Chapter 25
Blaze
“Max, what the hell are you doing here?” I stare at him, squatted in front of my door, a golden cup beside him with fucking flowers. Flowers?
He looks up, wide-eyed, his trembling hands trailing along my body. “What happened to you?”
I ignore him, the throbbing pain in my side making it hard to breathe, and unlock my door. “How long have you been sitting here?”
“Since this morning… I was worried.” His voice is small, and for some reason, that annoys me. I don’t need anyone worrying about me.
I step inside, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, down it in a single gulp, and sink into the chair like my body’s made of bricks. My ribs scream in protest.
Max stands awkwardly at the door, eyes glued to me. “I… I won the race.”
I glance at him, trying to ignore the way my chest tightens. “Congrats.” My voice is flat, because I know where this is going.
He takes a few steps closer, like he’s afraid I might bite. “So… what about my confession?”
Shit. I completely forgot. I promised him a response if he won. And now here he is, waiting like some lovesick puppy.
I rub my temples. “I’ll think about it.”
His face falls. “But you promised…”
“I just gave you a response,” I snap, more harshly than I intended. His shoulders flinch. “I’ll think about it.”
The truth is, Max’s poppy love is the least of my problems right now. As much as I’d like to play along, I’m in no fucking position to be doing ‘relationships’ with a kid.
Max stares at me, his lower lip trembling slightly. I hate that. That fucking vulnerability. I’m not who he thinks I am. And he’ll realize that sooner or later.
“I should go,” he mutters. “I’ll… wait for your answer.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, closing my eyes as he leaves. I don’t watch him go. I can’t.
The second the door clicks shut, my phone buzzes. I groan, already knowing who it is.
“Yeah?”
The old man’s boy. Fucking perfect.
“We can tell your mother’s condition isn’t good,” the voice says smoothly, like they aren’t talking about my mom slowly wasting away in that hellhole. “She needs a nurse to take care of her while she’s here.”
My throat tightens. “How the fuck am I supposed to get the money for that?”
“The boss says then you must clear your debt on time.”
I hear the unspoken threat. I always do.
The call ends, and I just sit there, staring at my hands, my head pounding, my chest tight.
Tears prick my eyes, hot and furious. My mom’s suffering. I left her there to suffer. What kind of son am I?
The doorbell rings, and I already know it’s Felix.
I drag myself up and open the door. Felix looks worried, his eyes scanning me like he’s about to launch into a million questions.
“They didn’t let me stay after I walked into the old man’s mansion,” he says, stepping inside. “So I went back to the race ground. I came here in the morning, but you weren’t here… I got scared. Been calling you, but…”
I wave him off, closing the door behind him. “Someone saved me.”
He raises a brow but doesn’t push. He knows I won’t say more.
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on me like a fucking anchor.
I hesitate, then ask, “Felix… if someone offered to pay off my debt to the old man, but in return, I’d have to work for them… a dangerous job… what would you say?”
Felix’s eyes darken. “I’d say take it. You can’t pay a private nurse to take care of your mother there, but if someone pays off your debt, at least you’re free of that man. He’s too dangerous, Blaze. You know that.”
I swallow hard, nodding slowly.
Felix watches me for a long moment, like he knows there’s more I’m not saying. But he doesn’t press.
He never does.
Felix doesn’t stay long. He knows me well enough to leave when I get like this—silent, brooding, my mind a fucking warzone.
When the door shuts behind him, the weight of everything crashes down. The old man’s words, my mother’s condition, the goddamn reality that no matter how hard I try to fight, I’m losing.
I stare at my phone for a long time, knowing exactly who could solve this in a heartbeat.
Carlo.
The name alone makes my stomach churn.
No. I’m not calling him.
I throw the phone onto the coffee table like it’s poisoned and lean back, closing my eyes, but all I see is the old man’s face, sneering at me, telling me I’ll never be free of him.
The urge to punch something builds, hot and fast. Instead, I reach for my phone again, this time dialing the only person I can think of who might help.
My boss at the club.
It rings twice before he picks up, his voice gruff and distracted. “Blaze? What’s up?”
I hesitate, hating that I even have to make this call. “I… I need a loan.”
There’s a pause. “A loan?”
“Yeah. It’s for my mom.”
Another silence. Longer this time. I know what he’s thinking—people like me don’t ask for help. We fight our own battles.
“How much?”
I swallow, my throat tight. “A lot.”
“How much is a lot?”
I can’t say it. The number’s stuck in my throat like a goddamn razor blade. Millions. The kind of money people like us don’t just ask for.
“Never mind,” I mutter, hanging up before he can respond.
I throw the phone again, harder this time, and it skids across the floor, hitting the wall with a dull thud.
Fuck.
I’m losing it.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, breathing hard, trying to pull myself together, but the panic is right there, crawling under my skin, whispering in my ear.
I can’t afford a private nurse for my mom.
I can’t keep up with the old man’s debt.
And I sure as hell can’t ask my boss—or anyone else—for millions.
The reality of it hits me like a freight train, cold and brutal. I’m out of options.
Except one.
No.
I stand up, pacing the small living room like a caged animal. I won’t do it. I won’t go to him.
I’d rather fucking die.
The next day, I head to the club, hoping work will drown out the noise in my head. It doesn’t.
The music’s loud, the lights too bright, the customers rowdy as always, but I’m not really here. I’m thinking about my mom, alone in that house, and the old man’s voice, always there, reminding me I belong to him.
By the time my shift ends, I’m on edge, every nerve stretched tight.
I step outside into the cool night air, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands, inhaling deep and hoping the burn will ground me.
It doesn’t.
I lean against the wall, staring up at the stars, and before I can stop myself, I’m reaching for my phone again.
I scroll through my contacts, my thumb hovering over Carlo’s name.
One call, and this nightmare would be over.
I could have the money by tomorrow.
My mother could have the care she needs.
I wouldn’t have to live with this crushing weight on my chest.
I close my eyes, my thumb inching closer…
No.
I slam my phone back into my pocket like it just burned me.
I won’t do it.
I can’t give him that power over me again.
I’d rather fucking drown.
By the time I get home, it’s late, and I’m exhausted, but sleep isn’t happening.
I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, thinking about my mom, the old man, and the endless fucking hole I’m in.
The walls feel like they’re closing in.
I grab my keys and leave, not knowing where I’m going, just needing to move.
I end up at the racetrack, of course.
It’s empty this time of night, the bleachers dark and silent, the track lit only by the faint glow of the city in the distance.
I sit on one of the seats, smoking another cigarette, letting the cold seep into my bones, trying to clear my head.
It doesn’t work.
I can still feel the noose tightening.
I spent the next few days in a haze.
I go to work. I came home. I avoid Felix, avoid Max, avoid everyone.
I can’t let them see me like this—this close to breaking.
I avoid my phone, too, because I know if Carlo calls, I might pick up.
And I can’t.
I can’t give him that satisfaction.
I’d rather burn my life to the ground.