Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,52

to mine, tasting our shared memories on my mouth. He never wanted anyone but me, and in that desperation, he forgot that he should let himself relax every now and again, let his guard down. He doesn’t know how to do that anymore, paint my face with frosting while we laugh until we cry like we did on a Christmas Eve three years ago.

But, as soon as those words leave my lips, I see something shift in his face. His worst fears are coming true, and he has no choice but to face them. In doing that, some of his careful shell cracks around the edges, and he’s a seventeen-year-old boy with too many responsibilities all over again.

“One day, we’ll either have a baby or we won’t. But I want you to decide when that is. Not Victor. Or me. Most especially not the GMP …” He trails off and then lifts a hand up to cup my face. Sandalwood and roses. That familiar scent makes my nostrils flare, and I close my eyes briefly as the wind picks up, ruffling my hair.

Aaron takes my fingers, twisting our hands together. He winces slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. That broken hand of his probably still hurts like fucking hell. That one time, when I crushed my finger in the garage door, it hurt for months longer than the doctor told me it would. That’s pain for you. Persistent. Relentless. A demon with reaching claws.

I realize then that it isn’t that Aaron Fadler thinks he still shits rainbows and fairy glitter; he just doesn’t relish the fact that he’s gone over to the dark side. He exists here because he has to. And now that he’s wrapped up in Havoc’s shadowed arms, he may as well have been dragged beneath the sea by a kraken.

There is no escape for Aaron.

I push my palms up against his, inked digits tangling together.

“Sometimes, I wonder if it wasn’t you that should’ve gone to Nantucket,” I say, wondering if I could’ve saved Aaron all those years ago. What if I’d marched up to Vic and looked him in the eye, refused to let him look away until he acknowledged that we could never let each other go. What if I’d told him that I belonged to Havoc and Havoc belonged to me? Would Aaron have been able to walk then?

His smile softens, and his eyes blaze with stark intent. It isn’t difficult to guess what he might say.

“Not without you there,” he assures me, giving my hands a squeeze and then releasing them.

Hael is waiting on the other side of the car, shoulder propped up against a telephone pole. It feels safe here somehow, being surrounded by Havoc. In every building, on every floor, there’s at least one member of our crew. And if we do have a rat, well, I guess we’ll deal with that when it comes.

But we’re not running.

Not from the Grand Murder Party or the police, not even the feds.

“You two done getting all Gone with the Wind over there?” Hael asks with a cocky chuckle, turning and heading up a narrow walkway toward a derelict front porch. Victor is already there, unlocking the door with a key and letting it swing inward on rusted hinges.

“Have you ever actually read or seen Gone with the Wind?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow. “It has absolutely nothing to do with our romance.”

“We’re more like …” Aaron begins, lighting up a cigarette as he steps onto the soft, damp wood of the porch. “My Girl or Bridge to Terabithia.” I give him a sharp look, but he just laughs, pushing chestnut curls away from his forehead. “What? That’s how all childhood romances end—in tragedy.”

“Hilarious,” I say with a roll of my eyes, stepping into the front entry of a house that, once upon a time, was probably very nice. As of now, the old Victorian is smashed between two brick apartment buildings built in the early seventies, rotting away and forgotten in the darkest part of the city.

“Looks like shit, don’t it?” Victor quips, moving into the damp, wet mustiness of the house as I wrinkle my nose. Oscar and Callum are at Joseph General together which both worries me and makes me feel better all at the same time. Cal most definitely needed medical treatment, but at the same time, I don’t like the idea of us being separated.

We are strongest together.

“It’s … barely livable,” I admit, and Vic chuckles, shaking his head