I’m not about to give her an opportunity to do it again.

Confusion etches Oakley’s features. “She left town a long time ago. How much histo—”

“Doesn’t matter.” I snatch the joint from him and take a long pull. “She won’t be staying long.”

I’ll make sure of it.

Chapter 4

Dylan

Past…

A soft breeze caresses my face as my gaze drifts to the small figure sitting under a giant sequoia tree.

Jace Covington.

All the other kids are playing during recess, but as usual, he keeps to himself.

I figure his introversion is due to being new, having transferred to my school not only recently, but near the end of fifth grade. However, he’s been here for over two months already and hasn’t made any friends.

Not that I’m judging him. I’ve lived in Royal Manor my whole life and still haven’t adapted. I’m not sure I ever will.

My therapist told my dad I was reclusive because I lost my mom so early. According to her, losing someone so important makes it hard for me to connect with others.

She’s wrong, though. I get along with people just fine.

As long as I don’t get too close.

The less you feel for someone…the less their imminent absence would hurt.

Feeling out of my element, I take a few steps in his direction but pause.

I’m not sure going over there would be a good thing. He seems to prefer solitude, which is something I can relate to.

My heart clenches. He looks so sad. So lonely on a playground full of kids.

Leave him alone.

But I can’t.

There’s something dangerously enigmatic about Jace Covington.

His edges are sharp like broken glass…deterring someone from getting too close.

And while most people would walk away out of fear of being cut…I want to merge my broken pieces with his.

See what kind of alliance our strange, jagged pieces could form.

Head held high, I march over to him. Jace doesn’t know it yet, but he’s my new best friend.

My only friend.

“Hi.”

I cross my arms over my chest when he doesn’t return my greeting.

“I’m Dylan.”

Silence.

Here I am, venturing far out of my comfort zone, and he’s ignoring me.

Annoyed, I tap my foot. “You’re being very rude.”

Nothing.

Hands on my hips, I glare at him. “Let’s try this again. Hi, my name is—”

“I know your name.”

Dark, brooding eyes peer up at me, and even though his lips are twisted in a frown, there’s a hint of a smile threatening to break through the surface. And God help me if it does, because my knees are starting to wobble.

Caution flickers over his face. “What do you want, Dylan?”

I blink, unsure how to answer. “Nothing.” I motion to the spot on the ground next to him. “Can I sit?”

“No.” His scowl deepens. “Go away.”

I swallow hard. This is obviously a mistake.

I turn on my heel, intending to return to my secluded spot near the fence.

“Wait,” he calls out when I’m a few steps away. “I changed my mind.”

He changed his mind?

I spin around to face him. “Too bad. Maybe I no longer want to sit with a meanie like you.”

And then it happens.

Those full lips of his part in a big grin, revealing a set of deep dimples.

My heart takes off in a sprint, rattling around in my rib-cage like a wild animal.

How could someone so gorgeous be so cruel? It’s a complete paradox.

“What are you, six? Who says meanie?”

I plop down next to him. I’m not going to let my new best friend bully me. “I do.” I zero in on the doughy thing he’s picking at from his open lunchbox. “What’s that?”

Like the flip of a switch, the gorgeous smile is gone, and his gaze turns inward.

We’ve only been friends for a few seconds and I’ve already screwed up.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“Kachori.”

His voice is so low I almost don’t hear him.

“What’s that?”

He shrugs. “Stuff my mom used to make.”

His use of the past tense should sound strange, but it’s the exact opposite. It is eerily familiar. However, I don’t want to assume the worst without knowing for sure.

“Why doesn’t she make it anymore?”

My question lingers between us like a bad stench, and I immediately regret asking.

I know all too well how irritating it is when people pry about my mom. How painful it is to explain that I no longer have one…because she’s gone for good.

Like ripping off a scab that will never heal.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, then shake my head. Saying sorry is pointless. It doesn’t bring people back. “I’m sorry for saying sorry. My mom—she died when I was eight.”

His eyes cut to mine. “Does it get easier?”

My throat locks and my breath freezes. It’s such a candid question, and I don’t know how to answer without making him feel worse.

Perhaps I should tell him the same thing my dad told me. That my mom is an angel in Heaven and I’ll always feel her presence.

But that would be a lie. I don’t feel her.

I never will again…because she’s never coming back.

“No.”

He nods, then before I can stop him, he places his kachori on the grass and positions his foot over it.

“I don’t get how she was here one day and gone the next.” He stomps the crumbs into the earth. “Why does God give us people to love and then take them away?”

I wish I knew the answer, but I don’t. So, I do the only thing I can think of. I stomp on the crumbs with him. His pain is my pain. And even though I can’t make it better, I can let him know he isn’t alone.

He has a friend…whether he likes it or not.

“My dad…he cries at night.”

I nod in understanding. My dad used to cry at night too.

“He thinks I can’t hear him...but I do.” He pauses to look at me. “How are we supposed to make it through this when he can’t?”

Without waiting for a response, he growls and stomps harder. I follow suit.

A few minutes later, the kachori is nothing but dust.

“Do you like video games?” he asks suddenly.

I shrug. “Some.”

“I have an Xbox.” He eyes me warily. “I usually play with my brothers Liam and Cole…but I guess I can let you play with us…sometimes.”

I want to take him up on his halfhearted offer, but I need to know something important first.

“What kind of music do you like?”

Music is my therapy. If Jace listens to garbage, I’m not so sure our newfound friendship will survive.

“Rap.”

My face falls. Only certain rappers deserve my ears, and most of the great ones are already dead.

“What about rock?”

He considers my question for a moment. “Not really. It depends.”

Depends? I wince. It’s a good thing we’re friends now. I can set him straight.