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Chapter Seventeen

作者: Hxn
last update 公開日: 2026-05-26 23:25:59

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LUCAS

I probably should not have helped Shaw Carter rebuild his life.

That felt important to acknowledge.

There were several reasons for this.

First: he was technically an ex-felon with anger issues and prison trauma.

Second: I was me.

Third—and honestly most importantly—I was originally supposed to hate him properly and consistently.

Instead, I was currently sitting shirtless beside him on the Hale family lawn while he held together the torn remains of his résumé l
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  • The Wrong Type of Free   Chapter Nineteen

    First ImpressionsSHAWLucas Hale’s Bugatti met my expectations, of course. I sat stiffly in the passenger seat trying very hard not to touch anything unnecessarily because every surface looked expensive enough to sue me personally if I damaged it. The leather seats were smooth black with blue stitching. The dashboard glowed softly beneath tinted glass. Even the air-conditioning smelled expensive somehow.How does air smell expensive?Rich people were terrifying.Meanwhile, Lucas looked completely at home behind the wheel like he was born inside luxury vehicles and personally breastfed by capitalism.“This car should honestly be illegal,” I muttered.Lucas smirked without taking his eyes off the road.“It practically is.”The engine purred beneath us like something alive.No, not purred.It literally growled.The Bugatti felt less like a car and more like a very wealthy predator.Lucas tapped the steering wheel lazily before suddenly accelerating hard.My entire body slammed back aga

  • The Wrong Type of Free   Chapter Eighteen

    Equal ClassSHAWLucas stood so abruptly that it startled me.He was sprawled comfortably across the lawn taking unauthorized pictures of my suffering one second ago. And the next, he was on his feet clutching his phone dramatically against his chest like a Victorian woman protecting her virtue.“Absolutely not,” he declared.I blinked up at him from the grass. “What?”“You’re going to ruin this phone too.”I stared at him in disbelief.“You smashed your phone yourself.”Lucas pointed at me immediately. “You caused the circumstances.”“I did not. You slammed me into a wall!”“And yet somehow my screen still suffered most.”“That’s because you launched it across the bathroom like a fucking frisbee!”Lucas narrowed his eyes at me thoughtfully.“You’re unusually argumentative for someone unemployed.”I scoffed loudly and pushed myself upright from the grass. “You’re insane.”“And you’re still jobless. Shut the fuck up and focus.”I hated that he always found my loops to pull on them.Lu

  • The Wrong Type of Free   Chapter Seventeen

    Professional RecommendationsLUCASI probably should not have helped Shaw Carter rebuild his life.That felt important to acknowledge.There were several reasons for this.First: he was technically an ex-felon with anger issues and prison trauma.Second: I was me.Third—and honestly most importantly—I was originally supposed to hate him properly and consistently.Instead, I was currently sitting shirtless beside him on the Hale family lawn while he held together the torn remains of his résumé like a grieving widow.Life came at you fast.“I might know how to help you,” I said.Immediately, Shaw narrowed his eyes at me like I’d announced plans to sell him illegally on the dark web.Fair.“Why do you look evil when you say helpful things?” he asked suspiciously.“That’s just my face.”“No, it’s not.”“It absolutely is.”He squinted harder.The sunlight caught against his hair annoyingly well today. His green eyes looked brighter outside. Softer too. Prison stripped a lot out of him, but

  • The Wrong Type of Free   Chapter Sixteen

    EmployableSHAWGetting a job turned out to be significantly harder when society already had paperwork proving you were a terrible person.Who knew?I sat alone in the backyard with my phone balanced on my stomach and Mrs. Able’s laptop open beside me like it personally offended me. The Hale mansion stretched quietly behind me while sunlight beat against the lawn hard enough to make my eyes ache.Mrs. Able offered breakfast earlier.I lied and said I already ate, then I borrowed her laptop.Truthfully, I didn’t want conversation.Didn’t want Lucas.Didn’t want Richard Hale’s quiet disappointment floating around the dining room like expensive air freshener.Mostly, I just needed silence.I had less than a week before my next parole update with Ramos.Less than a week to become useful.The thought alone made my chest tight.I scrolled through another job listing and immediately regretted being literate.Nighttime industrial waste cleaner.What the fuck even was industrial waste?I kept

  • The Wrong Type of Free   Chapter Fifteen

    MeltwaterSHAWThe speed of it shocks me most.One second Lucas is submerged in freezing water looking half-dead and emotionally gutted. He’s out of the tub the next second.Water crashing everywhere.My back slammed against the wall hard enough to rattle the mirror, and his hand formed a stem around my throat.I stare at him in stunned silence.Jesus Christ.He moved like instinct. Like panic gave his body permission before his brain caught up.Although his hold isn’t hurting, it’s enough to send a warning signal and a stupid wave of something down my spine.Cold water dripped from his hair onto my shirt. His skin was freezing against mine—so cold it almost burned through the damp fabric sticking to my chest.Our faces were a few inches away, too close. All that’s left of us were his rough breaths and my muffled ones. I can see the pulse jumping wildly in his throat.“You,” he said roughly, tightening his grip slightly, “do not get to play with things that can destroy me.”Neither of

  • The Wrong Type of Free   Chapter Fourteen

    Ice Baths & Emotional Blackmail LUCAS Ice packs. Cigarettes. Ice packs. I kept reciting these words like a mantra as I stacked up the basket with seven packs of ice. And also, if I reminded myself that those two things were what was going to calm me down, maybe my breathing would regulate. But it didn’t. It kept catching halfway into my lungs like my body forgot how oxygen works. I made it through the hallway and up the stairs, refusing to look at whatever expression Shaw, Mrs. Able, and the Officer wore downstairs. I couldn’t care less. My hands shake while unlocking the bathroom. I barely remember closing the door behind me. The memories are too loud now—Mom smiling through tears and blood. The fire swallowed her whole. My father said my mother was dead because of your behavior. It’s my fault she’s dead. It always has been. Fourteen years later and somehow my brain still treats that horrible day like it happened yesterday. My brain is my very own persecutor. How patheti

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