The Rules

Chapter 10

TEN

HARPER

Z and I made new plans after my failed runaway attempt. Tears streaked down my face as I pressed my palm against my laptop screen like I could somehow touch him through it.

“I know two months is so much to ask, but I forgot Silas was a goddamn bloodhound running down errands for the motorcycle club in between cons. He swears he’ll track me down if I try to run again.”

“Don’t cry.” Z’s voice cracked through the speaker. “You know it kills me when you cry, Harp. I’ll be fine. You know I’m always fine.”

But I could see right through his bravado—the way his eyes went too bright, the forced casualness that meant he was barely holding it together. “I can dodge Frank. I’ll stay out of sight. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” My voice broke. “Z—”

“C’mon, Harp, I’m a survivor. Same as you. Been doing it my whole life. Two more months is nothing.” He tried to smile, and it gutted me. “And fuck, the fact that you even tried so hard to get back here? No one’s ever shown up for me like that.”

The words should’ve made me feel better. Instead, they made everything worse.

I should’ve tried harder. Should’ve stole from Helen like he suggested. Should’ve found another way, any way. Instead, I let him down. Just like people have been letting both of us down our whole lives.

“I’ll hang on, Harp,” he said softly. “As long as I have you. You’re my lifeline. I just get scared of losing you. You’re the only thing that keeps me sane.”

“I know,” I whispered, throat tight with guilt and determination and something that tasted like grief. “I know. I’m not going anywhere.”

Liar, whispered the part of me that kept noticing Caleb’s smile. The part that felt safe here in ways I’d never felt safe anywhere.

When I closed the laptop, the silence crashed down like a physical weight.

Two months.

Sixty days.

It feels like forever and no time at all. Every day drags while Z’s stuck in that shithole trailer dodging Frank’s fists.

But then I blink and another week’s gone, bringing me closer to eighteen and further from the girl who knew exactly who she was supposed to be.

A survivor. Like Z said.

So why don’t I feel like one anymore?

Sox chirps from the windowsill—no longer the plaintive kitten mew but a fuller, rounder sound.

She’s gotten bigger in the week since that night at the gas station. Not quite full-grown yet, but her legs are longer, her body filling out. The white on her paws extends further up her legs now, like she’s wearing little boots.

She’s becoming something new. Something other than the scrawny, half-drowned thing I snatched from the ground when she made her great escape.

I stand at my bedroom window, forehead pressed to cool glass, and wonder when I stopped recognizing myself, too.

Sox winds between my ankles, purring like a tiny motor. I bend down and scoop her up, holding her against my chest. She’s heavier now. Solid. Real.

“You’re getting spoiled,” I murmur into her fur.

She just purrs louder, kneading her paws against my collarbone.

Back in Selbyville, I could barely keep myself fed. Now I’ve got a cat who depends on me. Who trusts me to show up twice a day with food and fresh water. Who curls up on my chest most nights and falls asleep purring because she feels safe.

Caleb’s done more than just help me keep up with her food and litter.

He leaves his bathroom door cracked at night—for Sox, he says.

She meowed at it once, that first week, and ever since, he’s left it open.

Apart from when one of us is showering or using the bathroom, there’s this little passage between our rooms if I leave mine open, too. This connection.

Sometimes Sox wanders back and forth, choosing who to sleep with.

Most nights, she chooses me.

But I still like knowing the door’s open. That thin slice of space connecting me to him.

We, I think again, caressing the word in my mind. Like taking care of her is something we do together. Like we’re a team.

The thought makes my throat tight.

I carefully set Sox down on the window, and she immediately settles into her favorite spot on the sill, stretching out in the afternoon sunshine.

I should back away. Catch up on homework. Text Marie. Call Z back.

Instead, I stay exactly where I am.

Because Caleb’s in the driveway.

Shirtless.

Bent over the Mustang’s engine with Silas.

His tools are laid out on the ground in neat little rows. Perfectly symmetrical. Everything in its place.

Sox makes that chattering sound cats do when they see prey—all hunting instinct and focused desire.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “I know exactly how you feel.”

Caleb bends over the Mustang’s engine to reach some part deep inside, and I should look away. Should remember we’re family and this is wrong on approximately seventeen different levels.

Family.

The word catches in my throat.

Okay, so maybe I’m not exactly having familial thoughts about him.

But Helen—

I pull back from the window as I remember yesterday.

I was standing in front of the open fridge, staring into it like the fluorescent light might reveal the secrets of the universe. I wasn’t hungry. Just restless. Unsettled. Looking for something I couldn’t name.

Then Helen appeared in her leggings and soft hoodie, radiating that mom-energy that should feel manufactured but somehow isn’t.

“Hungry, honey?”

I jumped like I’d been caught stealing. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t.” She moved past me, calm and unrattled. “I just have mom-ears that pick up every little sound. Single motherhood’ll do that to you.”

She made tea without asking if I wanted some. Just... made it.

“You settling in okay?” she asked, handing me a mug.

And there it was, suddenly steaming in front of me, like we were in a commercial. I stared at her, feeling like the feral fucking rat I am—claws out, ready to attack.

“Yeah. It’s fine.”

But she looked at me. Really looked. Like she could see the truth under the automatic response.

“It’s got to be hard,” she said, soft and matter-of-fact. “Leaving everything you know. Starting over somewhere totally different.”

Something about her voice—the understanding in it without a trace of pity—hit too close.

My throat went tight. This wasn’t manipulation. It wasn’t a setup. She just... cared. For no reason I could figure out.

“I’m fine.”

“You know,” she said, leaning against the island, “when I was seventeen, my parents split, and I had to move in with my aunt across the country. New school, new house, new people. I felt like an alien trying to pass for human.”

She smiled a little, sad and warm all at once. “It’s okay to not be fine, Harper. Big changes are hard, even when they’re for the better.”

My eyes started stinging.

Because what the fuck do you do with that? With someone who’s actually kind and means it? She didn’t try to manipulate me or make passive-aggressive digs about how I should be grateful. She was just... kind.

Like that was normal.

Like I deserved it.

Then she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me.

And it wasn’t awkward or forced. She just hugged me. Like she knew I needed a hug, so she gave me one. Simple as that.

For a second—one dangerous, traitorous second—I let myself lean into it. Let myself believe I could belong to someone who gave a damn.

She smelled like lavender and warm cotton.

She smelled safe.

Darlene never smelled like that. She smelled like gin and drugstore perfume some guy bought her as an afterthought.

But Helen? She felt like the version of a mom I used to imagine when I was a kid and still thought someone might come rescue me. Back before I learned that rescue was a fairy tale and the only person who’d save me was myself.

I pulled back fast, voice stiff and defensive. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

I left her standing in the kitchen with her tea and that worried look on her face. Watching me run away from the first real maternal affection I’d ever been offered.

That night, alone in my room with Sox curled on my chest, I cried.

Not the angry tears I’m used to. Not the frustrated, fuck-the-world tears that feel like armor.

Just... sad. Grieving for something I never had. Terrified of something I might be starting to want.

And I hated myself for it.

Because survivors don’t cry about hugs.

Survivors don’t need hugs.

Helen felt like this fully mammalian thing—all warm and soft and instinctively loving—trying to connect with me, a cold-blooded lizard creature.

Reptiles don’t need warmth from others. They sun themselves on rocks and stay self-sufficient.

That’s what I told myself that night, anyway, while Sox purred against my chest and I snuggled her warm body close.

And now I’m watching Caleb through the window like the full-blown creeper I’ve become. Because I’ve wandered back to the window even though it’s the last place I should be.

I lean closer to the glass when Caleb bends over the engine again.

Sweat gleams on his back, sliding along the ridges of muscle down his spine. His shoulders flex as he shifts position. His jeans tighten across his ass in a way that makes my mouth go dry.

This is torture.

Sex has always been liberation to me. Freedom. Heat and friction and the raw animal pleasure of it with no strings attached. My body getting satisfaction on my terms.

But this?

This doesn’t feel like just wanting to fuck him.

I mean, I do. Obviously. The man looks like he was carved by a vengeful succubus and specifically designed to torture me.

But it’s more than that.

It’s watching the way he gets absorbed in what he’s doing. The intense concentration that makes the rest of the world disappear. How he arranges his tools in perfect rows before he starts, like the order matters.

It’s the bathroom door he leaves cracked at night.

For Sox, he says.

But sometimes I wake up at 2 a.m. and see the dim light under his door. Hear him moving around.

And I wonder why he can’t sleep. Did Sox wake him up? Sometimes she’ll just get rambunctious in the middle of the night and want to play. I just toss her off me, but Caleb is such a pushover…

I wonder what’s going on in that complicated little brain of his. I wonder about the quick glances he shoots me during family dinners when he thinks no one’s watching.

Like he’s memorizing me.

I bite my bottom lip.

This is the dangerous kind of want that makes you stupid. The kind that made my mama end up sixteen and pregnant, trapped by the first guy who made her feel something.

On the driveway below, Caleb stands up straight, stretches, and wipes his forearm across his forehead. The movement makes his abs flex, and I have to grip the windowsill to stay upright.

The cat watching on swishes her tail.

“Don’t you start,” I mutter to Sox.

Sox turns to look at me with those big green eyes. Purrs louder.

Traitor.

I should move away from the window. Go do literally anything else.

Instead, I stay.

And I realize with horror: oh God, I don’t just want to fuck him.

I want to be near him.

To like… know him.

I want to hear what he thinks about when he can’t sleep. What he’s afraid of. What makes him laugh to himself when no one’s watching.

I want to be the person who gets to see him without his armor on.

And that want is so much more dangerous than simple lust could ever be.

Sox headbutts my hand, demanding attention.

I absently scratch behind her ears, still watching Caleb through the glass.

In two months, I’ll turn eighteen.

In two months, I’m supposed to leave all this behind. Go back to Z and Selbyville and whatever the hell comes after that.

In two months, I’ll have to figure out what to do with Sox.

Leave her here with Caleb, obviously.

He’d take good care of her. Better care than I could give her, that’s for sure. She deserves stability. Safety. Someone who won’t let her down.

Someone who leaves bathroom doors cracked because a cat meowed once.

Someone who arranges tools in perfect rows.

Someone who shows up with cat food and litter and secret glances and smiles and—

My chest physically hurts.

I pick Sox up, hold her close. She purrs against my throat, completely oblivious.

“I’m planning to abandon you,” I whisper into her fur. “Because you deserve better than I can give you.”

She just purrs louder. Trusts me completely.

“You little idiot. You’d choose to go with me anyway, wouldn’t you? Even though I’m going to break your heart.”

And suddenly I’m not sure I’m talking about the cat anymore.

I roll my eyes at myself even as I wonder… am I a stray who got saved, too? Fed and sheltered and given a warm, safe place to sleep.

Who’s getting comfortable.

Domesticated.

Who’s forgetting how to survive alone.

In two months, I’ll have to choose: either go back to the wild with Z and be the girl I’ve always been, or admit I want to stay here with Helen’s hugs and warm cookies.

With Silas actually giving a damn.

With a bathroom door left cracked open and a boy who smells like temptation and looks at me like I’m something worth memorizing.