Page 1 of Sweet Oblivion

PROLOGUE

DELANEY

I think calling someone a dildo is a perfectly acceptable insult.

I mean, I could call you a dick, but you’re basically not as useful or creative, and you don’t do any of the work yourself. Why should I put in the effort if you can’t be bothered to?

—Delaney’s Secret Thoughts

Some girls grow up believing in fairy tales.

They think their handsome prince is out there somewhere, waiting for them to—I don’t know, lose a glass slipper or shove themselves into a pumpkin at midnight or something.

Those same girls believe their long-lost prince will protect them. Complete them. Whisk them away to their own version of a castle complete with two-point-five kids, a white picket fence instead of a moat, and a lazy lap dog that fits into an equally bougie bag. Of course, all this will be stuffed into the perfectly sterile McMansion in the burbs where they’ll live their happily ever afters in a sweet oblivion.

But get this—oblivion is a joke.

It’s a word thrown around by people who’ve never had tofight for their very existence to explain their false expectations.

And those expectations are false—Prove me wrong. I dare you.

At least they are for those of us who know happily ever after is a lie told in the form of a fairytale. Girls like me learn at a young age no one is coming to save us, and the scariest monsters aren’t just lurking in dark alleyways or hiding under bridges like trolls. They’re hiding in plain sight and around every corner. Even your own home.

Monsters come in many forms, with many faces.

Faces you know.

Ones you trust. Or at least should be able to trust.

Faces you love.

But even the biggest monster can be slain if you know how to protect yourself.

And you damn well better know this because no one is coming to do it for you.

At least that’s what I believed until an hour ago.

RYKER

Lou Holtz once said, “Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.” Remember that, boys, and respond like your life depends on it?—

because one day, it will.

—Advice from Sebastian Beneventi to his sons, Ryker and Maverick

Two hours ago

Hendrix pushes a beer my way as he slides into the booth. A literal lifetime of friendship means he knows I’m over this scene without having to say a word.

Post-game celebration or not, it’s been a long-ass day.

The pregame adrenaline and the battle we fought during the game itself were more than enough. And there’s no arguing today was a bigger battle than we expected. Never the way you want a game to go. Add in the media madness before and after, especially after... Because that’s what happens when you’re favored to win by fourteen and barely bring it home by three. Thank God for a last-minute Hail Mary with seven seconds left on the clock. It’s safe to say today’s been a fucking shit show.

And while the crowd at West End pulses with excitement from tonight’s Kings win, my fucking brain just hurts.

Maybe from the game.

Maybe I took one too many hits.