The Muse Playbook

Chapter 12: IF THIS WAS A GAME

If This Was A Game

Mia reached for the car door handle, ready to slide into Kindrew’s passenger seat.

But before she could, a hand wrapped around her wrist. Firm. Unyielding.

She turned sharply, Haze.

His gaze locked onto hers, intense and unreadable. “You’re going with me.”

Not a question. Not a request. A decision already made.

Kindrew’s fingers tensed against the steering wheel. “Mia?”

Her breath caught.

Kindrew was steady. A quiet certainty. The kind of guy who showed up, who never made her guess where she stood.

But Haze—Haze was the one who made her heart race.

She opened her mouth, torn between reason and impulse, between comfort and chaos.

But then—

Haze stepped closer. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. Close enough that she could hear the faint hitch in his breath.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, voice lower now, almost careful. Almost.

A choice. One that should’ve been simple.

But it wasn’t.

Kindrew’s hands curled around the wheel, his jaw tightening. “Mia, if you don’t want to—”

She hesitated. She shouldn’t feel guilty. Shouldn’t feel like this choice meant more than just a ride.

She swallowed hard. “It’s fine. Ken, I’ll go with him.”

For a split second, Kindrew didn’t move.

Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose, nodding. “Right. See you later, then.”

Mia swallowed, glancing at the sleek car parked beside them.

It was stunning.

A deep midnight black, polished to perfection, reflecting the dim streetlights like liquid obsidian. The headlights had a sharp, predatory gleam, and the low hum of the engine whispered power.

This was Haze’s car?

She had never really paid attention before, maybe because Haze had never given her the chance. But now, standing this close, she could see everything. The tinted windows, the seamless curves, the unmistakable emblem on the hood. Luxury. Confidence. Control.

She barely had time to process when Haze, of all people, opened the door for her.

Her breath hitched. Was he--being a gentleman?

With a deep breath, Mia slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool beneath her fingertips. The door shut beside her with a solid, satisfying thunk.

The air inside smelled expensive, clean, with a faint trace of Haze’s cologne. Something dark and rich, like cedar and stormy nights.

She exhaled slowly.

Inside, Haze gripped the wheel but didn’t start the car right away.

The soft glow of the dashboard illuminated his face, casting sharp angles on his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows, and the way his lips pressed into a thin line—like he was thinking about something he wasn’t sure he should say.

Instead of turning the key, he turned to her.

And really looked at her.

Not just a glance, not just a passing flicker of acknowledgment, but a deep, unreadable gaze that seemed to pull her in.

Mia’s breath caught.

The silence inside the car stretched, thick with something heavy. Something that made her fingers curl against her lap, made her heart pound against her ribs in an uneasy rhythm.

She had seen that look before.

Not often. Not enough to understand it.

But she knew it.

It was the same look he gave her when he thought no one was watching, when the world around them blurred, leaving just the two of them. The kind of look that carried a thousand unspoken words, yet revealed none of them.

A chill ran down her spine.

Because somehow, she already knew.

This wasn’t just about the treehouse.

There was something else.

Something unspoken.

And she wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear it.

Haze exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before gripping the wheel again. His knuckles turned white for just a second before he loosened his grip.

Then, in a voice lower than usual, he finally spoke.

“Tell me, Mia… do you trust me?”

Her heart stopped.

Her body tensed as she shifted in her seat. "What kind of question is that?" she shot back, defensive, folding her arms across her chest.

Haze’s jaw clenched. "Just answer me."

Mia let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "I don’t get you, Haze. One minute, you’re ignoring me like I don’t exist. The next, you’re dragging me into your car, asking if I trust you? What is this?"

He didn’t react right away. Instead, he just watched her—eyes dark, stormy, like he was holding back something dangerous. Something he wanted to say but didn’t know how.

"You didn't answer my question," he said, voice tight.

Mia scoffed, looking away. "Because it’s a stupid question."

"Mia—"

"No, seriously." She turned to him, eyes flashing. "You expect me to just say yes? After everything?"

Haze’s fingers curled around the steering wheel, his grip tightening again.

"And what exactly do you mean by ‘everything’?" he asked, his tone calm, too calm.

Mia let out a bitter chuckle. "You really want me to list them? Fine. You always keep me at a distance. You act like I don’t matter, and then suddenly, you pull me in like I do. You confuse the hell out of me, Haze. And now you're sitting here, acting like I’m supposed to just—"

She stopped herself before her voice cracked, before she said too much.

Haze’s expression darkened. His hand moved, fingers brushing over the key in the ignition, but he didn’t start the car.

Instead, he leaned in slightly, gaze never leaving hers.

"I don’t confuse you," he said, low and firm. "You just don’t want to admit the truth."

Mia’s breath hitched.

"The truth?" she echoed, barely above a whisper.

Haze held her gaze for a second longer...like he was about to say something important, something real.

But then, just as suddenly, he pulled back, shaking his head as if dismissing whatever thought had crossed his mind.

"Forget it," he muttered, finally starting the car.

Mia’s hands curled into fists, her chest tightening with something between frustration and heartbreak. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything but the sound of her own anger.

"If you’re just playing with me, Haze—if this is all a game to you—" she sucked in a sharp breath, voice trembling but unwavering, "then you better watch me outdo your playbook."

Haze’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking in silent restraint.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then, with a slow, dangerous exhale, he turned to her—eyes dark, unreadable, but burning with something raw beneath the surface.

"You think I’m playing with you?" His voice was low, measured, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

Mia swallowed hard, refusing to back down. "Aren’t you?"

A humorless chuckle escaped him, sharp and bitter. "You really don’t get it, do you?"

Her breath hitched, but she held her ground. "Then make me understand, Haze."

He leaned in slightly, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that his next words sent a shiver down her spine.

"You think I’m playing because I don't treat you the way Kindrew does. Because I don’t say things that are easy to hear. Because I keep my distance."

Mia didn’t answer. She couldn't.

Haze scoffed, shaking his head. "But let me tell you something, Mia." His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. "If this was a game? I would’ve already won."

Her nails dug into her palms. "You think you’ve won?" Her voice was sharp, slicing through the heavy air between them. "Is that what this is to you, Haze? Some twisted competition?"

His jaw clenched, but his eyes never wavered from hers. "That’s not what I meant."

Mia let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Then what do you mean? Because all I see is you pushing me away one second and then acting like you—" She cut herself off, biting her lip so hard it almost hurt.

Haze leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Acting like I what, Mia?"

She swallowed, but her throat felt dry. Like she was standing on the edge of something dangerous, something she couldn’t come back from once she said it.

"Like you care." The words came out barely above a whisper, but they hit like a gunshot in the silence.

Something flickered across his face, so fast, so fleeting that if she had blinked, she would’ve missed it.

He didn’t deny it.

But he didn’t confirm it, either.

Instead, he exhaled sharply and looked away, gripping the wheel as if he needed something to anchor himself. "Mia, just keep away from Velasquez."

Her stomach twisted.

Kindrew.

She let out a hollow laugh. "That’s what this is about? You don’t want me near him?"

His silence was answer enough.

Mia’s anger flared, burning away whatever sadness had begun to creep in. "You don’t get to tell me what to do, Haze." Her voice wavered, but her words hit like steel. "You have no right."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking like he wanted to say something—but then he just let out a breath, shaking his head. "It’s not that simple."

Mia’s heart clenched. "It is that simple. Either you want me in your life or you don’t. So which is it, Haze?"

Silence.

Long, painful silence.

And that was all the answer she needed.

She laughed again, but it sounded broken now. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

Her fingers curled around the door handle, her chest so tight it hurt.

But before she could open it, his voice cut through the air—raw, unguarded.

"I don’t want to hurt you, Mia."

She froze.

Slowly, she turned back to him, searching his face, looking for something—anything—that made this make sense. "Then why do you keep doing it?"

Haze closed his eyes for a second, exhaling through his nose. When he opened them again, there was something vulnerable there, something almost desperate.

"Because if I don’t," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, "I might ruin you."

Mia’s heart stopped.

The air between them crackled, heavy with everything unspoken.

And for the first time, Mia didn’t know if she wanted to run from him—

Or straight into the fire.