Deception. Betrayal. Mistrust.
It seems the closer Rayne gets to the truth, the more she finds herself wanting to run away from it. It's complex and terrifying-more than she ever fathomed.
New family members, good and bad, pop out at her like a br...
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𝗠averick opened the driver's door and stepped out, tracing his eyes over the dust that settled over his formerly polished dress shoes. He reached for the top button of his suit jacket, sliding it in as she stood and faced the house. It was funny to him—how many times he'd stood in this same spot, how many times he'd been to Rueben's house—and the daunting horror that illuminated in the shadow of it never ceased. It lit something inside of him.
But Maverick could never place his feelings. He could never label them.
Shaking the feeling, he shut the door and pivoted, catching sight of his best friend emerging from the passenger side. Jase's eyes sketched over the various unfamiliar cars. His eyebrows creased, and that devoid expression he'd been carrying all day finally transformed into something different.
Mav didn't know if he liked it or hated it. The only thing he was sure of was the fact that his friend was internally seething—that he was doing all he could to be on his best behavior in the face of such fakeness. Jase hated everyone who pretended they knew Franki.
Mostly because Jase had so few people to call his own, but Maverick knew it was more than that. Maverick knew that Jase hated that others came to celebrate pieces of her life he never got to meet. He hated that he remained a small part of it.
"Are you ready to go in?" Maverick questioned, rounding his side.
Jase's hair danced in the breeze, shadowing the metal of his labret and the potency of his slightly crooked nose. His caramel eyes never pulled from the sky, never detached from the sun that was slowly beginning to make its way to the other side of the world.
Maverick could hear the chatter from past glass windows. He would hear laughter and sadness—sorrow and heat he couldn't hope to concoct. He knew Jase heard it, too.
He watched his friend's emotions swim in his chocolate pools, and for the first time in his life, Maverick felt irritated that he couldn't do more. He hated that it was Jase drowning in plaguing demons—and that he could do nothing to help.
"Would I be a bad person if I skipped?" Jase whispered.
Maverick shook his head, "No. I think Franki would've hated all this attention."
"Right?" Jase showed a shadow of a smile, "She never liked being the center of it all unless it was with people who mattered to her. She wouldn't have appreciated the fake sentiment inside. I know that she would've liked to know who loved her when she was still here, not when she was gone."
Maverick nodded non-committedly and stared at the strangers standing on the porch. Cigarette smoke and alcohol entertained expensive suit-wearers and heels that we cheaply made.
"Her parents didn't show, did they?"
Jase bit his lip, "No."
He inhaled, nodded his head, and then faced his friend. He held gently onto the thinness of his dress shirt, offering some physicality. Jase's eyes still didn't pull from the sky.
