Page 6 of True Ruin

Frowning, Dallas rolled the bottle against his knee. What, exactly, did they expect him to say? That he remembered the smallest things about her? That she’d chewed on the end of her pencil when she studied? That she’d always smelled faintly of waffle cones after a shift at Sweet Cream, where half the boys in school pretended to need a scoop just to watch her work? That she’d sat across from Theo in the cafeteria, tapping her sneaker against his in the thoughtless rhythm of people who belonged to each other? Honestly, his unrequited infatuation had been sad as fuck. He’d even joined the newspaper just to be near the room where the yearbook staff met, one of Gabi’s many extracurriculars.

The irony was, it had given him his first taste of what would become his career.

Maybe he had her to thank for that. The realization had him pitching the bottle harder than necessary into the dented metal trash can a good five feet from the truck.

“Holy shit.” Campbell laughed as Dallas’s silence gave him away, then punched him in the arm. “We were a few years ahead of you, so I figured you barely knew her.”

“He’s obviously losing it,” Dallas said as a flicker of the old bitterness cut through him before he could stop it. Cars, girls, football—the whole glossy package of small-town belonging—had never been for him. He’d watched the in-crowd, including his brothers and cousin, gather around bonfires in the cotton fields and spill into parties at the rundown mill Campbell’s mom had left him, but he’d never crossed the invisible line between watching and joining in. He’d been the lost kid on the fringe.

Still, he’d fallen for the town almost as quickly as he had for the girl.

“You know Gabi’s single, right?” Justin drawled, his smile wide enough to show his molars. “Thought you might want that memo before you go wasting rage on a guy who doesn’t matter to her anymore.”

Without a word, Dallas reached into Campbell’s cooler for another Rolling Rock and twisted off the cap. Months earlier, he’d gotten the update from his eldest brother, Ransom, after casually asking the only family member who didn’t live in Promise, the one least likely to read anything into it. Gabi had married Theo and had a son soon after, then ditched the Donnelly name before the ink was dry on the divorce papers. Ransom had even let it slip that she’d finally come to her senses after catching the homecoming king with another woman.

Dallas had played along, pretending it was nothing but small-town gossip. Though he’d carried that knowledge with him into every danger zone since.

Gabi Wilder was single. Free.

And so was he.

That reckless kiss of theirs tugged at the edges of his mind as Dallas weighed what he might do if he got the chance. He leaned back on the tailgate as darkness spilled over him in a calming wash. Night had settled across the festival like a tarp, stars pricking through it in scattered points of silver. Hard to believe this sky was the same one he’d stared into in Zaire—inky black, ripped open by tracer fire as the ground shuddered beneath his boots. As if the universe had the nerve to pretend the world had always been this peaceful.

A bloom of red and blue flared above the courthouse, the rocket’s sharp crack sounding a heartbeat later.

Dallas jolted before he could brace for it, every muscle locking. His hand flew to his chest, finding only the thin fabric ofhis T-shirt. No Kevlar vest stamped PRESS. No shield between him and the world. Panic hit, fast and absolute. The bottle slipped from his hand and shattered against the pavement, beer spraying in a glittering arc.

Justin stiffened beside him. “That’s the third time you’ve spooked over some random noise tonight,” he whispered, careful not to startle him again.

Dallas kept his gaze locked on the ground. A few deep breaths, and he’d have control again. “It’s fine.”

But his voice shook. No hiding it.

Campbell rested his forearms on his knees, always the calm one. “What exactly happened over there, Dal?”

Dallas braced his palms on the tailgate, anchoring himself to the present. A small-town street strung with white lights. Kids racing past with glow sticks. No alarms. No mortars. No smoke clawing at the back of his throat. “Drop it, okay?” He slid off the tailgate and reached for the crutches leaning against the bumper. “Please.”

Justin didn’t push, but the old, familiar hurt flickered across his face, left over from a day neither of them talked about. The day he’d taken one look at a surprise half-brother and turned away when the frightened kid needed him most.

Dallas told himself to get over it.

He wanted to. That was progress, even if his brother didn’t know it.

A gust of wind ripped through the square, carrying the acrid edge of smoke from the barbecue booth. Dallas drew a slow breath and counted to five, forcing his shoulders to loosen. The shrink in Germany had been pretty good, even if he’d only managed three sessions. “I’m okay,” he promised, though the words rang false.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Campbell nudging Justin, a silent warning not to crowd him. Before either of them could say anything else, two animated voices cut through the air.

His cousin Kit barreled toward them, Luca right on his heels. The boys skidded to a stop in a spray of gravel and thirteen-year-old enthusiasm. Kit clutched a yellowed newspaper clipping in one hand. Luca, quieter by nature, had been living with Campbell and Fontana as their foster son since spring, after meeting Campbell in a photography class at the Children’s Center. Now the adoption process was underway, and they were one step closer to making his place in the family official.

“You’re so money,” Kit said, breathing hard. A streak of dirt cut across his cheek, ending just above his upper lip.

For one sharp second, Dallas envied their innocence. He thought of the long nights caring for his mother and wondered if he’d ever been that young. “I’m what?”

Luca groaned. “It’s fromSwingers, man. Haven’t you seen it?”

Justin shot Campbell a look. “You let them watchSwingers?”

Campbell shrugged, unbothered, and adjusted the lens on his camera. “They hear way worse at school. Don’t you, of all people, know that?”