Ignite (Beneath the Blaze #2)

by Luna Mason

I shake my head. No. I don’t want anyone. Not now. Not even my best friend, Lily. I just want the dark. I want my bed and my dog, Bertie. I want to curl up and cry until nothing’s left.

oh, is she a capricorn? that is very me. dog. dark. solitude. cathartic sobbing. sleep. that's my favorite coping recipe.

Tears fall until I’ve got nothing left. Until my skull aches and my throat’s raw. This house, it was never just a house. It was our home. Because he was here. He was my constant. My compass. My everything. And now it’s just walls and silence. All I have left are the memories. And a garage with the cars we spent our lives fixing together. Maybe that’s where I’ll find him again. Maybe that’s where I’ll start to heal. Maybe that’s where I’ll find a little piece of happy. For both of us.

“I just have a lot going on.” I tap my head, and his face softens. “Always so busy in that head.” I nod. He has no idea what it’s like to live inside my brain. It’s like a squirrel on crack lives in there—every hour of every day—frantically running from one idea to another. It’s exhausting.

the ones who get it, GET IT. trust.

just looking at your ink. You’ve got a ton of it.” “I must like pain.” He flashed me a cheeky grin. “Physical is sometimes better than mental.” A somber look flashes across his face before he replaces it with a smile.

I haven’t spoken back much, because quite honestly, just hearing her yap her heart away is soothing.

bestie is a YAPPER. she needs a Conan

Her cheeks heat and she goes to turn away, but instead I grip her chin to keep her eyes on me. “It’s your turn to be a good girl and show this scumbag that he ain’t shit. Fuck him for disrespecting you.”

I’m supposed to hate the male species. But Conan? He’s doing a damn good job redeeming the entire population. He’s sweet. Dangerous. And so fucking hot I can’t think straight.

“I wouldn’t waste your time with her,” he mutters, voice bitter. “Boring as hell in bed. All she does is work and nap. Or cry about her dead dad.” Conan stiffens. His hand drops from me. And just like that, he shifts. The air cracks. The fury in his eyes? It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. His beast is unleashed.

Friends. That’s the line. And rule number one? You don’t fuck your friends.

“I wouldn’t have stopped you.” I say it steadily. Confidentially. His head snaps up. And I swear, my lungs stop working. Feral. That’s the only word for the way he looks at me. Whatever leash he had on himself? Gone. He stands abruptly and rounds the counter. I stay still, look up at him through my lashes, heart pounding like war drums. “What do you want from me, Hallie?” he asks, voice lowered to something dangerous and divine. I squeeze my thighs together. He’s way out of my league. I could never give him what he needs. I’m boring. Plain ol’ boring Hal. Just like Ben said. Stupid, stupid Hallie.

This world has fucked up everything for women. Taught them shame. Like they’re not allowed to want things. Need things. Like pleasure should only ever be a reward, never a right. Bullshit.

“Get on those knees then, beastie.” Fuck. My heart damn near breaks through my ribs. I hold the counter for support, my thigh screaming, but I don’t care. Not one bit. This injury won’t ruin tonight. I’ll tear it back open before I give this up. She grabs my whiskey and tilts her head back, letting the liquid sit in her mouth. When her fingers run through my hair, my breath catches. But when she yanks my head back and spits that whiskey into my mouth⁠— Holy. Fucking. Shit. The burn of the whiskey hits, but it’s nothing compared to her. “Kiss. Me. Please,” I beg.

It’s massive. Like, jaw-droppingly, medically concerningly huge.

"Hallie. Stop panicking. My dick isn’t going to break you." He’s amused. "I mean, you might be sore when I’m done. But you’ll survive, I promise." My eyes snap open. "How did you know?" He chuckles, and I ease a little. "I saw the way you looked at him."

“Bullshit,” he says flatly. “Also, did something happen with Hallie? She’s been skittish around me. I’m blaming you.”

My palms are sweating

palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. i cannot be the only one who does that every time that phrase is used. <.< right?

Me Hi, trouble. You okay? It sends. Too late to take it back. I stare at the screen. Has she read it? Fuck. I shouldn’t have sent it. She’s ghosting me. She doesn’t want to see me. She didn’t even come to check my stitches. I pace the mat, phone clutched in my fist. I feel crazy. Shit. Shit. Shit. I should’ve just let her go. But I swear I felt something. That spark my mom used to talk about. The one that tells you she’s it. The one. I wasn’t even looking. Two minutes pass. Still no reply. No read receipt. I consider throwing the phone into a wall. Or off a cliff. No. What if she replies? I laugh through my obsessive psycho moment, tossing the phone onto the mat.

a universal experience. and it sucks ass.

“Ew. You guys did it here, didn’t you?” A sly smile pulls at my lips. “Maybe. Maybe it was right on that chair.” I point at her. “Ugh. Don’t. I need to get laid, Hallie.”

lmfao this is so me and Sami

Maybe it is for the best. Or maybe… Me I’m going for a drive… want to join me? I stare at the message. Then delete it before I hit send.

*smh* idiot.

Conan turns to me, amusement practically radiating off him. “I thought bossy Hallie was my favorite. But jealous Hallie, claiming me in front of a group of women? That takes the prize.”

The spark I lost seems to ignite again when I’m around him.

“If I could turn off the four thousand thoughts in my brain, trust me, I would.” That’s half my issue. My brain never stops. Sometimes it’s amazing. I can juggle a million things at once, ace anything academic, and dive into any creative pursuit. But the other side? Perfectionism. Self-doubt. Constant overthinking. I’ll talk myself out of something before I even give it a chance. ADHD is like that. It’s my sparkle, but sometimes, it dims everything else if I let it.

OOF. So real.

Dear God, she’s beautiful.

Conan you little cutie! >.<

“Don’t cut yourself just to see me again, Mr. Quinn. Otherwise I’ll send you to psychiatric.” I erupt into laughter. “No shrink wants to see inside my head, baby. Trust me.”

Not even my mother. Who I haven’t heard from in years, by the way.

oh great, what kind of bullshit is she gonna show up and try to pull.... <.< that feels like foreshadowing.

I giggle at his words and press dial. I want to hear his voice. It’s been a whole day without it. He picks up on the first ring.

That sound, that’s my girl. She’s in the top two. “Come on, baby.”

Then I move like a shadow with a hard-on.

what a mental image. lmfao >.<

At first I thought he’d lost the plot being so head over heels over a woman. Now? I get it. That life, that little bubble of calm he’s built, means everything to him. Maybe I can have my own version of that. Hallie sets her sights on me with a bright smile, and my heart stutters, then pounds. Yeah. She is my happy place. I’m certain of it.

Holy shit. I’m getting eaten out on the hood of a Bugatti in a parking lot. I’ve officially lost my mind.

“She’s only my mother because she gave birth to me. She’s never been a mom.

oh fuck. is she the one that enters her in the chase for the payday at the end? ugh i hate this

I chew on the inside of my mouth. “I’ve always wanted to smother a patient with a pillow, like they do in films.” Finn chuckles and shakes his head. “First it was the damn map on the desk, now it’s smothering. You need to watch less TV.”

“Fuck you.” He spits at me and I duck it easily. “No, thanks. Even if I did swing that way, I’d want someone who performs better.

“Keep this up, I’m sending you for psychiatric testing.” I chuckle and clasp his shoulder. “I’ll go if you go. And we both know you’ll be the one ending up in a padded room and a straightjacket, you fucking psycho.” His jaw twitches and I wait for his reaction. Nothing. “A true psychopath can bullshit their way out of diagnosis, Conan. No one would lock me up anywhere. And if they tried, I’d slit their throats first.” Jesus Christ. I step back. “What happened to you?” I ask. He chuckles.

I’m angry. So goddamn angry. At the world. At him. At myself. Because if I’d just listened—just let him explain—maybe none of this would be happening. Maybe I wouldn’t have to stand here wondering if the father of my baby is about to die. Life can rip away everything you love in an instant. I saw it happen to my dad. And now, I’m watching it happen all over again.