Novels by BlueHaze

TRISTANAll it took for Myles to reluctantly agree to accompany us to the rink was Mila giving him that puppy-dog look. He had a soft spot for her, and Mila, ever the opportunist, milked it.Mum surprisingly tagged along, and they all sat in the back seat with Myles, while Al and I listened to their cackles filling the car. Our trips were never this lively. I knew what had changed.At the rink, I realized Mila wasn’t there for me. So, I stood aside with Al, who kept giving me comforting pats on the shoulder as we watched Myles push Mila around.Once or twice, he gave me a wave. The rest of the time, when Mila sat on the pew, trying not to choke on her ice cream, Myles rode her wheelchair.Mum, always exuding class and sophistication, tucked her glasses in and let herself go as Myles wheeled her around the rink."Your father wouldn’t believe this," Al murmured, a crack of amusement in his once stoic face. "Myles just stole all his favorite women."I grumbled in response, knowing that

MYLESA loud scream echoed through the room, jolting me awake as my eyes snapped open. My panicked, dazed gaze scanned the blurry room, struggling to understand where I was and why it felt so different from my own. And what was the firm hardness pressing into my back...?"OMG, they look like lovebirds," said a light, feminine voice."Aww, sorry, Mila, your crush is obviously your brother's boyfriend.""Shut up and just take pictures. Tristan can't lie his way out of this one," the familiar voice huffed.Then giggling. They sounded distant. An arm wrapped around my frame, the hardness pressing further into my back, warmth enveloping me. I sighed, my drowsy gaze drifting closed again. It felt right... so right..."Oh my God, Mila! Mila! Did you see that?"Wait... Mila... Tristan's sister... birthday... cellar... room. Giggling. Giggling in the room. My lids snapped open, eyes widening at the sight of three girls at the door, one with her camera out."What... What are you..." I stopped w

'You know, I'm really going to miss you a lot.'Theodore had screamed for help in a thousand ways, a thousand and one times he had walked up to me. But my head was too far up my own ass to see it, to let myself listen to everything he was really saying. And when he showed it, I didn't believe him.That night, I called the police, and as they checked the scene, sealing the 9mm as evidence, I let them take me, let them lock me up refusing their reminder to call anyone.He had thought about this, made sure there were no other fingerprints on the ammunition except for his own, leaving me a note that said, "Don’t touch anything. Love you, grumpy."In that cell, before my uncle came through, I realized not every hurt can be blocked out. The regret, it comes to haunt you, the guilt probing until all you can do is keep trying to shut it all out.Theodore didn’t have a burial service. I watched nearby in the cemetery as his father barked orders to just "shove the box inside; he had somewhere

"...We weren't close. Even though we both went to Aspen High. I saw him around, but he didn't register in my head. Just like the others, he stayed out of my way." I wondered why... Pfft, he wasn't that observant, was he? Tristan was really going through with telling me everything. Although every word was hesitant and forced, he continued, his voice filling the darkness. "...High school was when he caught my attention... I bumped into him on my way to the rink, tending to a black eye he was trying to hide. I didn't need to ask what happened..." He sighed. "I wasn't about to. It was none of my business. Should have kept it that way." He raked his fingers down his face. "After the game, I went for a shower when I bumped into him again in the bathroom, getting knocked out." He resumed, "...So I stepped in." "I made a lot of mess, enough to get me expelled," he chuckled, "But I was needed for the next game, so I was pardoned with a warning." "Or because your uncle stepped in,

TRISTANMyles walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, drying his damp, thick hair with a smaller towel. I wondered how many hours it would take for that hair to dry, and how many more hours he'd stay awake.He looked at me, sitting on the floor, on the thick bedspread I'd gotten from the other guestroom while he showered, his brows furrowed."What are you doing there, Tristan?" he asked with a frown. "Why are you on the floor?""No reason..." I answered, lying on my back and scrolling through my phone. If he noticed I was avoiding looking at him, he didn't say anything. If he'd just get clothed already... If only he knew what he did to me."So... you just decided to sleep on the floor?""You heard me the first time.""Yeah, I did. But it doesn't really make sense."I shifted onto my side, turning my back to him. "Turn off the light when you're done."He said nothing, and for the next ten minutes, I listened to him move around the room as quietly as a ghost. Yes,

MYLESI kicked the door hard, but it didn't budge. Turning one last time, I glared at the son of a gun, but this time he wasn't looking at me.He pulled out a bottle of wine, blowing hard against the dust, and made a face—obviously, it wasn't what he wanted. Wasn't as strong as he wanted.Sweat trailed down my back, drenching my shirt. I sighed, fingers reaching up to pop open the first three buttons of my dress shirt.I had been so afraid he was pissed at my intrusion into his family, I hadn't noticed the cellar was way down—a whole room deep into this very large house.And no matter how loud I yelled and banged my now aching fists against the door, no one showed up. No one was coming; he knew.I slid down the wall, staring up at the ceiling. What if we died in here? I looked down at my phone, the service spot screaming a crimson red. The party must have been over."Given up already?" The smug voice filtered into my ears.This time I turned and glared, glad he could see it. Just how