Unspoken Rules (Rules 2)

He hesitates for a second before finally giving in.

“Yes. Everything.”

“Stop!” I laugh as Haze throws yet another overcooked fry at me. We’ve been cracking jokes for a good twenty minutes. The food wasn’t the best I’ve ever had, to say the least, but Haze made it better. It’s taking him a ridiculously long time to finish his nonappealing plate, and I’m this close to losing my mind.

“I swear, you’ve been eating that same fry for ten minutes.”

“I haven’t.”

“Please, you’re totally stalling.”

“I’m not stalling. Oh, look, a puppy!” He stares out the window, and I have to force myself not to do the same. He’s changing the topic again. He knows exactly what stupid thing to come up with to distract me. My brain immediately went on “Did someone say puppy?” mode.

“Haze, please, can we leave now?” I huff.

“There’s this really nice place I’d like to show you.”

“No, you said we’d eat, then go home so you can tell me everything. We ate, now let’s go. And once we get there, no more stalling. You sit down and tell me the truth.”

He pouts. “Damn, really? I thought we could Netflix and chill.”

“More like Netflix and don’t touch me.”

“Ouch.” He grins and brings his hand to his heart like I just shot an arrow right through it. The waitress places the bill on the table, and I try to reach for it, but per usual, Haze is too fast.

I stare at him with disapproval all over my face. One day I’ll get him. I’ll never stop trying.

“Too slow, Kingston. Better luck next time.”

Haze unlocks the door to his rich-kid apartment and throws his keys onto the counter. My poor ass, who still can’t believe how huge his place is, trails behind him. Haze kicks his shoes off, sending them flying across the hall, and crashes onto his leather couch. I take off my shoes, as well, and follow him. I can literally feel the burdening weight of silence on my shoulders, the haunting anticipation in every sharp breath, the fear in his stance. We know this is now or never.

“What did your fighters make you do?” My fingers hover over his marked cheek and recent bruises. I don’t dare touch him.

“We picked a fight with Ian’s guys.”

I remember Ian, the leader of the North side—the street fighters that go by the Scars.

“We’ve been enemies since the East side and I attacked them to find you. We thought they were responsible because Tanner sent us down the wrong path. Our alliance went to shit, and the entire time I was gone, they pulled random attacks on us. I should’ve been there for my guys. I’ve been a terrible leader.”

“What do you mean you picked a fight with them?”

He sighs. “I can’t tell you any more than this, baby. We have a code.”

He says that like he’s not breaking his “code” by being here with me right now.

“Fine, then tell me this. What’s the deal with your family? What’s with the kid’s room in your house?”

His face changes. He probably prayed that I wouldn’t ask about that, but I owed it to myself. I can’t go on without knowing what made Haze so miserable. I need to figure out what made Haze… Haze.

He takes a deep breath. “I was fourteen when it happened.”

Why does this sound like the beginning of my heart breaking?

“My parents never talked about it. They were so focused on keeping up appearances and looking like the perfect little family that they went on with their lives and never mentioned it again. ‘We’ve got to maintain our image, Haze. We’ve got to do it for the business, Haze.’ They moved, tore the house down, got rid of the pictures like it was that easy. They just… erased her.”

Her. It was a girl.

“God, Winter, I just… I hate them so much.” He clenches his fists, talking about it clearly stirring old, buried, and undealt with feelings. He looks like he could cry tears of rage.