Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
The world knows them as Satan and Blaze. The masked lead singer and drummer of international rock sensation Gutless Void.
I know them as Lars Morgan and Cain Foster. The two boys I loved who broke my heart.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
BILLIE
Death is an unavoidable faith. You can’t cheat it, bargain with it, or outrun it. When your time is up, the grim reaper stampedes his way to claim what’s rightfully his. But once you’re dead, none of it matters. You’re no longer consumed with the thoughts that preoccupy the living. You’re dead. Now, your only worry is whether you decay in darkness or pearly white gates take you to a promised paradise. The only people who suffer are the living haunted by your memory.
The service is pleasant. As pleasant as any service can be with people crying or pretending to care about the dearly departed. I glance over the sea of black, trying to figure out who these people are.
Cold, clammy hands grip mine as they whisper words they were told would bring comfort. All their words do is induce rage. “I’m sorry,” they say. What are they sorry about? Did they put that gun in his hands? They sure weren’t the reason the gun was there. The only people to blame for this are Lars Morgan, Cain Foster… and me.
I look toward Cain, the sole person left in the church. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and hasn’t taken off his dark aviators. Not once. At least he showed up, unlike Lars.
Cain doesn’t feel obligated to share in memories of Trevor. He doesn’t believe in being friendly or humoring old elementary teachers who never had a kind word to say about Trevor when he was still breathing.
I close my eyes, trying to tune out the chatter.
“He was a good guy, Billie. I’m so sorry.”
Light floods my vision as I open my eyes to see Clair Vox staring at me. Wetness coats her cheeks, but her eyes appear bone dry.
“Save it, Claire Bear. You didn’t give two shits about Trevor. If I remember correctly, you took pleasure in pointing out that he grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. You’re pretending to give a fuck about him now he’s six feet under, but you sure as hell didn’t care less about Trevor Parker when he was still breathing. Remember how you mercilessly mocked him about the small tear in his sneakers in the fifth grade? You didn’t care about him then. You didn’t stop to ask him why he hadn’t eaten for a few days or why his mom was on another bender with some random fucker, leaving an eleven-year-old boy alone with bare cupboards.”
Cain’s deep voice runs through my bloodstream like a life force. His eyes move from Claire to me. His stony expression is a bullet rushing to the center of my heart, making me pray that the ground beneath me would split open and swallow me whole.
I hold my breath for the venom Cain has ready to hurl at me, but what he does is ten times worse. He pushes past Claire without acknowledging me. It’s as if I’m not there. Invisible.
“Cain’s still low-life trash, I see,” Claire whispers, flipping her long blonde hair. She grabs my shoulders, kissing each cheek before putting on her Gucci glasses and descending the church steps.
Another man approaches me, but I can’t focus. My gaze is trained on Cain as he climbs onto his motorcycle, helmet in his hand.
“Excuse me,” I say before running toward him. “Cain!”
He turns, and his cobalt-blue eyes pierce me like the tip of a samurai blade.
He doesn’t say anything; he just hands me the helmet.
His coldness gives me a sense of comfort. Unlike the surrounding crowd, who echo words of kindness, Cain represents the uncouth and disdainful. He strips convention until the only thing left is honesty.
We gaze at each other while we drown in silence. The pain of losing Trevor churns in my stomach. I’ll do anything to make it end, even if it’s a numbing agent that will give me a moment of peace.
I put on the helmet and wrap my arms around his waist as he starts the motor, and we leave all the superficial bullshit behind.
The wind whips past as we drive down the interstate, passing the cars. I place my head on Cain’s back and shut my eyes. This moment won’t last. I know it’s a blip of joy captured in my hand. When reality knocks on the door of my life, this will slip through my fingers like sand through an hourglass. So I try not to think about it. Right now, Trevor is alive, and Cain loves me.
The traffic dissipates, and the bike stops moving. I open my eyes and stare at the dock. Someone sits there, a bottle of liquor and a guitar in his hand. Lars.
“He’s been drunk since it happened,” Cain says, breaking into my wishful thoughts. “A two-week bender.”
“Lars doesn’t drink. He never drinks.”
“He does now.”
My heart aches, and worry spikes in my veins. Addiction is genetic. It sits dormant in your veins until a simple drink causes an avalanche, burying you so deep that no amount of clawing can dig you out.