War & Mayhem Book 4: Skitzo
Autore
Gina O’Connor
Letto da
159K
Capitoli
21
Skitzo is a silent storm in the Highway Jokers—deadly, unreadable, untouchable. But when Rowan walks back into town after years away, everything cracks. She’s no longer the sweet girl he broke, and he’s no longer the reckless boy who didn’t know how to love her right. The air between them is thick with what-ifs, near-touches, and buried hurt that won’t stay quiet. She’s here for a funeral, not forgiveness. But fate’s got its own twisted sense of humor. He can survive any street fight, but staring down the woman he shattered? That’s a whole different war. And this time, losing her again might just break him for good.
Chapter 1
Skitzo: Book 4
ROWAN
EIGHT YEARS AGO
“You need to talk to him, Ro. He needs to know—before you leave tomorrow,” Claudia said, squeezing my hand, her thumb brushing away the tears streaming down my face.
“I’m scared, Dia…” My voice cracked as I tried to swallow the sobs threatening to spill again. “We haven’t spoken in weeks. And now this? He’s going to hate me…”
Claudia pulled me into her arms, but the comfort was brief. She pulled back, grabbed my jacket from the chair, and helped me into it.
“Where are you going?” I asked as she zipped her own jacket up.
“We’re not sitting here all night while you cry over a guy who should be crying over you. You’re going to tell him. Tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because it kills me to see you like this,” she snapped. “He’s your boyfriend, Ro. If he loved you like you love him, he’d be here right now.”
Her words stung, but she was right. I couldn’t leave without telling Beau. Not like this.
“I know you’re scared,” she said more softly, taking my hand and dragging me toward her car, “but I’ll be there every step of the way—even when I leave in a few weeks.”
The ride to Beau’s was quiet. My hands trembled in my lap while my thoughts spiraled out of control.
Two months ago, my dad got a job offer in the UK. At first, I told him to take it—I didn’t think it would happen.
I thought we had time. But then it was real—we were moving.
I told Beau…and everything crumbled. One fight. One brutal, venom-laced argument.
One soul-crushing silence that followed. We hadn’t spoken since.
Claudia’s hand on mine pulled me out of my thoughts. I gave her a weak smile, but she saw through it. She always did.
As we turned onto Beau’s street, my brows drew together. The curb was lined with cars. Laughter echoed down the road.
“…Is he having a party?” I muttered, stepping out of the car. Beer bottles littered the grass.
Music pulsed from inside the house. Lights flashed behind the windows.
Someone stumbled down the steps, drunk and giggling. “What the hell…,” Claudia murmured.
We pushed through the front door. The bass hit like a punch to the chest.
The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and the scent of spilled beer.
“Rowan?” George—Beau’s best friend—blinked at me, confused, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. His eyes darted around, like he was hiding something.
“Where’s Beau?” Claudia asked.
George hesitated. “I… I don’t know.”
I didn’t wait. I shoved past him, weaving through bodies and plastic cups.
In the kitchen, Brody—Beau’s twin—was pouring shots, grinning like he owned the world.
“Row!” he said cheerfully. “What’s up, girl?”
“Where’s Beau?”
“If he’s not down here, try upstairs.”
I didn’t say a word. I just turned and bolted up the stairs, my heart pounding harder with every step.
Something felt off~. Dread twisted in my gut. His bedroom door was closed.
I opened it. And my world shattered.
Beau. In bed. With her.
The girl from his math class. I didn’t know her name, but I’d seen her once, sitting too close to him in the library.
I remembered the way she smiled at him, like she didn’t care that he had a girlfriend. Like she thought she’d win. She had.
They didn’t even notice me at first. They were too wrapped up in each other.
The room spun. My chest seized. I couldn’t breathe.
I stumbled back. My stomach twisted with nausea and grief and rage and shock all at once.
Claudia was suddenly behind me. She slammed the door shut, shielding me from the sight now seared into my memory.
George appeared at the top of the stairs, panic written all over his face.
“Row—it’s not what—”
My fist flew. Bone met bone. A loud crack.
George staggered backward, blood streaming from his nose. I didn’t feel a thing.
Not the sting in my hand. Not the ache in my chest. Not the way Claudia gasped behind me, or the way George choked out my name like I owed him anything.
I was hollow.
“Take me home,” I whispered. My voice didn’t sound like mine. It was thinner. Smaller. Like I’d left half of myself in that room upstairs.
Claudia didn’t say a word. She didn’t try to reason with me or ask what happened. She just nodded and reached for me like she always did—steady, solid, the kind of best friend who didn’t need answers to know how much it hurt.
She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and guided me down the stairs, through the thump of music and the haze of sweat and alcohol. No one stopped us.
No one noticed. To them, we were just part of the chaos. But to me, everything had stopped.
The house blurred behind us. Laughter and voices echoed from the porch, like ghosts of another version of my life. One where I thought Beau would always be mine.
I didn’t cry. Not even in the car. I just stared out the window, numb. Detached.
Streetlights streaked across the windshield like smudged stars. The warmth of the night pressed through the glass, but I felt cold. Not skin-deep—soul-deep.
“I’ll kill him,” Claudia muttered at one point, gripping the steering wheel tight. “Swear to God, Ro, I will.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
She kept glancing over at me. I could feel the way she wanted to reach in and fix it somehow, but some things didn’t have bandages.
Everything inside me had shattered. And where love used to live…was silence.
***
Back at my place, Claudia followed me inside without asking. The house was quiet—Dad had already packed for the move, too wrapped up in logistics to notice the emotional landmine walking through his front door.
I kicked off my shoes at the door and dropped my jacket onto the floor. The silence echoed in my ears louder than the party ever had.
“You should eat something,” Claudia offered. “I’ll make toast?”
I didn’t answer. I headed to my bedroom and shut the door behind me. Not to be rude—but because the ache was too loud now. It buzzed in my ears, pressed at my throat.
My vision blurred—not from tears, but from the weight of too much emotion held too tightly for too long.
The bed creaked as I collapsed onto it. My pillow smelled like my shampoo.
The fairy lights above my dresser flickered faintly.
I lay on my side, curled into a ball, staring at the wall. It was covered in photos—me and Beau, me and Claudia, beach days, bonfires, late nights under the stars.
All of it felt like it belonged to someone else.
I don’t know how long I lay there before I heard Claudia pad into the room with a plate of Vegemite toast. She didn’t say anything.
She just climbed into bed beside me, fully clothed, and pulled the blanket over both of us.
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” she said softly.
For a moment, I thought maybe I could speak. Maybe I could thank her or ask her to make the pain stop.
But the words never came.
She didn’t need them. She just held my hand.
