The Truths we Burn (The Hollow Boys Book 2) Read online

  “Pump the fucking brakes, Nancy Drew. You deserve it?” Alistair spits, a harsh scoff in his throat. “You treated Rose like shit when all she ever did was care about you. You don’t deserve it just because you feel guilty.”

  “And you don’t think that doesn’t eat me alive?” Her head whips in his direction, eyes burning like those blue flames that had once scorched my skin. “Of course, I feel guilty, but that doesn’t mean you knew my relationship with my sister. You have no idea how much I cared about her. She was my fucking twin.”

  “Sorry, you forgot to mention, how exactly do you know about all of this?” Thatcher’s sharp eyes analyze her every move, just waiting for her to lie.

  “I saw the tape,” she whispers. “It was on his computer for blackmail, I’m assuming. I accidentally saw it, and I-I—” Her voice stutters, as her fingers reach up to her collarbone, rubbing above the spot where her scar sits, in the same spot I have a scar of my own.

  “You, you, what? I don’t have all day.”

  “I threatened to tell the police, and the next day I was in restraints and headed to a psych ward. Frank is a coward, but he’s smart. He knew that if people thought I was crazy, even if I did get out, they’d never believe me.” Her eyes move back to Silas, and they soften as they plead with him.

  “Please, I can help you. I can get you close to my father, and that’s what you need right now, right? A way that doesn’t raise flags to all the cops around here? I can help you guys if you’re willing to help me.”

  I stand with my jaw taut.

  I’d once fallen for that—another act, another mask she slid over herself in order to get what she wants from people. None of it is genuine. There is no real Sage, because she doesn’t even know who she is to begin with.

  This is her trying to spin her web around Silas, around all of us, but I know better now, and no matter what Silas says to her, I’m not letting her close to the boys, to me, ever again.

  “We don’t need your help, and you don’t need to be involved,” he answers, staring at her hard.

  “But I—”

  “I said no, Sage.”

  “Why?” she yells, her stance steady, even though her eyes are wet, she is refusing to cry.

  There is a pause before Silas stands up, glancing at the sky and back down.

  “Because it’s not what Rose would have wanted.”

  No one says anything else, and she is quickly realizing that she won’t change his mind. She shifts her attention to the other guys, pleading without saying the words, but all of them stand firm, not giving in to her wants.

  Then, she looks at me for the first time.

  Up to this point, she’d been completely avoiding me, for good reason. I’m the one that needs to be talking to her. I’d come off too harsh and way too abrupt, and the guys would have noticed something was up.

  I kept what Sage did to me close to my chest. No one knew about it because I didn’t want them to know I’d been played. That I’d been fucking betrayed.

  “Rook?” she says gently, and my stomach turns.

  Her mouth is slightly parted, and the wind catches her hair, and I swear for a second, I can smell her. She looks just like she did in the lake house.

  Just a girl with dreams.

  A girl with wings that this town had cut.

  But I know what lies beneath.

  How toxic and rotten she really is.

  “Why are you still here? You’re just embarrassing yourself.” I try to keep my voice level, monotone, trying not to show any emotion.

  Unlike her reaction to Silas, to Alistair, her armor cracks. I watch how my words break on her face and pain pours from the cracks. My words had done exactly what I had wanted them to—they hurt her.

  I want a rush of excitement to hit me, adrenaline to pump through my veins. I want to feel good about retaliating, about giving her just a little bit of what she’d done to me.

  I don’t feel any of that.

  I feel the same as I did watching that lake house burn.

  Empty and so much fucking pain.

  But fuck that.

  Fuck her. I know she’s got a hidden agenda—she always does—and I won’t let her damage what we’ve worked for.

  “Get the fuck out of here. Go back to wherever the hell you came from. You’re not wanted here.”

  Sage

  I’d always enjoyed the snow.

  It’s cold but gentle, and people don’t associate those things.

  Things that are cold are never considered gentle. They’re always seen as brutal and bitter, unlike the sun, which is always described as cheerful and radiant.

  Cold things bite into your skin, sting with their low temperatures, and leave you feeling empty.

  But I’ve always liked that.

  I like the way the cold keeps everything frozen, leaving it a permanent memory.

  When I was young, I would wake up before everyone else. Right before the sun rose above the clouds, I’d tiptoe into Rosemary’s room, gently waking her up with a simple request: Let’s go outside and play in the snow.

  Secretly, I would sit by my windows waiting desperately for that first snowflake to flutter down and melt into the ground and I could run out of my family home and tumble into the cold. The raw feeling on my cheeks as the wind snipped it, the ache in my fingers as the chill soaked through my gloves. It was something I looked forward to every single year, or maybe it was because of Rose.

  She always made things like that better, turning little moments into big memories.

  The snow doesn’t feel the same anymore.

  I watch it pour from the sky onto my heated windshield and dissolve almost immediately. The glow of neon lights pierces through the white flakes pouring into my back window. In my rearview mirror, I can see Tilly’s in all its winter wonderland glory.

  It’s February, and I guarantee they still have string lights up inside and Jingle Bells are still playing over the speakers. The owner believes Christmas runs from November first until customers start complaining about all the holly-jolly shit.

  “Did you hear what I asked you, Pip?”

  I nod, still staring at the diner in my mirror, feeling sick enough by being in the same car as this man. Looking at him might be the finger down my throat that triggers my gag reflex. The smell of his aftershave is sticking to my car; I’ll have to spend hours cleaning that out of here.

  “Yes. I just didn’t feel the need to answer you. I told you already, I’ve only been here a month. I haven’t seen or heard anything. Not a fucking peep.” Like I would tell you if I did, you fucking idiot.

  I want him to stop calling me Pip. I’d hated that fucking nickname the first time he’d ever spoken it out loud, disgustingly giving it to me because I was small. I hadn’t seen him since I was thirteen, and now I’ve seen him twice in less than two months.

  “Are you lying to me? There hasn’t been anyone talking about seeing them around Greg West prior to his death? Or Chris Crawford, who is still missing? This is a very small, very tittle-tattle-filled town, Sage. I know, I grew up here too, and I just find it hard to believe—”

  “There hasn’t been anything, Cain. I’m not going to continue repeating myself. Either believe me or don’t. It doesn’t matter to me,” I interrupt, needing this conversation to be over.

  He’d texted me asking to meet here to check-in on my progress, and like I’d just told him, there hasn’t been any.

  After Silas sent me away like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs and Rook basically told me to go fuck myself, I hadn’t got any further.

  I wonder if his friends noticed how hostile he was with me. How harsh his words had been, like they were rooted into something deeper. It was the first flash of emotion he’d shown me since I’d been back. Those eyes burned and crackled. I’d awakened whatever feelings he had left for me, even if they were bad.

  It felt just like the striking of a match. A small flame, but better than nothing.

  I
hate myself for clinging to his resentment. It makes me feel weak and pathetic, but I can’t deny it—not to myself anyway—that I would take his anger and his hatred over nothing at all. Because even that, just that, means I exist inside of him, even if it is just a little bit.

  After that night, there hadn’t been another opportunity to talk to any of them, not really.

  Silas is always with one of the boys, and I know the other three aren’t going to give me the time of day. Which also means being close with Lyra and Briar is pointless.

  But I haven’t stopped that relationship.

  I’d started to enjoy their company. Even if Lyra is a little…odd. Lyra has a collection of insects, from butterflies to beetles. They are pinned inside glass cases that she displays on the wall, or inside clear domes on her shelves. There are pictures of grasshoppers and Praying Mantis scattered across desks. It’s her hobby, and I respect it. But I won’t lie, they kinda freak me out. However, I also have a better view of people after being inside that ward. Everyone has something that helps with coping with the damage they’ve been dealt.

  Plus, I like that she’s weird. She embraces how different she is. They both do, and sometimes I can’t help but be jealous. When they sit and talk about the things they like, what they want in life, always turning to ask me the same questions, and I just sit there with empty thoughts.

  What do I like? What do I want? Do I even remember what it feels like to enjoy things? To be passionate?

  “I’ll accept that answer this time, Sage. But next time, you better have something for me, you hear me? You are not in control here. I am.”

  I can feel him move, sensing when his hand approaches the side of my face. His fingers reach for a loose strand of my hair. “I hated to see you cut your hair. It was always so pretty when it was long.”

  I jerk away from him. “Get the fuck out of my car before I kill you.” I still refuse to look over. “And stop calling me Pip or I’m going to rip your nuts off.”

  He laughs cruelly. “You’re a gentle flower, Sage. A porcelain doll. You are all bark and no bite. You wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly, no matter what you say.”

  This is where the conversation ends. He climbs out of my car, shutting the door and walking across the parking lot to his tinted vehicle.

  It isn’t until he pulls out of the parking lot that I release my breath. I press my hands into my scalp, digging my skull into the plush headrest, and I start to feel the icy tears stream down my face.

  Every single time he leaves, I’m left shaking.

  I’d never let him or anyone else see it, but he’s right. I could snip at people, I could threaten them, but on the inside, I’m too soft. It’s why I want to keep everyone as far away as possible—I know how easy it would be to hurt me.

  Seeing him always takes me straight back to when I had nobody to help me. Back to lonely nights of staring at the door, hoping someone, anyone, would walk inside and stop him, only to be let down.

  I’m left now trying desperately to pick up the tiny shards of myself, slicing my fingers wide open, getting the pieces stuck in my hands. There is no amount of glue or tape to put me back together anymore.

  So I just gather it all in my hands and press the fragments into my chest. They might have been useless to anyone else, but I’m so desperate to cling to whatever is left of me, whatever remains of who I was, because without those broken splinters, I have nothing.

  They say rock bottom is the best place to rebuild your foundation. Where do you rebuild when there is no rock bottom? When it’s just constant falling, deeper into the never-ending oblivion, sinking for eternity into the boundless water.

  What do you do then?

  Thud. Thud.

  I shift my head to look out my driver’s-side window and see a fingerless gloved hand wave. I roll it down, letting a gust of frigid air steal my breath away.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day. Was that your Valentine?” Briar greets me with a small grin, wiggling her eyebrows, welcoming and kind. “If that’s even a thing.”

  “Do you know Valentine’s Day is actually a thing because of a Roman man named Valentine who thought it was unfair that the emperor banned marriage, so he started arranging marriages in secret, wedding lovers in the shadows until he was found out. So just before he was killed on, you guessed it, February fourteenth, he wrote one last letter to his lover and signed it ‘from your Valentine,’” Lyra informs us, snow stuck in her wild hair. “So we are basically all celebrating a man’s death. It’s like one big memorial. Kinda depressing when you think about it.”

  She rocks back and forth as we stare at her openly, pursing her lips before addressing it. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  I snicker as Briar starts to laugh. “I’m not sure where you keep all this stored. You’re like an encyclopedia.”

  Shrugging, she replies, “I like to think of it as a filing cabinet and my brain just sends workers around grabbing the information I need.”

  “Of course you do,” I say, smiling, “And no, he was nobody,” I answer Briar’s earlier question.

  “Well, let me buy you a burger or…” She looks me up and down in the car. “Are you a salad type of person?”

  “Valentine’s Day for the girls!” Lyra throws her opinion in.

  I fiddle with my fingers in my lap. Not because I want out of it, but because I actually want to say yes. I want to, and that makes me nervous. Wanting things. When you want things, you leave yourself vulnerable to being hurt when they are taken away.

  Maybe it won’t hurt too bad when I leave. It’d be okay to at least enjoy friendship before this is all over, wouldn’t it?

  “I eat burgers.” I roll my window up, pulling the keys from the ignition and opening the door. “You’re not spending this sappy day with Alistair? Which when I think about it, he doesn’t seem like the roses-and-chocolate kind of guy.”

  Together we walk into Tilly’s. Just as I suspected, Christmas is still in full effect inside. The warmth smacks me in the face, and Lyra moans from the heat, rubbing her hands together and searching for a booth.

  “Alistair isn’t big on holidays,” Briar says, smirking a bit. “We play games instead.”

  I lift my eyebrows as we slide into our table. “Games?”

  I love the way she doesn’t even blush. She owns their relationship in every aspect. There is nothing to be shy about; she’s proud of them. I want to ask if she knows just how dirty his hands are now. Does she know what he’s been up to? What they all have been up to?

  “Yup. Hide-and-seek this time. And he let me be the seeker this go around.”

  “How chivalrous of him.” Lyra rolls her eyes playfully, pushing Briar’s body with her elbow.

  This fun movement draws my attention to Briar’s lower half, catching the dark ink marked on her middle finger. Alistair’s initials are carved boldly on her thin digit. The scar on my collarbone aches as I stare at it.

  “So I’m assuming he’s already told you about the Gauntlet?” I ask, shrugging my jacket off my shoulders and laying it next to me. “You guys playing this year?”

  “The what?”

  I lift my gaze. “The Gauntlet? He never told you? It’s like the biggest game of the year. The Hollow Boys play every single year—wait, no, they win every year.”

  When she still looks confused, I continue. “On the first day of spring, West Trinity Falls and Ponderosa Springs go to war. It’s been called the Gauntlet since I was a kid. Usually, high school and college students play ones who live for the rivalry that exists between us. Basically, if you’re hosting, you get to pick the location of the game, and if you’re not, you can pick the game. I think it was tag last year. Lyra, I can’t believe you didn’t mention it.”

  She pulls her cap off, her hair flying in a million directions, the static out of control. “It’s been an…eventful year. It wasn’t on my list of priorities. Probably because I’ve never played.”

  Eventful year.


  I want her to elaborate, to see just how much Alistair trusts Briar—if they know about what happened to my sister, if they know about the murders and the missing girls. However, I know I can’t just ask them straight out, not without seeming suspicious.

  “I’ve never played either. Only heard about it.”

  “We should all play this year, then. It’ll be a first for each of us,” Briar says, grinning. “Does anyone know the game this year?”

  “That’s the best part—no one knows until you show up the night of. We are hosting this year though. I’ve, uh, been gone a while, so I haven’t heard much about the location.”

  “Lochlan Daniels. I heard him bragging in biology he got the keys to Roaring Spring from his dad. Well, stole them, but from what I heard, that’s where it’s happening,” Lyra shares, always so good at picking up on the little things. Always listening, always observing.

  “Let’s do it, then. First day of spring, we take on the Gauntlet.” Briar smirks, already excited for the challenge.

  “You sure? I hear the people in the Wastelands play dirty. People end up in the hospital from injuries at these things.”

  She shrugs. “After this past year, I think we can handle just about anything.”

  Her eyes meet mine, and I know that when she said we, she meant all of us. They know about Rosemary dying and me being in a psych ward, even if that’s all they know.

  “I’m in,” I say.

  “You do realize if this game requires running, I’m screwed, right?” Lyra looks at us both, before sighing, “Fine, let’s do it.”

  We celebrate her decision by ordering way too much food. I dip my fries in my milkshake, looking at the groups of teens inside this place. Months ago, I’d have been tucked in a booth with those who were most influential, the ones who made me look good, surrounded by conversations I had no interest in and friends that spent more time judging other people than actually bonding.

  This feels so different. Better.

  It’s a genuine bond that’s forming, and I’m afraid for myself, afraid of hurting them like I hurt Rook, of hurting myself.

  Because I know what I’m capable of doing to people who get too close.