Page 122 of Firefly
“Not like that, that’s a story for another night. Go get cleaned up and go to her! Fuck them motherfuckers,” I encourage, slapping him on the back. Then I get up and walk away because sitting there with him telling him what to do when I should really practice what I preach is unbearable. Because I want nothing more than to go get my girl too.
When I leave the Dungeon, I climb on my bike and head to Hillcreek Bay. I need to see her.
The security gate appears too slowly. I barely kill the engine before Larry steps out of the booth, already looking nervous.
“Hayden,” he says quietly, and I freeze.
“You know who I am?”
Larry gives me a sad smile. “You’ve been sneaking in for years. You think I didn’t notice? Plus, that girl spent three years crying over you, son. Hard not to know.”
The words hit me square in the chest.
“Where is she?” I ask immediately, and he frowns.
“She just got back with Mr. Augustine a little bit ago,” he says as ice floods my veins.
“Okay, good.”
“Mr. Fitzgerald also just left so the coast is clear,” he says, glancing back towards the neighborhood.
“Makes my job a little easier.” I chuckle, and he smiles.
“Well, I didn’t see you and I know nothing,” he states as the gates open for me.
“Thanks, Larry. Have a good night, sir,” I say as I start my bike back up and nod to the old man before taking off into the night. I park my bike in the cul-de-sac where it won’t be spotted, then take off my helmet and pull my hood over my head.
The second I climb through her window, I know something’s wrong. Firefly isn’t waiting for me. No sarcastic comment. No teasing smile. No arms wrapping around my neck the second my boots hit the floor.
Just silence.
Heavy and wrong.
My chest tightens instantly while moonlight spills across her bedroom. She sits at the edge of her bed, still in her emerald dress, crying. Something inside me snaps.
“Firefly?” But she shakes her head quickly, refusing to look at me.
“Go home Hayden.”
Absolutely fucking not.
I cross the room in seconds, kneeling in front of the bed while panic and rage claw violently through my chest.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Lie.
I reach for her anyway, but she flinches. Flinches—at me.
That alone nearly blacks my vision out. “‘Look at me,” I growl.
“No.” Her voice cracks. “Please just leave it alone tonight.”
I grab her chin gently but firmly, forcing her face upward despite the resistance.
And then I see it. The bruise blooming across her cheek and the finger marks around her throat.
