Hard Glass

By Lina Langley

All Mason Payne wants to do is keep his head down and quietly age out of the system, but when he has to step in to defend his foster sisters against a terrifying foster father, his life takes a turn he never imagined.

He's placed with loving foster parents. People who should make him forget about everything.

Instead, they make him run right into his past.

And his past isn't at all what he imagined.

His past is exemplified by Jules Dubois, practically Mason's reflection.

And while Mason is aware he should hate him, Jules is hard to hate.

He's nice. Very nice.

And untouchable.

No matter how much Mason craves him.

No matter how much he wants to touch him.

...Right?

Warning: This book includes certain triggers. Please be careful when choosing to read this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lina Langley
• Release date: Jul 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463684375

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

MASON

It was a hundred degrees and there was hot, sticky sweat dripping down my face and getting into my eyes. I was trying my best to do the work, but it was hard when I couldn’t see and even wiping my eyes to stop would have unleashed hell upon me.

My foster father watched, a beer in his hand, as I kept weeding the front lawn with my bare hands. I was trying my best not to stop. In terms of outcomes, this one wasn’t too bad. It was better than being locked inside the house or foregoing dinner. And breakfast. And lunch.

And that was when I was lucky.

Dill wasn’t the worst foster dad I’d ever had, but he was up there. His wife was worse than him, but thankfully, she spent most of her time on the couch, sleeping after she inhaled bottle after bottle of beer.

Summer was the worst. At least when we went to school, we would be away from them for a little while, but during the summer, any misstep or mistake was liable to get hell unleashed on us.

The girls were gone, thankfully; at the movies after being picked up by a friend’s kind parent. I tried my best to avoid the thorns as I continued to tear the weeds out from under me, but my palms were already calloused and blistered and grabbing the pointy weeds made me groan in pain every time.

I licked my lips, but my tongue was pretty dry, and my lips were chapped. I looked up at Dill, trying to see if his eyes had closed, so that maybe I could dart inside and get some water.

His gaze met mine and I went back to working on the weeds. I could have asked for shears, but talking to Dill always felt dangerous.

Hurry up, boy, Dill grunted.

I glared at him. But the sun was up in the sky and I thought that maybe I could get away with it because the glare was getting in my eyes. Our gazes met again and he put the can of beer down on the ground next to him.

My eyes widened as the realization that I was in trouble began to sink in. I knew better than to challenge him, but fuck, it was hard. He got up, shakily, and I let go of what I was holding in my hand and began to run as fast as I could toward the entrance of the trailer park.

The sun wasn’t making it easy for me. I began to feel dehydrated after a few steps, but I couldn’t stop. Feeling dehydrated wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to me, despite how dizzy I felt, regardless of the way the ground felt like it began to shake under me.

I knew I couldn’t stop, but I had slowed down. I knew Dill was drunk, but the man was light and fast on his feet, and he had caught me many times before.

I could hear some of our neighbors whooping around us, some egging him on, and I felt the nausea building up inside me. I had taken a wrong turn at one point and the entrance wasn’t where I expected it to be. The fence was too high for me to jump and, even if I had been able to, the top of the fence was covered in barbed wire.

I didn’t have another choice. I was going to have to scale it, because Dill was going to get me for sure otherwise. I ran toward it, feeling like I was about to faint, and threaded my fingers through the fence as I tried to get a grip of it.

The sun had dried the fence off after a bit of rain and it was almost too hot to touch. I was almost certain that my skin made a zinging sound the moment it touched the hot fence. I yanked my hand away, swearing under my breath as I tried to think about other places I could run to. I wasn’t small enough to be able to hide away, at least not anymore, and all of our neighbor’s believed Dill’s lies about me, so it wasn’t like I could turn to them for help.

I thought about it for too long, because before I could react, I heard the ground crunching and he was poking me in the shoulder. I thought about dodging him, but it was too late. His hand was holding my shoulder and he was spinning me around, our faces level with each other.

There was a glint in his eye. It might have been my imagination, but I was almost certain he took pleasure in this. Cute, boy, he said. You think you get to just run away from me?

I shook my head as he began to shake me. I could feel the bile making its way up my throat, the horrifying thought that I would vomit all over him making me twist my face away from him.

He grabbed my chin and moved my face back toward him, so our eyes were level with each other. His eyes were bright blue, but they looked black then, and he was squeezing my jaw tightly with his hands. He edged his face closer to mine. I could see the little lines on his face, how ragged his skin looked, the stubble on his jawline. I could see the jagged edges of his teeth when he bared them at me.

Such a pretty boy, he said quietly. I could barely hear him over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. Your momma must have been a beautiful woman.

He was moving my face from side to side, as if he was looking at it for the first time ever. I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

Sort of a shame, he said. He wasn’t talking to me, he was talking to himself, but I could feel the danger. I wasn’t going to be able to escape him. There was nothing I could do right then. I closed my eyes and tried to think about anything other than his grip around my face, about anything other than the stink of sweat and beer coming from him. He stuck his tongue out and licked my cheek, his tongue rough and wet against my skin. He bit his lower lip. You even taste like a girl.

Stop, I managed to choke out.

He let go of my face and chuckled. And you actin’ just like one, he said. So delicate.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t do it. I had gotten plenty of whoopings from him before, but this felt far more dangerous than any of that. I wasn’t sure why; maybe it was the glint in his eyes or how controlled his voice was, but I knew I needed to get the situation under control. I had no idea how I was supposed to do that.

He grunted and moved away from me. Mason, you better finish up the yard, boy, he said. And you ain’t gonna get no supper tonight for misbehaving. I swear to God, you’re gonna give your momma a heart attack.

I bit down on my lower lip, resisting the urge to tell him that she was not my mother and she wasn’t in the slightest bit concerned about what I was doing.

Run along now, he said. I better not catch you trying to get out of work again, boy.

Okay, I said as I tried my best to peel my dry tongue away from the roof of my mouth. My face was sticky with sweat and his spit and I wanted to get back and wash myself off, but I knew I wouldn’t be allowed until I finished with the yard, which was an impossible task. The yard was overgrown and it would take more than one afternoon to get it under control. Okay.

Good, he replied, smiling at me.

I had to stop myself from visibly shivering at his repulsive smile and the sound of his voice. Then I ran.

***

It can’t be that bad, Camilla said, her voice shaking.

Her gaze was darting between her sister and I. I was trying my best to smile, mostly because it felt like that was what I should have been doing, all things considered.

Camilla was barely thirteen, and I knew she still played with dolls when she thought she was alone. She tried her best to seem grown-up, mostly for Kayla’s benefit, but I could see how scared she was most of the time.

She was scared then, but Kayla was cowering behind her on the bed, and it felt important that we comfort her. Even if we couldn’t keep her safe, the least we could do was make her feel like she was.

It’s just a bruise, I said, pressing down on the mark on my jaw and trying my best not to flinch at my own touch. See?

Camilla smiled at me, her eyes welling up with tears. She reached out and traced my jawline with the tip of her finger, softly so it wouldn’t make me recoil. I tried my best to smile back at her, but it was hard. I could hardly keep my expression on my face as Kayla peeked out from behind Camilla’s back.

It’s nothing, I reiterated. Now go to sleep. Please? I have plenty of work to do in the morning.

Kayla nodded. She seemed to be doing a little better, which calmed me down. She lay back down and Camilla and I locked gazes. Camilla was small for her age, with jet black hair and big black eyes, and we didn’t talk to each other until we heard the deepened breathing coming from Kayla’s body.

How bad is it, really? she asked in a whisper.

It’s okay, I replied. He’s done worse.

That’s true, but he usually doesn’t mess with your face, she replied.

For a second, I thought about telling her everything. I thought about talking to her about the way he had looked at me, about his tongue on my skin, but there was nothing she could do. I went for shrugging my shoulders instead. It’s okay, I said again. I’ll live.

Yeah, she replied. I know.

Go to sleep, Cami, I said. Please?

Okay, she replied. Only if you promise you’ll try to sleep too.

Yup, I said. I promise.

She went over to her bed and smiled at me. I sat down on the edge of Kayla’s bed until I couldn’t hold my head up any longer. My room was only a door down from theirs, but I would have much preferred to stay with them. If either Dill or Brittany woke up and decided to start shit, it would be better if they did it with me.

Camilla and Kayla were fragile. They were sweet, and they were innocent, and they didn’t deserve any of the shit that being in this household put them through.

I managed to drag myself to my own bedroom. I peeled my shirt off, groaning as the fabric grazed against my sun-burned skin. I wondered if I should have a shower, but I was almost certain the sound would wake Dill up. For a drunkard, he was a pretty light sleeper.

Groaning, I got into bed. All things considered, this wasn’t the worst foster home I’d ever been in, but I was still counting down the days until I turned eighteen and aged out of the system.

Only three more years, I thought as I began to drift off to sleep. My sleep was short and interrupted, and when I heard footsteps approaching my door, I sat up straight.

I tried to ignore the cold sweat on my face. My door was never completely closed because we weren’t allowed to do that and the locks didn’t work, anyway. I held my breath as I heard the footsteps stop in front of my door. I knew it was Dill, I could have recognized the sound of his footsteps anywhere.

I watched as the door began to creak as he opened it. I held my breath, wondering how long it would take me to hide, wondering if I could run past him in my tiny room and out of the trailer. I didn’t think it was possible, but if I tried…

The footsteps stopped approaching me and began to recede. I didn’t lay back down. I needed to wait, to make sure that he wasn’t going to come into my room.

Then the footsteps began again, but they didn’t last long enough to be going toward his room. I felt bile building up inside me as I swung my legs to the side so I could get out of bed. I didn’t want to make too much noise, because I thought I might just be overthinking things, and if Dill heard my footsteps, what