Prologue #2
Jesus. No wonder she’s so upset. How do you say goodbye to everything you’ve ever known in just a few days? Your friends, your home, the neighbors who’ve been there since you were a kid…
My scowl deepens at that last thought.
“Go ahead. Gloat. Celebrate,” she says, mistaking my silence. “I’m sure this news just made your whole year.”
She couldn’t be more wrong, and I know I’m the reason she thinks that, but there’s no undoing it now. So, I keep up the charade.
“Not really,” I finally say, my voice slightly steadier. “With you gone, who am I going to throw slime balls at?”
It earns the reaction I was hoping for. Laughter tumbles past her lips, but it’s hollow sounding, brittle around the edges, and eventually crumbles into a sob.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” She drops her forehead onto her knees, shoulders shaking as the weight of it crashes over her.
Before I can think better of it, my arm is around her, pulling her in. The need to hold her outweighs everything else—my pride, our rivalry, the fact that I’m supposed to be enjoying this…
“Hey, come on. It’ll be okay,” I murmur, knowing damn well it’s a lie, but what am I supposed to say? The truth will only make it hurt more.
“I never wanted to leave Passion Falls,” she cries. “I love it here. Never mind that it’s my last year of school and I should be graduating with my friends.”
“Maybe you still can,” I offer, grasping at any shred of optimism. “Maybe the graduations will be on different weekends, and you’ll get to do both.”
She goes quiet, thinking that over.
Sniffling, she lifts her chin to rest it on her knees. “Maybe,” she says, the word empty of conviction, but at least she’s stopped crying.
My hand stays on her back, coasting slow and steady. It’s meant to calm her, but it has all the blood in my body firing south.
Jesus, get it together, Masters.
She shifts just enough to look at me, her sad eyes searching. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she whispers. “You hate me, remember?”
Her belief in that statement cuts deep. “Hate’s a strong word, Harlow. I enjoy tormenting the shit out of you. There’s a difference.”
That earns me another laugh, this one more real, breaking through some of the heaviness. “God, this sucks,” she mutters, swiping at her nose with the sleeve of my hoodie. “I’m not going to know anyone.”
“Not at first,” I admit “But you will eventually. I’m sure Vancouver has plenty of other pretty girls with big attitudes.”
Her brows lift at the joke. “Did you just call me pretty?”
I grunt. She damn well knows she is, and so does every other breathing human on the planet. I have no doubt guys will be lining up for a shot with her.
The thought wraps around my chest like barbed wire, biting in deep before I shove it aside.
She leans into the tease with a smile. “Careful, Slimer, or I might think you actually like me.”
I meet her gaze head-on, all humor gone now. “Would that be so hard to believe?”
She scoffs out a laugh. “Yeah. It would.”
“Why?”
She throws her hands up, as if the answer is obvious. “Because you’ve made it your mission to make my life a living hell.”
“And you give it right back,” I remind her.
“Of course I do. I’m not going to just sit there and take it.”
“I know. It’s something I’ve always liked about you.”
The words are out before I can stop them, and I’m not sure who’s more shocked—her or me. But there’s no taking them back now, so I push on.
“I love that you don’t take shit from anyone, that you stand your ground. That’s how I know—no matter how scared you are about this move, no matter how lost you feel—you’re going to be just fine. Because nothing and no one can knock you down. I’m proof of that.”
Her face softens, expression hovering between vulnerability and hope. “You’re lying,” she whispers. “You don’t really mean that.”
My stare never wavers as I let the truth I’ve buried for so long rise to the surface. “Actually, for the first time in my life, I’m not lying to you. And I think you know it.”
Her watery eyes cling to mine, fragile and beautiful.
“I also think you love this rivalry as much as I do,” I murmur, leaning in. “That it fuels something in you the same way it does in me. That you live for it…just like I do.”
The unsteady hitch of her breath confirms everything I say is true.
I lift my hand, brushing a stray tear from her cheek, my touch lingering.
The shift is instant. The air turns heavy, pulsing in the uneven rise and fall of her breath and the pounding of my chest.
Her lips part like a silent dare. Then her lashes lower—a slow, deliberate drop that seals the invitation—and I fucking take it.
I swoop in, closing the inches between us, and that first touch is a bolt of pure voltage, shooting through my veins.
Her gasp tangles with my groan, proving she feels it too.
It tears down every wall we’ve ever built, leaving nothing but the raw truth we’ve been fighting our whole lives.
My hands sink into her hair, anchoring her as I drink her in.
She presses closer, like she can’t get enough either.
Somewhere in the distance, the church bells chime midnight—each toll sinking into my skin—marking the exact moment Harlow Hayes ruined me forever.
We’re lost in the recklessness of it all, in the heat, the tension…until a voice cuts through the night, shattering the moment.
“Harlow, get down here!” her father bellows from somewhere below, his furious voice slicing through the air. “I know you’re up there; I tracked your phone.”
She jerks back like the words physically struck her, breath catching in her throat.
For a long moment, all we do is stare at one another, both of us caught in the charged silence as we process the magnitude of what just took place.
“I mean it, young lady. Don’t make me come up there,” her father calls again.
Her eyes shut briefly, shoulders sagging under the weight of defeat. “I better go,” she whispers, her voice barely grazing the space between us.
I catch her wrist before she can move, my thumb pressing into her pulse. “You sure it’s safe? He still sounds pretty pissed.”
Her gaze softens, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through. “Yeah. Don’t worry. He’d never hurt me, at least not physically.”
But emotionally is a different story. She doesn’t need to say it; it’s written all over her face.
She starts to slip off my sweater, but I stop her with a hand on her arm.
“Keep it. I’ll get it later.”
She looks up, voice tentative. “You sure?”
I nod.
A small, grateful smile touches her lips. “Thanks.”
She stands, brushing the dirt from her bottom, then heads for the trail.
Every stride takes her further away from me, each step carrying the weight of finality with it, as if the night itself is being erased, and something inside me panics.
“Harlow,” I call out.
She pauses, glancing over her shoulder.
“Don’t leave without saying goodbye, okay?”
The faintest smile touches her lips, a shadow of the girl I’ve always known. “I won’t,” she promises, tugging lightly at the hem of my hoodie. “I have to return this, remember?”
I return her smile, despite the unease knotting in my gut. “Right.”
Without another word, she disappears into the night, leaving a hollow ache in my chest.
Regardless of her promise, she left without saying goodbye, and it would be three long years before I saw her again.
It hit like a sucker punch to the chest, but it also came with a valuable lesson—one that had me vowing to never let my guard down around Harlow Hayes again.
* * *
What neither Linc nor Harlow realized…is that night, beneath Heart Mountain’s peak, something irrevocable had taken shape. Something that had begun years earlier, forged in the fires of meaningless banter and harmless pranks, only to be mistaken for hate.
The truth is, love isn’t always born from a place of comfort; sometimes it’s woven from the ashes of conflict and rivalry. One powerful enough to transform not only hearts, but the very course of one’s destiny.