering through the house.
I tried to focus on straightening the living room, but my mind kept wandering to Theo. Something about him both unsettled and captivated me. His sudden appearance in my life felt like more than mere coincidence.
As I fluffed the pillows on the couch, I heard the back door open and close. Theo walked into the living room, his sleeves rolled up, revealing more of his intricate tattoos.
“The door’s all fixed,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Installed a new lock on the front and back door too, stronger ones.”
I blinked in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged. “Figured it couldn’t hurt, given the circumstances.”
An awkward silence stretched between us. I fiddled with the hem of my shirt, unsure what to say.
“Listen,” Theo began, his voice softer. “About last night . . . if you need anything or feel unsafe, call me. Anytime.”
I met his gaze, taken aback by the sincerity in his eyes. “I . . . Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I mean it.” He turned to leave but paused at the door. “You know, you don’t have to hide it. The bruise.” He gestured to my cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
With that, he left, the door closing softly behind him. I stood there for a moment, stunned by his statement . Then, gently touching my cheek, I felt the tender skin beneath my concealer. His words echoed in my mind.
I didn’t do anything wrong .
Taking a deep breath, I gathered my things for class and my work bag, headed to my car—a black Ford Focus—and drove to campus.
St. Mary’s was a private university reserved for the rich and famous. I was neither rich nor famous, more along the lines of comfortable, but my parents had been St. Mary’s alumni before they’d been tragically killed in a car accident five years before. An accident that had almost claimed my and my brother’s lives. The details were painful, but I remembered attending a charity event with my parents to raise funds for Riverview General. Afterward, I had fallen asleep in the back seat when there’d been a loud screech, and the car had flipped and rolled, the world spinning in a dizzying kaleidoscope of shattered glass and twisted metal. When the vehicle had finally come to a stop, an eerie silence had settled over the wreckage.
I was jolted awake as my body was thrown roughly into the window, held in by my seat belt. Screams filled the air, but I couldn’t tell if they were mine or someone else’s. The pain was excruciating. Every inch of my body felt bruised and broken. I could smell gasoline and hear the hiss of steam escaping from the crumpled hood. Panic gripped me as I realized I was trapped in the crushed car, pinned in place. I called out for my parents and brother, but no one answered. The silence was deafening, broken only by my ragged breathing. A loud whoosh caught my attention, and I saw where the gasoline leaking from the ruptured tank had ignited, the hungry flames licking at the twisted metal. Terror seized me as I realized the car could explode at any moment. I struggled against my seat belt, desperate to break free, but it held fast. The heat was unbearable as the flames crept closer, the acrid smell of scorched plastic filling my nostrils. I coughed and sputtered, my lungs burning with each labored breath. Tears streamed down my face as I realized the hopelessness of my situation. I was going to die here, trapped and alone, watching as the fire burned my parents and brother alive.
A masked figure appeared at the shattered window, a silhouette against the raging inferno. His strong hands reached in, grasping at the jammed seat belt. His voice was calm and reassuring, telling me to hold on and that he would get me out. He pulled a knife from his belt and cut the seatbelt. When the belt came free, those same hands pulled me through the window. I cried out in pain as shards of glass pierced my skin. Once outside, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me against his broad chest, away from the burning wreckage, his face covered with a mask, protecting him from the smoke.
“My br-brother—” I coughed, my throat raw from the smoke. “My brother and parents are still in the car.”
“My brothers will get them,” he promised as he set me gently on the grass a safe distance from the burning wreckage. I could see other masked figures moving around the car, working to free my family from the twisted metal. The heat from the flames was intense, even from this distance, and I shielded my face with my arm. The car was almost completely engulfed now, the fire roaring like a ravenous beast.
Moments later, just as my savior was about to make his way back to the car to help his brothers, a deafening explosion rocked the night, the force of the blast knocking us to the ground. Debris rained down around us, but the man shielded me with his body, protecting me from the falling shards of metal and glass.
When the ringing in my ears subsided and the dust settled, I pushed myself up onto my elbows, coughing and sputtering from the acrid smoke that filled the air. The car was a smoldering wreck, the flames consuming everything in their path. Panic seized me as I realized I couldn’t see my parents or brother anywhere.
“Where are they?” I croaked, my throat raw, my sight blurry from the smoke. “Did they make it out?”
“Your brother is alive, but your parents were dead when we pulled them out,” another man said.
“I’m sorry,” my savior said softly.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis as their words sank in. I stumbled to my feet, but my strength was gone. My knees buckled, and I would have hit the ground without his support. A scream tore from my throat, a sound of pure agony and grief. The man held me as I sobbed, my entire body shaking with the force of my sorrow.
“No!” I gasped, stumbling forward. Strong arms caught me around the waist, preventing me from running to the car. It was him, my savior. His eyes were a piercing shade of emerald, but my vision blurred, fading in and out.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his grip loosening just enough to allow me to turn and see the charred remains of my parents lying on the ground next to the fiery inferno. The scent of burnt flesh hung heavily in the air, an odor so foul, I nearly retched. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I sank to my knees, my body wracked with sobs. My world had been shattered in an instant. Nearly everything I loved had been ripped away from me in a fiery blast.
It felt like an eternity before I heard sirens, before I saw the ambulance’s flashing lights. That’s all I remembered before blacking out in his arms.
When I finally came to, I was in a hospital bed, my body battered and bruised, my mind foggy with painkillers. It was a miracle that my brother and I had survived, the doctors said. The medical examiner said our parents died on impact before the car exploded, so they didn’t suffer—like somehow that was a comfort to me. Gage and I were left orphaned and alone in a world that suddenly felt cold and unforgiving.
My brother was different after the accident. He was withdrawn, haunted like me. We used to be so close, but now it felt like a chasm had opened up between us. He threw himself into his studies, work, and anything else to avoid the memories of that night. He would check in on me from time to time, offering to take me to lunch, where he would vaguely talk about his new job. He worked for an affluent family and explained that it was like working for the mafia. He would patch up their men after they were injured in their shady dealings with knife wounds and bullet holes, no questions asked. I worried about him, but he assured me he was well-compensated and the family treated him respectfully. He told me I shouldn’t concern myself with his work but instead focus on my schooling. I didn’t ask too many questions. I was glad he’d found a way to cope, even if it meant distancing himself from me.
As for me? I did the same. St. Mary’s University had offered me a full scholarship, a gesture of goodwill in the wake of my parents’ tragic demise. I accepted, hoping that throwing myself into my studies and my job would help me forget the pain, even if only for a little while.
But the scars remained, both physical and emotional.
I struggled to find my footing in this new reality. The inheritance from our parents’ estate ensured that we would be taken care of financially, but money couldn’t fill the void left by their absence. The nightmares plagued me, the smell of burning flesh and the sound of my screams jolting me awake in a cold sweat. I withdrew from friends, unable to bear their pitying looks and empty condolences. School, which had once been my refuge, now felt like a prison .
That was when I found Connor.
We met in a psychology class during my first semester at St. Mary’s. He sat next to me, his blonde hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled notes. When he looked up and caught me staring, he flashed me that million-dollar grin that made my heart skip a beat. We started talking after class, and soon, we were inseparable. He was the one person who didn’t look at me with pity or try to offer empty platitudes. Instead, he listened. He held me when my nightmares became too much, whispering soothing words until I drifted back to sleep.
He felt like the one good thing that had happened to me in a long time.
But our relationship wasn’t without its challenges. His father, Senator Charles McKinley, was a strict and imposing figure. He had plans for his son, plans that didn’t include a broken girl with a tragic past. When he found out about us, he was furious.
“She’s beneath you, Connor. A charity case,” he snarled. “I won’t have you throwing your future away for some orphan.”
Connor stood his ground, his jaw clenched in defiance. “I love her, Dad.”
The senator’s face turned an alarming shade of purple, his eyes bulging with rage. For a moment, I thought he might strike his son. But instead, he turned his fury on me.
“You,” he spat, jabbing a finger in my direction. “You’ve ruined everything. I won’t let some gold-digging whore destroy my son’s life. You’ll regret the day you ever set foot in our lives.”
With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle the windows. I stood there trembling, tears streaming down my face. Connor pulled me into his arms, holding me tight.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “I never wanted you to see that side of him. But I meant what I said. I love you, and nothing he says or does will change that.”
I knew his father could make my life a living hell, but all I cared about was soothing the ache in my soul, even for just a moment.