Page 92 of The Truths We Burn

He grinds his teeth. “Watch yourself.”

“What? I hit a sore spot with daddy dearest, East?” I pout maliciously.

He takes purposeful, harsh steps before he closes in, staring down his nose at me. I stand my ground, lifting my chin. I’d never been afraid of him before, and I don’t plan on doing it now.

Powerful men don’t need to prove anything, but weak men will lash out when their reputation is threatened. And Easton has always been weak, doing his father’s bidding, taking care of his dirty laundry, dictating him.

“You should have stayed gone,” he hisses. “Am I going to have to make sure you end up dead like your sister so I can get rid of you.”

My knee-jerk reaction is to slap him for even bringing her up. I’m sick and fucking tired of people taking her name in vain like that. Talking about her so carelessly, using her death as a weapon against me. I would give anything to rip it out of their mouths, to retaliate against them all, until they’re nothing but dust.

I just wish the guys would see that. That we have the same motive.

Alistair, Thatcher, Silas, and Rook.

Years ago, I’d have argued we were an entirely different species, and now, we couldn’t be more alike. But they’re never going to believe that—believe me.

I gather up all my fury, all my unearthed anger, all the things I never said to him before, and spit on his shoes. My white saliva sticks to his expensive designer sneakers.

“You want rid of me? Then do it, pussy,” I bite out. “But you better make sure you kill me first, Sinclair. ’Cause I’m coming for your fucking head.”

I’d waited years to voice my distaste for Ponderosa Springs’ golden boy, out in the open, where anyone could hear me. I want them all to know just how much I hate the one they worship. I want them all to know that he’s nothing but gum beneath my feet. That he’s nothing but a pawn in his father’s chess game.

More people flood the gates, causing a commotion around us, but we stand rooted, staring one another down. My threat sits in the air like a pendulum swaying back and forth.

Briar grabs my forearm gently. “He isn’t worth it. Don’t let him ruin tonight. Come on.”

I stare him down a little longer before I let her pull me away, not because I wouldn’t stand there toe-to-toe with him all day, but because she’s right. He’s not going to ruin this.

“God, I hate him. I’d love to feed him to fire ants,” Lyra says, shaking her head.

“Lyra, I mean this as a compliment,” I say gently, “but you scare me sometimes.”

She lifts her mouth a little, giving me a side smile. “Thank you.”

We link arms, leaving Easton and his puppies behind. I try not to think about how we’re all on the same team, and at some point, we might have to actually work together with them tonight.

This is the mark of something new, something good. The kindling of a fire I hadn’t felt in a long time. Briar and Lyra feel like a real connection, real friends, and I’m ashamed to admit I’d never had that before. And the more I’m around them, the more I want that.

It’s odd how normal things had been, how simple it felt the past few weeks—walking to class together, study sessions, movie nights. I even signed up for a theatre class, a passion I’d buried, thinking it died when I was sent away, only to discover it was waiting for me to come back all along.

I’d become a member of their Loner Society, and it felt good.

I’m going on living, existing, and I try not to feel guilty when I enjoy it, unafraid of if they learn my secrets or not, because everything about me had basically been aired out.

I can’t go two days without thinking about how much Rose would love this. How she would have flourished in college and with these girls. They would have loved her. She would have loved them. There are so many things Rosie didn’t get a chance to love.

Easton, Cain, my family, they had ruined enough good in my life, and I refuse to let them take anything else from me.

Music ricochets within the park, a few of the rides lighting up, awakening from their hibernation. This only builds everyone’s excitement, reminding us all of why we’d come in the first place.

To win.

The thought alone makes my adrenaline pump. Nerves buzz in my stomach as I try to guess what game we’ll be doing. I’m ready to play; even though I know West Trinity plays dirty, I’m prepared.

Even with the lights illuminating parts of the park, it’s still dark. With no running water during the winter, this place feels barren and eerie, setting the stage for a notoriously treacherous game we can’t help ourselves from playing. The wind howls like a siren’s warning, the trees looming above and the fog starting to settle.

During the summer, it overflows with locals and their children, but now, it just feels like another forgotten piece that Ponderosa Springs had brushed aside. Another ghost.

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