Page 61 of Hate Game

“Pfftt. He treats me like a kid.”

“Of course he does. You will always be his little sis, no matter whether you’re eighteen or eighty.” Mason exits the alleyway and drives through the parking lot. “So, what earth-shattering questions do you have?”

He parks the blacked-out Charger next to the fire escape ladder at the tallest apartment building. The Charger blends in with the darkness. The streetlights aren’t working, as usual.

“Did you have a relationship when you were in high school?”

We slip on our ski masks and NVGs, grab our duffel bags, and exit the car.

“You mean like a high school sweetheart?”

“Yes. A girl you would spend the rest of your life with.”

“That’s a huge ask and responsibility to take on at such a young age, Rue.”

“People marry their high school sweethearts all the time.”

He waits to answer. We’re climbing the ladder to the rooftop, and it takes our concentration not to fall off the rickety steps. Thank goodness for our NVGs. Mason gave me a pair for my sixteenth birthday. The NVGs are a game changer for what we’re about to do.

We take our usual spot alongside one another with a view of the parking lot, first-floor apartments, and the playground. Drug deals happen in front of the swing set and slides, and smash-and-grabs happen more often at the apartments across the way.

I understand why. Many of the residents are seniors or single parents, making them easy targets for criminals.

We sweep the area before returning to our conversation. “Well, did you have a high school sweetheart?”

“I did. She wanted to move around rather than stay in one place after graduation. My dream was to serve our country. Thinking it was a slam dunk, I enlisted and proposed. She turned me down. Said she didn’t want the life of a military wife.”

“She led you on.”

“She changed her mind.”

“But you two loved one another, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why break up? You two could have been together and chased different dreams at different times. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”

He runs his palm over my hair. “Old soul in a young body. That’s who you are, Rue.” He stares off into the night with sadness in his eyes. “We weren’t so wise. I was too pissed off to think the way you do. I gave up on our love, and we went our separate ways.”

“I’m sorry, Mason.” I pat his shoulder. “How long did it take to get over her?”

Mason sighs, and it’s heavy. “Four fucking years.”

The time it’ll take for Malice to finish college. I could get over him while he’s living his best life playing football and dating the hottest girls on campus. Those girls won’t just be drop-dead gorgeous. They’ll be smart with parents who will never regret having them.

“What did you do to take away the heartache? Did you stop thinking of her? Punish yourself every time you did? Drink until you passed out? Throw darts at a picture of her nailed to your wall?”

“I did all of that, including running all the what ifs through my brain. What if I hadn’t enlisted? What if I took a year off while she started her first year of college? But none of it took away the ache in my chest. Six o’clock, Rue.”

I see the target. He is dressed in all black. Cans of spray paint are lined next to his feet. There will be no vandalism committed on my watch.

I aim the BB gun and pull the trigger. The gold pellet bounces off the ground next to one of the cans. The guy’s gaze darts around. I fire another shot next to his shoes, followed by a shot that whizzes near his right ear. The pellet ricochets off the building.

The target runs off and leaves the cans behind. We’ll grab them on our way back to the car.

“Ten o’clock,” Mason whispers.

A guy goes from one car to another. He looks inside the driver-side window of an older Honda Accord. I recognize the “I Survived Cancer” bumper sticker. Virginia’s husband left her while she was getting her last round of chemotherapy.

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