Page 70 of His Ruin
Gone.
Everything isgone.
The room is barren; every item he left behind has been stripped from the space. The posters, the altar, the closet. All gone.
I stagger back, my chest heaving, before I turn on my heel and pad quickly down the steps. “Mom—”
Sobs quiet as I near the living room. Mom is seated on the couch, Dad standing over her with his hand on her shoulder for support as he talks quietly with someone on the phone. They both notice me at the same time, the air thickening with heaviness.
I don’t even need them to speak to know that something is wrong.
“Melody,” Mom whispers past her tears. “I need you to sit down.”
Sound hollows around me, the blood rushing past my ears as I shuffle towards them. Dad hangs up the phone, his hand falling to his side in defeat. Whatever news he just received isn’t good.
Mom takes my hands as I ease down onto the sofa, her fingers trembling. “Melody—”
“What happened?” I whisper.
She rolls her lips in, her eyes welling. “They found Kaden’s bike twenty miles from here. They had to call the fire department because itwas…“ She chokes, looking away. “Maxwell! I can’t—”
Dad crouches down, his eyes somber and disturbed as he places his hands over ours. “His bike was on fire, and there were no witnesses. No one has seen him, and his friends won’t pick up the phone.”
For a second, the words don’t make any sense. They hover in the air above us, heavy and unreal. Time stands still, static filling my ears.
His bike was on fire.
My stomach drops so fast it feels like I missed a step in the dark. Fire. No witnesses. No one is answering the phone. The pieces refuse to fit together into anything survivable. As if Kaden’s existence had been wiped clean from the earth.
My fingers go cold beneath Dad’s hands—numb at first, then trembling as the dread sharpens into full-blown fear. A tight, strangled breath claws its way up my throat, but it doesn’t quite make it out. The room feels smaller, the walls inching closer, the air suddenly too thin to pull in properly.
“No,“ I hear myself whisper, though I don’t remember deciding to speak. It’s not denial so much as instinct—like my body rejecting the possibility before my mind can accept it.
“I’m so sorry, Jellybean,” Mom sucks in a breath. “We’re trying everything we can to find him.”
This isn’t real.
It can’t be.
I saw him last night.
Dad’s phone pings, and he rises to answer his text messages. “Kaden’s apartment has been cleared out, too.”
The bile is rising too quickly, forcing its way up my throat as I shoot up from the sofa. I barely make it to the trash can before I wretch violently into it. Dad jogs over, catching my hair for me as I gag and scream.
Everything melts together, my vomiting turning into agony-laced cries. Dad rubs a hand over my back, trying to hold himself together for our family as he soothes me. His heart is just as broken as ours, but he doesn’t succumb to the pain. Not even the months of searching that turn up no clues shake him.
He stays strong.
I wish I could say the same for myself.
Chapter thirty-four
Melody
Three Months Later
Kodileansdowninfront of me, obstructing my view of the book I’m reading. The words in my lap blur anyway—I’ve reread the same paragraph five times and couldn’t tell you a single sentence. I just need something to hold onto. Something that feelsnormal.
