The Oath We Give (Hollow Boys, #5)

by Monty Jay

To everyone who never believed in fairy tales because they understood the villain. And to me, for finishing the series of a lifetime.

“Eventually everything connects…” —Charles Eames

Hope. All the times I tried to tell my parents with the hope they’d believe me. Until one day, I gave up. Those moments I wanted to tell the guys with the hope they’d listen, but something has always stopped me. Feeling hope for the first time when I met Rosemary, knowing I had one person on this fucking Earth that knew the truth, and now what do I have left of that hope? I have only the pain of losing her. Fuck hope, because it fucked me a long time ago.

It has always been better to remain quiet than risk speaking words no one believes.

I can’t breathe, ever. Why can’t anyone see that? Can they not see me turning purple? The hands of my mind choking me?

They all want to know the horror of the basement. News stations want an exclusive, papers want direct quotes to feed human curiosity, but no one cares about the aftermath of what it did to me. I’m only a headline to Ponderosa Springs. A trophy for my parents.

No one sees any of it. How one minute I feel strong, and the next, I am breaking. How I hate myself for what happened, and the guilt of my weak will eats at me. It’s a shame I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

“Life left you empty so that you’d have room to fill it. We are only hollow if we allow ourselves to remain that way.”

I don’t have to be Coraline Whittaker, survivor of the Sinclair House of Horrors. I’m not the award-winning artist prodigy or the regal daughter of James Whittaker. I’m not the older sister to a girl I’ve trapped myself in this town for. I’m Coraline. I’m not okay, and right now, that’s enough.

I’d always thought it was beautiful, his grief. A living reminder of a love lost too soon.

“They say I’m dead on the inside.” “They call me cursed. I wonder which is worse?”

I know this phone call doesn’t fix me. It doesn’t heal my fears or cure my trauma, even though I desperately want something to just that. But it’s nice to be alive and not okay. To have someone to talk to, to know there is someone out there who knows I’m battling for every breath.

“I had to learn how not to live for the trauma and loss. I’m living in spite of it. Don’t let him win.”

Humans are not my thing. Have never been my thing, will probably never be my thing. I understand emotions, feel them, but I actively hate them every second of the day. And people have a shit ton of them. People have manuals. You can’t override their systems, and half the time, what you see is never what you actually get.

The sun bounces off the black sunglasses he’s sporting, and there is a tan on his skin I’ve never seen before. There are a few new tattoos across his chest, and it makes me think of all we’ve missed in each other’s lives due to distance. However, his smirk is still Rook, still the same kid I’ve always known. Thatcher: Your chest looks like a middle school desk. Rook: I’ve hugged cactus nicer than you. I scoff at the back of my throat. The two of them have yet to grow out of their boyish bickering. Unless someone stops it, they will go on forever until someone’s feelings get hurt, and it most definitely will be Rook’s. All of Thatcher’s feelings are tied up in Lyra. He doesn’t have any left for the rest of us. Alistair: Shut the fuck up. There he is. Daddy Caldwell to the rescue. I’m surprised he didn’t tell Rook to wear sunscreen. We’ve grown apart, but at our core, we’ll know each other until we are gray. Time, space, distance, death. None of it will ever take away what we know for certain—that we know each other at the core of our beings. It’s never something we say out loud, just a foregone conclusion. We are who we are. No matter where we go or how we change, there will always be this knotted, twisted string tangling each of us together. What we found in each other as kids is something we refuse to ever let go of. They are brothers to me. Each of them. Thicker than any blood.

“Alistair just got married,” I tell him, because that’s what normal people say about their friends. Sharing the ordinary updates of their adult lives. I feel the weight of his stare, and I glance over at him. His eyes have widened, and there is skepticism on his brow. “And the girl was willing? She walked down the aisle of her own accord?” A snort leaves my throat. “Seems that way.” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe what I’ve told him. I don’t blame him. Alistair Caldwell never really seemed like the marrying type. More like a brood in the corner until he died kinda guy. My father had only ever seen him in two lights, angry or causing trouble. There are things about the guys my family would never understand. They’d never outright said they disapproved of my friendships, but I could see it on their faces. However, they refused to take away anything from me that would cause me unhappiness. But they’d never know them like I do. No one would. Had never seen just how much someone like Alistair cares about people. How he’d easily give up his own life for someone he loves. In our own sick fucking way, I think we care more than most.

I’ve always believed love is like water, the way it flows between bodies and souls. You can’t stop the flow of it because one pathway is closed off. It just finds another exit.

I take in my very first physical look at Briar Lowell, positioning herself a little closer to Lyra, who is several inches shorter than her. Sharp eyes that I doubt miss much watch me. She’s on guard, ready to protect her friend if I make another snarky comment. If I were a betting woman, I’d say that willingness to defend the people around her is a reason one of Ponderosa Springs’s most violent and notorious men chose her.

Don’t tell anyone. Don’t remember this. Don’t think of me as weak. This is mortifying. The way my vulnerability has leaked from me like split veins, and there was nothing I could’ve done to stop it. It doesn’t matter that it’s only one person who’s seen in. One person is enough. All it takes is one person to know how weak you are on the inside, just one to destroy you. I can’t let that happen, not when I’m so close to getting out of here.

Crying isn’t something I can handle. Not for myself or anyone else. I loathe doing it, and I never know how to help anyone going through it. I prefer to avoid it the best I can. It’s a waste of water and does nothing but make you feel worse in the end.

Lilac Whittaker drained every ounce of good from her parents when she was born, only gaining more as she grew older. I truly believe it’s her smile that keeps me going, and I’d give the world for her happiness. I live for her before living for myself most days. Securing her happiness and finding her joy has kept me alive. Every time the darkness creeps in and the dreams get too real, I think of her.

Talking about Emmet, thinking of the person I was in high school, feels a lot like reminiscing about an old classmate. Someone I watched and heard things about but never really knew. It’s impossible to quantify the distance between who I was and whatever it is I am now.

“No one enjoys being alone, especially you, Cora. I get it, you love showing the world this cold, remote version of you who snaps at people if they get close. I don’t blame you. But don’t lie and say you enjoy it. I know you.”

The Peak towers over the rugged Oregon Coast, shadowing Black Sands Cove, a beach only locals know about. I can hear the crashing waves against the jagged rocks, and that sound alone brings on memories. My feet haven’t felt this specific piece of ground since we all parted ways. The Peak is secluded, secret, ours. It’s where we grew up, went our separate ways, and now it’s where we are reunited. From the moment we found this place, it’d become ours.

We’ll all be eighty years old and still doing this, arguing like children. Or maybe it’ll just me and Alistair pulling apart geriatric versions of Rook and Thatcher.

“Silas, I mean this with love,” Rook says, face the picture of confusion, “but what the fuck?” He’s going to be the one with the biggest problem. Me marrying someone for convenience. It’ll drive him insane. ‘Cause even though two nights ago I watched him force a man to swallow a bottle of medicine and proceed to push him off a bridge into icy water because he’d attempted to drug his girlfriend, Rook’s heart is gentle. All he has ever wanted since the moment I lost Rosemary was for me to be happy. I won’t ever be angry at him for that, for how protective he is over me, even if his constant worry about me taking medicine annoys the shit out of me. Telling him should be easier, but it’s because he’s so protective that it isn’t.

My anger and desperation for revenge has once again uprooted their lives. If something happens, if we go to jail or someone dies, it’s on me. It’ll be my fault, and it’s a burden that has sat with me. The selfishness of my grief will be the damnation of them. “I’m sorry,” I say, not sure how to take it back or say it much better than that. “For what?” Rook’s eyebrows twitch together, the whites of his eyes turning pink from the weed. “This is on me.” I shove my hands into my front pockets, looking up at the leaking sky. “You guys coming back. The blackmail. All of it. It’s on me. I couldn’t let Rosemary’s death go, needed to have revenge. You don’t⁠—” “Shut the fuck up.” Alistair’s force rumbles with the thunder in the distance. “There wasn’t a gun to my head. We all knew what we signed on for, and I’d do it again. You’re not the only one who wanted this. We all wanted to take a bite out of this place.” “We started it together. We end it together,” Rook adds. “We’ll finish this and leave this fucking hellhole behind. All of us.”

This is the only way I’m comfortable putting a price tag on my art anyway. Knowing it’s helping Hedi and her team. Knowing I’m doing something to help.

She sighs, tilting her head to the right a little as she shakes it. “I don’t understand why you do that.” I arch an eyebrow. “Do what?” “That.” She motions to my face. “Just because you have money doesn’t mean your experience, what you went through, isn’t valid, baby. Money can never take that pain away. You’re allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to talk about it just as much as the next person.”

He has no idea what anyone with that disorder is capable of. What they can and cannot do. To him, it’s simply a villain origin story in thriller movies. In his eyes, I’m a violent, uncontrollable maniac. Which could not be further from the truth for those who live with schizophrenia. But it’s easier for society to demonize mental health than take the time to actually learn about it.

“Who is the lucky girl, by the way? Anyone from the Springs? I’ve lived here all of my forty-five years. I doubt I wouldn’t know her.” I knew he’d ask. Why wouldn’t he? He knows I’m lying. At the very least, he’s hoping I am. Anything to get another shot at my job. I just don’t have an answer or even a lie ready. “Coraline Whittaker.”

OH MY GOD 😩

“You work with Silas?” Little needles prick the back of my neck at how she says my name, reminding me how she said it the other night. A feeling I believed long gone pools in my gut. Desire. Desire to hear her say my name again. Gasp it. Moan it. Scream it.

She turns her head to look up at me, deep brown eyes shimmering from the lights. There is a softness that exists in her when her guard is down, and it’s just as breathtaking as her rough edges. Gently, I tuck a piece of hair just behind her ear before stroking a knuckle down her cheek. Hands that have done vicious things should not be allowed to touch things so delicate.

The group captures attention like a cloud of darkness. A hushed pause blankets the diner. Even the sound of clicking metal from the cooks in the back halt. It’s the Hollow Boys effect. A joke my group of friends used to make when they walked into a room. When you bear the weight of their last names and reputations, there is no flying under the radar. Whether it’s respect or fear, people stop, stare, and lower their voices when they arrive, no matter where they go or appear. Their eyes scan the diner’s retro interior, gazes finally settling on an empty booth not far from ours. Time spent away from Ponderosa Springs has not lessened their influence. It’s grown over the years. They are everything the prestigious pricks in Ponderosa Springs are terrified of. As teenagers, they were anarchy, a vicious wildfire that needed to be snuffed out but couldn’t be contained in time. Now that they are adults with total access to the money and power their legacy offers, there is no hope of deliverance. They’ll use their power to retaliate against the system that turned them into monsters the second they are tempted. It’s the rich devouring the rich. Everyone knows the truth, though. The Hollow Boys have always had sharper teeth.

I make it to the edge of the table. My teeth feel like they are going to break if I grind them together any harder. Four sets of eyes land on me. Thud. My palm slams onto the red surface, money sitting beneath it. I ignore the rest of them, meeting a pair of brown eyes that are much darker than my own, hiding secrets and unknown intentions. “Since this wasn’t clear enough the other night, let me be frank,” I mutter, hair falling over my shoulder as I push the money toward him. I reach into my bag, pulling out several more twenties and letting them fall to the table. “I can’t be bought, and this makes us even,” I say. “Dinner’s on me tonight, boys.”

Zoe Hawthorne glows with a soft touch of time and experience, fading into her later years with grace. Empathy pours from every smile. Everything about her is motherly, and I’ve been lucky to have her. All the guys are, especially Rook. He’s her favorite by far.

“Well, be safe tonight. Dad’s going to be upset he missed you, but I don’t want to wake him.” She pulls Rook into a tight hug that he returns, kissing him on the cheek softly. “Thank you for my flowers, sweet boy. Take care of my baby.” “Always, Ma,” Rook mutters, letting her squeeze a little tighter than normal before pulling away. When she walks toward me to give me the same love, I look down at her. “I’m an adult, you know?” “And? You’ll always be my baby. Give me a hug before you leave.” I swoop down, curling my arms around her waist, bending so that she can wrap her arms around my neck. She’s always smelled like vanilla since I was a kid. Now, no matter where I am, vanilla reminds me of home.

Despite all of that, one thing I know for certain? Easton Sinclair doesn’t love Sage. Maybe in his mind with his skewed view of love, it’s real to him. Or maybe it’s the power he had over her and her life that he craves. But he doesn’t love her. Not the way Rook does. There is a stark difference between the two. One would risk the girl for power. The other would give it all up for her. Rook is my best friend, but if it meant killing me or saving Sage? I’d be dead.

“Silas.” I release a breath. “I need⁠—” I need help. I need help. I need it, but I don’t know how to ask. How to rely on someone. “Whatever you need, it’s already yours.”

I am not weak. Not on the outside. I will not show them just how broken I really am. Even if one of them already knows. Regardless of my indifference toward him, my internal struggle with my attraction and need for distance, I know Silas will keep that secret. He won’t tell them just how broken and scared I am. Silas Hawthorne is the keeper of secrets. The unstoppable force and immovable object. Silent water, with unknown depths filled with mysteries he will take to his grave.

Thatcher tilts his head a bit, and I swear I see a flash of respect in his gaze. “I don’t care how sad your story is. We’re doing you the favor by being here.” I can’t help but scoff. “So, you know where he’s hiding, then? What his plan is?” I shake my head at their cluelessness. “There is no one who knows him better than me. I know how he moves, how he thinks. If you’re near me, uou’re ten steps closer to him.” “And we are supposed to take your word on that?” I take a threatening step forward. What’s the worst this dude is going to do? Kill me? He’ll have to do a lot more than that to scare me. The Hollow Boys are child’s play compared to what I’ve seen. “Let him lock you in a basement for two years, then you can ask me that fucking question again.” Thatcher’s cold eyes slit, chin lifting as he looks down at me. “You are child’s play compared to what I’ve seen. Help or don’t.” I shrug, dismissing him with my eyes before looking away. “I’m going to find my sister.”

Silas doesn’t speak, just waits for me to continue, giving me space to talk. It’s different, refreshing, to talk to someone who is truly listening, not just waiting to reply.

I may be too prideful to ask others for help sometimes, but for Lilac? I’d beg on the streets for change. I’d do anything to secure her future.

Silas leans forward, eyes narrowing as he considers my words. “No deal,” he grunts, the sound sending a tingle down my spine. “No one will believe that I’m unfaithful to my wife. They all know what happens when someone touches what belongs to me.” “I am not yours to own.” I seethe, my jaw tightening in anger. Heat and irritation swirl inside of me, a flame burning. “Right now, you aren’t.” His sharp teeth grip his lower lip making my body twitch as his eyes rake over my body, “In private, you can call all the shots. But to the rest of the world? You’re fucking mine, and I don’t share.” Electricity shoots down my spine. I’m not a thing to be owned, never again. But I can’t deny that the idea of letting Silas Hawthorne control my body turns me on.

As much as dislike the concept of being owned both in private and public, I get it. I resent that I understand it, but his loyalty to his family makes me admire him in a way I never expected.

The town may call this man a villain, but inside, he’s a lover boy. It gives off a smell. Good intentions and romance. His tender heart bleeds all over the ones he cares for. It’s easy to get a read on him, written on every inch of his being—someone who would give absolutely everything for those he loves.

HEY, ROSIE SILAS

“Silas, when we figure out where we’re going, can we have a garden?” “Sure.” “I wanna grow carnations.” “Carnations?” “And peonies!” “Okay.” “Say you swear.” We figured out where we were going, but the only garden Rosemary Donahue has now are the flowers I have delivered monthly to her tombstone. It’s been a while since I last stood here. I run my hand along the top of her grave. The stone is weathered, the letters of her name eroded, a painful reminder of the time that’s passed.

A familiar feeling gnaws at my gut. My ribs are tightly bound, only allowing me to take tiny, quick breaths. It’s the paper cut along sensitive skin, an unwanted reminder. It feels like nothing but guilt. Greedy, time-consuming guilt. I am alive, and she isn’t. I wasn’t there when she needed me. I could not save her. If we switched positions, like the many times I begged for, Rosemary’s life would be in full color. She would have made the most of every breath, every day. Turned even the worst moments into something beautiful, because that’s what she did. She was a beautiful existence. The space inside me, the one reserved for Rosie, aches. It’s not a choice; it’s an unwavering fact. She took with her a piece of me that no one will ever have again. It’s hers to keep—I’d never take it away from her.

My eyes find the ground that she is entombed by. It’s far too harsh to hold a girl who was too kind and far too gentle. “When I tell you this, I hope it makes sense. I hope you’re not upset and you know this time I’m doing this for the right reasons.” There is another breeze, stronger this time, knocking the hood off my head. I shake my head, running a palm across the top of my buzzed hair. She hated when I tried to hide in my hoodies.