Unbroken Rules (Rules 3)

I suck in a sharp breath. “Then what? What did you expect to happen when you found him? What were you going to do to him?”

Please, Haze. I’m begging you. Don’t lie.

Don’t make me give up on you.

Strangely enough, he seems to know how important this answer is because he chooses his words carefully.

“Send him to jail.”

It hurts like hell.

He lied.

“Or at least, that’s what I told tell myself.” He adds.

My eyes snap up to his.

“I… I want him to die, Winter. I know it’s wrong. I know that I shouldn’t, but… Fuck, sending him to jail isn’t enough. He doesn’t deserve to grow old. He…” His eyes are red, but not from tears—from pure rage. “Des won’t get to. Why the fuck should he? She won’t get to have children, start a family, laugh so hard she cries, kiss the wrong boy and ask me to kick his ass. She won’t get to make mistakes and learn from them. She won’t get to fall so madly in love that she doesn’t know what to do with herself.” He gazes at me so intently I can’t shake the feeling that he’s talking about me. “Tell me, how the hell am I supposed to move on knowing that he’s out there, living his life as a free man when he stole hers?”

I blink back tears. That’s all I know how to do recently.

“And I know you have every right to hate me. You have every right to never want to see me again, but you have to believe me… I didn’t only come for him.”

“How many times did you lie to me? I want to know when you lied, what you lied about. All of it.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s the only chance we’ve got,” I press him.

Under my pleading stare, he caves. He goes on to tell me he lied about his job, which I already knew, about the address in his pocket, which I also suspected. He tells me he lied about many phone calls. I take it all the best I can.

He lets out a bitter scoff. “Look at me. Running around like a fucking idiot not to lose you, only to lose you anyway.”

I can’t help myself.

“But that’s the point, Haze. You didn’t lose me.”

His lips part.

I rise to my feet and pace around the room. “And I hate myself because I still want you. I still…” I stop before I say too much.

He doesn’t speak, nor does he acknowledge my embarrassing declaration. He just gets off his nightmare of a bed and steps forward. I don’t move away, but I refuse him eye contact. Not having it, he lifts my chin up with his index.

I shiver at his touch and lift my arm up to cup his cheek. He relaxes at the contact, closing his eyes for a half second. My long sleeve ripples down my arm, revealing the shimmery bracelet on my wrist. He sees it. His features light up.

“You’re wearing it,” he points out.

“Well, it… it looked expensive. I felt bad.” I almost choke on my excuse. He’s smiling now. He begins to lean in, with every intent to finish what we started the night before. Except that this time is different.

This time, I can’t blame it on the alcohol.

This

time, it’s all me.

He brushes my lips with his ever so slightly, but just before we can cross the line, he backs away.

“Wait,” he says in realization. “There’s another reason why I couldn’t tell you.”