Chapter One
Adley
Mom and Dad’s basement was spotless.Finished with recessed lighting, a big flat-screen TV on the wall, and carpet soft enough that my toes sank into it.Even the pullout couch I was lying on was new, with a memory foam mattress that didn’t stab me with rogue springs.It was nice.Comfortable.More than I deserved.
And that was the problem.
Thirty-one years old, back under my parents’ roof and sleeping on a pullout like I was a kid crashing home after a bad breakup.Except this wasn’t a breakup.This was fourteen years of trying to make it in Chicago and realizing the city had eaten me alive.
I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head.Maybe the darkness would erase the past fourteen years.
It didn’t.
All I could think about was how hard I’d worked at that marketing firm.How many late nights I’d stayed to polish presentations, and how many “great ideas” I’d pitched that ended up in somebody else’s slide deck.I wasn’t bad at the job.I was good, actually.But I was always stuck in the middle.Never the big shot.Never the creative director, and never the one in the corner office with a view of the lake.
I thought the grind would pay off.I thought being steady and dependable meant someone would finally notice.But promotions always went to somebody else’s nephew, or the company would “restructure” and cut off the rung I was climbing.I stayed stuck in place.I worked just to keep my head above water while Chicago kept raising the tide.
Rent hikes.Grocery bills that made you choose between fruit and electricity.Gas prices that felt like theft.And the tickets.Jesus, the tickets.Street cleaning, snow emergencies, red light cameras.There was always something tucked under my windshield wiper, like the city was sending me hate mail.
And don’t get me started on the tolls.That I-PASS beep still rang in my ears.Every drive was like a pay-per-view nightmare.Wisconsin, at least, let you use the damn roads without charging rent.
In the end, it came down to food or rent.Some weeks, I wasn’t sure I had chosen right.
So, I knew I had to go home.I texted Mom with shaky fingers and my pride shoved so far down my throat it burned.Can I come back?Just for a while?She’d called me back within minutes.“Always,” she said.“Drive safe.Do you need gas money?”
Not once did she make me feel like I was a failure.Dad didn’t either.The basement was waiting ready with its cozy couch and private bathroom.They gave me space without question.
Not even two days after I had gotten here, I had gone off on a crazy summer vacation with the ol’ ladies of not only the Fallen Lords, but also the Devil’s Knights.That had been a trip and a half.
Now I was back here, lying with the blanket pulled to my chin, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the other reason I’d left Weston in the first place.Mason.
I’d been eighteen and too sure of myself.Convinced that if I wanted something badly enough, the world would bend to give it to me.Mason was thirty then.Broad shoulders and a voice that rumbled when he spoke.He’d been a prospect in the club and was hopeful to be a full member.All the while as I got older, so did my crush on him.I didn’t really notice I was head over heels for him until I turned eighteen.Something had clicked, and I decided he was going to be mine.I might have been a little too confident.
I remembered cornering him by the soda machine with my heart racing harder than the bass from the jukebox.I kissed him, bold and trembling, sure he’d kiss me back.
He did, but only for a second.
Then he’d pulled away with his eyes soft but firm.“We can’t.”
I’d demanded to know why.He told me I was Slayer’s daughter, and that meant something.Respect.Loyalty.Club first.He said I was too young, and that it wasn’t right.
I’d called bullshit.I was an adult.So was he.But he wouldn’t budge.
So I left.Chicago had always been the school plan, but now it was my escape from the embarrassment of throwing myself at Mason.
That rejection still echoed fourteen years later.
The basement door creaked open.“You decent?”Mom’s voice floated down, warm and teasing.
“Fully clothed,” I called back.
She laughed as she came down the stairs, while balancing a tray with two mugs and a plate stacked with cinnamon toast.She set it on the ottoman and sank onto the bed beside me.“Morning, basement goblin.”
I pushed myself upright, and my hair fell in my face.“Mystical basement goblin.Get it right.”
“Noted.”She handed me a mug.Tea, not coffee.She always remembered.
I took a sip and nearly sighed.“This is why I came home.For this tea.Not for the rising cost of just living.”
