Chapter Two


The metal benches at Beacon Hills High School are freezing my ass. Mom shivers alongside me, and both of us snuggle close for warmth. The kids out on the field are not even wearing jackets. How are they not expected to catch pneumonia?

Mom nudges my side. There's a man around her age that sits on her right side. I remember him as Scott's childhood friend's father. "Halden, do you remember Noah?"

"Yeah. Sheriff Stilinski, right?"

Noah's pale blue eyes asses me — pausing on my vibrant hair, but eventually nods. "Yeah. It's
been a few years. Nice to see you kiddo. Stiles didn't mention anything about you coming back in town."

"It wasn't planned. I only came back a few days ago."

Mom points at number 11 emerging from the locker rooms. "Can you believe Scott is actually going to be playing this year?"

"Hopefully Stiles will be next. It'll be nice to actually see one of our sons' play this year."

"I'm sure with a little more practice he'll be first line by next year."

Coach Finstock blows a whistle and the team gathers in a huddle before they go out on the field. I remember him being a lunatic. He was my gym teacher my Freshman year of high school — the only year I completed at Beacon Hills before I moved. I ditched his class everyday to get stoned under the bleachers, and he still gave me an A. Said he appreciated that some of us still "lived like they did in the eighties," and gave me a high five. I think he knew my parents were getting a divorce.

The whistle blows and the game starts with an eruption. A red haired girl a few rows up screams bloody murder. I'm thinking of wrapping my hands around her pretty neck. I can't lie for a high school game the pride is kind of inspiring.

Lacrosse is not that difficult to follow — it is pretty similar to hockey, which was one of Jacob's favorite hobbies. The only thing… it's as if Scott's team is purposely not passing him the ball, which is entirely illogical if they want to win. He's open and can totally take it, but they throw it to someone else. The other team takes the ball, again.

"What the hell are they doing?" I ask. Maybe Mom knows of Scott having any bullies on his team. "Why aren't they passing the ball to Scott?"

Mom shrugs. "I don't know."

Near the end of the game Scott manages to get the ball, and he rips the other team a new one. He's jumping over people and doing acrobatic flips (the hell did little bro learn that?) and dodging past other players within seconds of them clipping him. He reels back his arm and let's the ball loose. It breaks the net. Breaks. The. Net.

Mom and I jump out of our seats cheering. She wraps me in a hug and we start jumping in place. Noah is clapping proudly beside us. We turn to look for Scott, but he's nowhere on the field.

"Where did he go?" I question.

"Probably the locker room," Mom says. "Let's go wait in the car. It's freezing out here." She pulls Noah into a hug. "It' great to see you, Noah."

"You too, Melissa. Stay safe. Nice to see you again Halden. Will you be sticking around for a while?"

I bite my lip. "Yeah."

Beacon Hills isn't half bad.

The car is not much of an improvement. Mom blasts the heat, but it's a few degrees warmer at best. We huddle over the vents as if it's an open fire.

A few minutes of shivering pass before Scott is shoving himself into the backseat. He's sweaty and out of breath with eyes wide as he buckles himself in.

"You okay little bro?"

He draws out a long exhale. "Yeah. Just ran to the car. Tired."

"Good. I'm really proud of you. You were amazing out there."

He smiles brightly. "Thanks Haldey."

"Scott, when in the hell did you learn to do those flips?" Mom asks.

"I've been practicing…"

"So that's what all that noise has been. I didn't want to ask."

Scott turns bright red. "Mom!"

Mom manages to get out of the crowded parking lot expertly. A warmth grows in the pit of my stomach as I glance in the rearview mirror. Scott is staring out the window with a dimpled grin, fingers tapping softly to the radio. Mom hums along to the song. It's the first time in a long time things feel like they make sense.


The next morning I'm home alone.

There's a darkness that's been swallowing me for months — probably years. I let it consume so much I don't even feel like myself some days. I just… I don't have anyone anymore.

Under the bed I pull out the shoebox I slipped under on the first day. It doesn't contain much, but they are all I have left of Jacob's things. His parents' wouldn't let me take anything else, and sold all of his belongings to pay off any debt he left after his death. We were not married, so it's not as if I had rights to any of his belongings. There is a musky tee-shirt that smells like marijuana and cheap cologne, and hidden photographs of green and blue skin that I kept just in case.

I deserve this emptiness. The only reason I feel this way is because of me, and who I am. I take one of my pills and grab my keys. I unknowingly drive in the direction of the preserve. Jacob and I lived in a trailer a few towns over, so we were always close to the forest in our neighborhood. There were days we hardly had money to do much else than pay our rent and smoke, and we would take long walks through the dewy forest getting stoned. They were some of the more favorable memories of Jacob. It wasn't Beacon Hills Preserve, but the fall leaves bring a sense of tranquility that I cannot find anywhere else.

I park the car and step into the crisp air. It smells strongly of pine and fallen leaves.

I don't know how long I walk for, but I'm interrupted from the silence by a soft masculine voice.

"What are you doing here?"

My entire body goes rigid. "Please don't rape me!" I yelp. My hands come up to cover my face. I don't bother running, so stoned I can't even fathom doing anything more than hiding my freaking face.

There is no response. Squinting, I peak through my fingertips. I'm standing on the porch of a burnt down house in the middle of the forest. There's a man standing before me in a black leather jacket with a five o'clock shadow. He's devilishly handsome. Olive toned skin that's an odd combination of tan and pale at the same time (how is that logical?) and his raven hair is spiked up in all directions, like he couldn't be bothered to brush it. Or didn't have a brush considering he came out of a burnt down house? Is he homeless? If homeless men look like him then I might think about retiring now. What's the point when you can live in the wild with that?

A deep glare is set on his face and his pale green eyes narrow. "Why are you here?" he repeats slower this time.

I glance around nervously for an escape. We are the only ones here. I don't even know how long I've been walking. The pill makes me lose track of time.

"Ugh… I was just walking. I, um, don't know why I'm here."

His nostrils flare. "Are you Scott McCall's sister?"

I frown. "How do you know Scott?"

And holy shit. It is Derek freaking Hale. This is the Hale house, a dead body was founded on this property this week. And he knows my brother by name. But he doesn't know me by name, and we had gym together — rude. Damn… he really did grow into his ears.

"I thought you were in jail." I slap a hand over my mouth.

Derek's scowl deepens. "It was an animal attack. A wolf. I was released."

"So a wolf buried a dead body on your property?"

"Yes."

I blink. "I'm sorry. That's awful."

"Why are you here?" The last word comes out as a growl.

I take a step back and nearly fall down the stairs, but Derek grabs my arm. I nearly fall again at the contact of his warm skin touching my chilled flesh.

"I'm sorry… I'll-I'll go. I just… I said I was walking," I snip. Then I realize I just snapped at an
alleged murderer (who cares if he claims it was a wolf). "Yeah. I'm going to go. Now."

I try to pull away, but Derek's grip on my arm doesn't waver. I eye him warily.

"I won't hurt you," he says slowly. "I didn't mean to come off so… harsh. This is private property."

"I'll just be going…"

"My name is Derek."

"Um, I-I know."

Derek gives me a practiced smile. It's the kind that dangerous boys give when they are seeking out their prey. Jacob used to give me that same smile. "What's your name?"

"Halden."

"That's a beautiful name."

"I guess…"

"You shouldn't be out in the woods alone," Derek says. His fingertips slide down my arm causing goosebumps.

"I-I know."

"How about I walk you back to your car?"

"It's okay I can-"

He flashes me a grin. "-I insist. It'll worry me not knowing if you made it home alright. There are wolves wondering around."

Apparently I don't have a choice. He shuts the red door behind him and I nervously start down the porch steps and into the thick of the forest. It's awkward and tense. I feel as if any moment Derek might stab me or something crazy. It's not like anyone would hear me scream.

"Your hair is a very interesting color," Derek states.

"I like it." My tone is more defensive than I intend. I glance at him to see a smirk growing on his lips.

"I like it too."

We are quiet again.

"Would you like my jacket?" He doesn't wait for my answer. Sliding his arms out of the black leather, he wraps the jacket around my shoulders. "You're shivering."

"Thanks." I put my arms inside the sleeves grateful. To be honest, it is chilly outside.

My 2004 burgundy Chevy Impala comes into view and I pray to whatever gods are listening that Derek Hale won't slaughter me.

He doesn't.

He holds my door open and waits until I slide into the drivers seat.

"Thanks for walking me," I tell him awkwardly.

Derek smirks. "I'll see you around, Halden."

Then he leaves. I watch him in his black Henley and too tight dark blue jeans (that make his ass look amazing) walk off. My brows furrow and I don't start the car until he is out of sight.

The fuck just happened?

I don't give myself time to think it over. I start the car, go home, and crawl into my bed.


Later, I lounge around the living room with Netflix. Sprawled on the couch stewing in the high when the front door slams open. Scott nosily makes his presence known with destruction as he kicks off his shoes.

Turning off the TV I stretch my arms high above my head. "Mom already went to sleep. I told her I'd wait up for you."

"You didn't have to do that…"

"Well, if I didn't she would have. She works the mid-shift tomorrow. I wanted her to get some rest. By the way — I made lasagna. Leftovers are in the fridge if you're hungry."

He raises a brow skeptically. "You know how to cook?"

"Yes?"

Scott walks backwards into the kitchen still giving me an expression of wariness. I follow him. He takes out the food and makes himself a plate. Both of us are silent as he heats it up in the microwave.

I sit down at the table across from him and watch him take his first bite. His chocolate eyes grow large. "This is really good."

"Glad you like it."

"When did you learn how to cook? Last thing I remember is you destroying mac and cheese on your last visit."

"I was fourteen." I roll my eyes. "Dad doesn't cook, so I had to learn or live off takeout. Then I moved out with Jacob, and he taught me some of his family recipes."

"I'm sorry about him," Scott mutters, his eyes averting to his food. "Really sorry."

"Yeah. Me too."

I stand from the table and go to my room. I can still feel my high, but I feel edgy and I need something. I grab my prescription for Oxycodone and take one of the pills.

"What's that? What are you taking?"

I jump at Scott's accusing voice. He's hovering in the doorway with a dark glare.

"My pain killers?" I hold out the bottle for him and he swiftly walks in to examine. He pops open the bottle and checks the pills to make sure they match the description. I'm lucky I hid my other pills under the mattress, but I cross my arms irritated either way.

"Why do you have pain killers?"

My finger points to the stitches on my head. "Car accident."

Scott hands them back. He watches me take the pill dry. I put the bottle away and start to get my room ready for much needed rest, while I wait for the painkiller to kick in.

"What's up?" I question as I realize Scott is still hovering awkwardly in the doorway.

"Where did you get that jacket?"

I'm alarmed by the easy going tone switching to panicky so abruptly. My eyes are searching for whatever caused Scott's sudden distress. "What?"

"That-that jacket!" Scott goes over to my desk chair and holds up the leather jacket. "Where did you get this?"

"Oh…"

"Oh? Haldey, what?"

"I was out in the woods this morning taking a walk and I bumped into Derek Hale… He said he was released from jail because the dead body was from an animal attack. He wouldn't let me walk back to my car alone because he said it's dangerous in the forest and he gave me his jacket when he saw I was cold," I told him trying to be chill about the fact that I let a potential (very hot) murderer walk me to his car.

"You have to stay away from him. He is the dangerous thing in the forest!" Scott shrieks.

"Scott I went to school with Derek. He's harmless. It's obviously a sad and misfortunate misunderstanding. Also, it's not like I intend to hang out with him. The guy is weird. All glare-y and then suddenly all smiley. I think he's bipolar. Not that I blame him considering his family…"

"He smiled at you?" he questions angrily.

"Yes."

"You need to stay out of the woods."

"Excuse me?"

"Stay out of the woods! And stay away from Derek Hale. He's a murderer."

"First of all, I had no intention of going anywhere near Derek Hale, but I'll go wherever the hell I want Scott McCall. I'm an adult."

"You're nineteen. You're not an adult. You can't even function without being stoned all the time."

"Get out of my room!"

Scott throws up his hands. "Seriously Hald-"

"Get out!"

My brothers eyes flash a golden hue and I furrow my brows. What the hell? But they are brown now, or always were. I'm probably hallucinating from the drugs.

"I'm exhausted Scott. Get out so I can go to sleep."

"Fine." He turns and stomps out of the room, the door slams shut loudly behind him. I jump at the crackling sound. Spider-like cracks splinter through the wooden frame.

"Shit…" I walk over and finger the edges of the frame. "Is he on steroids or something?"

Suddenly the door swings open once more and I back up before it hits me in the face. Scott is seething, "I'm not on steroids! Unlike you, I know drugs are bad!"

I hold up my hands.

Scott shuts the door much softer this time. I glare at the door as I change into my pajamas and crawl into bed. The pain killers are starting to swarm my vision, everything blurring at the edges. I let myself drift off to sleep.


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