Break You Hard (Rebel Hearts, Book 1)

Michelle Hercules
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BREAK YOU HARD
MICHELLE HERCULES
INFINITE SKY PUBLISHING
 Break You Hard © 2023 by Michelle Hercules

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Photography: Michelle Lancaster

Cover Model: Luke Eisner
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53

Free novella
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
 RILEY

N o matter the event, I always get jitters before a performance. Butterflies dance in my belly, and
my skin tingles with anticipation. The noise of the crowd creates an electrifying current that
makes me feel alive.
It’s a full house at the Pettit National Ice Center in Milwaukee. We’re skating for charity today,
which brought figure skaters of different levels from all over the state. As I stand next to Coach Miko
on the sideline of the rink, waiting for my solo, I take a deep breath of the cool air, letting the slightly
chemical scent of artificial ice fill my lungs. There’s nothing quite like it. If I could pack the smell in
a bottle, I would.
I look around, searching for familiar faces. I spot Melanie Carmichaels right away, her jet-black
hair pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face. She catches
me looking and smirks. I reward her with a grin of my own before I look away. She’s my biggest
competition and kind of an ass. We’ll never be friends, but I appreciate her nonetheless. She keeps me
on my toes and pushes me to train as hard as I can so I can beat her. I bet she feels the same way about
me.
A group just finished their set, and now, a young skater enters the rink. I caught her practice
earlier, and she was amazing. The petite blonde girl must be around nine or ten, and she reminds me
so much of myself at that age. She looks like a little snowflake on the ice with her silver-and-white
outfit. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the wall separating me from the rink.
When the young skater turns around, I notice something isn’t right. She looked radiant and
confident earlier, but now she seems uncertain and a little green as she glances at the crowd as if
she’s searching for someone.
“Oh boy,” Coach Miko mutters.
“What?”
“Look at her posture and her shaking. That doesn’t bode well.”
Most people wouldn’t have thought much about the young girl’s demeanor, but my coach isn’t
most people. She’s one of the best figure skating coaches in the world, and if she’s having a bad
feeling, she’s probably onto something. I hope that once the song starts, the skater will snap out of her
fear.
The first notes of “Galaxies” by Owl City fill the space. That’s her cue to start moving, but she
remains frozen on the ice. Crap. I search the sideline for her coach, but I can’t locate him anywhere.
This is a skater’s worst nightmare.
Without stopping to think, I remove my skate guards and make my way to the rink’s entrance.
“Riley! Where are you going?” Coach Miko whisper-shouts.
 There’s no time to explain what I plan to do—and I’m not even sure myself. All I know is that the
longer the young girl remains frozen, the worse it’ll get.
I skate toward her as if this is all part of the show. Her eyes widen as she sees me approach. I
smile and then offer her my hand.
It’s okay, I mouth.
She nods and attempts a smile as she takes my hand. The crowd erupts in cheers, and then they
start to clap to the beat of the song. Her hand relaxes in mine, so I let go. She picks up her program. I
remember part of it from watching her practice earlier, so I follow along.
I stay with her until I know she’s in the zone. Before I skate away, I tell her, “You’re doing great!”
She beams and then speeds away, getting ready for her first jump.
As I exit the rink, my heart is full, and not even the disapproving glower I receive from Coach
Miko can change that.
JESSE
Shit. I didn’t think it’d take this long to get to Milwaukee from Lakeview. I’m late as hell, and if I
miss Em’s solo, she’ll never forgive me. I’ve never met a nine-year-old who can hold a grudge for as
long as my little sister. Mom usually goes to her performances, but she wasn’t feeling great after her
chemo session yesterday and asked me to fill in. I couldn’t say no, even if I had to cut out of hockey
practice early.
Coach Manning didn’t complain, not that I expected him to. When Mom got sick again last year—
her third time in the span of five years—the entire town went out of their way to make things easy for
us. I hate it. It means they believe there’s no hope. They’ve already sentenced my mother to die, and
their good deeds only reinforce the message. I don’t need their kindness or their understanding. My
mother will beat this disease again like all the other times before. I know it in my bones.
The familiar rage comes to the surface, but I force it down. I can’t let it consume me when I’m
about to see Em perform. She deserves her cheerful and supportive big brother, not a dumbass with
anger management issues.
I grab the first parking spot I see and then book out of my truck like killer bees are chasing the
bouquet of flowers in my hand. Everything takes too long. Inside the venue, I try to navigate the busy
corridors without colliding with anyone. Before I reach the main rink, I hear Em’s song bleed into the
hallway. Fuck. She knew exactly where I was going to be seated—she checked the seating chart last
night—which means she knows I’m not there.
I rush, not caring now if I’m being rude to people in my way. Em is prone to panic attacks, and if
she didn’t see me in the crowd, it could have triggered one. My seat is all the way down front, close
to the ice.
Em is in the middle of the rink already, but she isn’t moving. Damn everything to hell.
Another skater enters the rink. The girl is older, probably my age, with strawberry-blonde hair
secured in a tight bun. I fear she’s there to steer Em out, but instead, she takes my sister’s hand and
skates with her. I keep going down the steps until I’m as close as I can get, but I don’t go to my seat. I
don’t want to miss another second of Em’s performance. The girl who helped Em through her panic
attack leaves the rink once my sister seems to have her stuff together. I study Em’s savior so I can
memorize her face and find her later. Perhaps sensing someone is watching her, she turns in my
direction and smiles. Not an ordinary smile—one that lights up the room and would make ice cream
melt in the freezer. I swear my heart stops beating for a couple seconds. Stunning is the only word I
can use to describe her.
She continues down the sideline, and I have to force my gaze to return to the rink. I’m here to see
my sister, not to ogle some pretty girl. The song is coming to an end, and that’s my favorite part of
Em’s program when she does a forward scratch spin. She’s been practicing for months, and it shows.
She kills it.
When she finally stops spinning, the crowd cheers and applauds. Her chest is heaving, but she’s
beaming from ear to ear as she waves to them. She glides toward the exit and glances at my empty
seat.
“Em! Over here!” I shout, waving the flowers in my hand.
She waves back enthusiastically, but a second later, she’s engulfed by hugs from the other girls on
her team. I finally make my way to my seat and then try to find the pretty girl again. I hope she hasn’t
skated yet. It takes me a minute to locate her strawberry-blonde head. Her jaw is set in a harsh line as
an older woman—her coach, I presume—gestures at her. Is she getting scolded for helping Em? I
hope not.
She steps on the rink again twenty minutes later. The crowd cheers so loud for her, it’s deafening.
In my hurry to get here, I didn’t grab a program, so I have no idea who she is.
“Wow, she’s pretty popular, huh?” I say to the lady next to me.
“Oh yeah. Riley Egerton is a star. She’ll probably make it to the US Olympic Team.”
I arch my brows. “Really? She’s that good?”
The woman nods. “Yes. I’m surprised you don’t know her. Who did you come to see?”
“My little sister. She’s the kid who Riley helped earlier.”
“Oh. I bet she knows Riley. Wasn’t it wonderful what she did for your sister? Bless her heart.”
I glance at the rink again. “Yes. Yes it was.”
Riley’s performance begins, and I find myself leaning forward in my seat, captivated by the way
she glides effortlessly over the ice. We’ve practiced with figure skaters before to improve our agility,
but I’ve never seen anyone skate like that.
“Oh, she’s going for the triple axel…” my neighbor mumbles excitedly.
I’m not sure what that means—I’m not well versed in figure-skating terminology—but it sounds
difficult. Riley is gaining momentum, and then she jumps high and spins so fast she becomes a blur,
landing a second later perfectly on her right leg.
“Holy shit!” I blurt out.
I’m not the only one going crazy over Riley’s jump. The audience noise is so loud that I can barely
hear the music.
“What did I tell you?” the lady pipes up. “She’ll bring us the gold.”
She’s probably right. I’m speechless, and more than ever, I want to meet Riley. I can’t say figure
skating was something that ever held my interest, and I’m here only to support Em. But after watching
Riley, I might become a fan of the sport.
Or maybe just a fan of hers.
CHAPTER 2
 RILEY

F uck yeah! I landed the triple axel for the second time in my career, and I couldn’t be more
ecstatic. I’m grinning broadly as I exit the rink, unable to contain the happiness coursing through
me.
“Show off much?” Melanie sneers as I walk past her.
“Oh Mel, don’t be salty. It isn’t like I beat you at yet another competition. This is for charity.”
“Keep being cocky like that, and you’ll end up with broken bones. Then it’s bye-bye Olympics.”
I stop in my tracks. “Is that a threat?”
She snorts. “Please. I’m just giving you friendly advice. I’m sure your coach is thrilled you
wasted a triple axel on a charity event.”
Her comment sets my teeth on edge. Coach Miko didn’t want me to do it, but I went for it anyway.
“Triple axels aren’t candy that you can run out of.”
“Whatever.” She shrugs and looks away.
I shouldn’t let Melanie get under my skin, but my annoyance lingers. Seeing Coach Miko’s scowl
doesn’t help either.
“See? I told you I could do it,” I tell her.
“I’m glad it went your way today. But your landing was far from perfect. You didn’t fall on your
ass by a miracle.”
I cross my arms. “If I don’t practice, then I can’t improve.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, we’ll practice. Don’t you worry. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to
deal with the herd when everyone decides to leave at the same time.”
“I have to change first. I’m not riding in a car for three hours while wearing this.” I pull at the
fabric of my sequined body suit.
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
We head in different directions, and I let out a breath of relief. Changing clothes will give me a
much-needed break from her. But it doesn’t take long for me to get lost in my head. I say hello
automatically to people along the way, their faces blending together. I don’t know who I greeted.
Coach Miko’s comment about my landing is eating at me. I thought I landed the triple axel perfectly.
“Riley!” someone yells just as I’m about to enter the locker room.
I turn with a fake smile plastered on my face. It becomes genuine when I see who called me. It’s
the young skater I helped earlier.
Following behind her is the cute guy I caught staring. Damn. He’s even more attractive up close.
My face becomes warmer, clueing me in that I’m probably blushing. I hope the heavy makeup keeps
that fact hidden.
 “Hey,” I say, making a point to look at her and not him.
She stops in front of me, smiling shyly, but doesn’t say a word.
“You did a great job,” I continue.
“You were amazing. That triple axel was badass.”
A giggle bubbles up my throat. “Thanks.”
“Emma! Language,” the guy says, trying to keep a stern look, but the corners of his lips twitch up.
She looks over her shoulder. “What? Why can’t I say it? You do it all the time.”
I stare at him, and when our gazes connect, his cheeks turn beet red. He rubs the back of his neck,
looking sheepish. “Busted.”
“That’s fine. I use that word from time to time too.”
“See?” she says. “Riley doesn’t care. I’m Emma, by the way. Emma Hartnett, and this is my
brother Jesse.”
“Nice to meet you. Are you from Milwaukee?” I ask, extending the conversation. I don’t know
what I’m trying to accomplish here. Yes, Jesse looks like Legolas’s younger brother, but I don’t have
time for boys. I have to keep my eye on the prize, which is the Olympic gold.
“No, we’re from Lakeview,” he replies. “And you?”
“Oh, you’re the Knights.”
“Jesse is on their hockey team,” Emma pipes up.
I turn to him. “Really?”
“Yeah. Do you watch hockey?”
“No, but the rivalry between the two schools is a beast of its own. Impossible to miss.”
His brows furrow. “Wait. Are you saying you’re from S—"
“She’s from Silver Falls,” Emma cuts in.
“You know where I’m from?” I can’t hide my surprise.
“It turns out my sister is quite the little stalker.”
“I’m not a stalker. Shush, Jesse. By the way, my brother is the left winger. You should check out
the game next time they play your school.”
A thrill of excitement rushes through me at the possibility of seeing Jesse again. I stomp on it, not
wanting to seem eager. He lives a couple of hours away from me, and obsessing about boys is not on
my agenda.
“Oh, I don’t go to Silver Falls High. With all the training and travel, keeping up with a regular
schedule is impossible. I’m homeschooled,” I say.
Jesse and Emma seem disappointed with my answer, so I add, “But I’ll try.”
“Be prepared to watch your hometown team get decimated though,” he replies.
I quirk an eyebrow. “Is that so? I guess I have to come now, just to make sure you’re not full of
crap.”
He laughs. “We’ll see. Anyway, we just wanted to say thank you for helping Em earlier.”
“I’m glad I was able to help.”
“Would you sign this for me?” She offers me a copy of the program and a pen.
“Of course.” I sign the paper and return it to her sadly, knowing our time is up. “There you go.”
She clutches the brochure to her chest. “Thank you so much. My friends will be so jealous.”
“We need to get going, Em. And Riley has a long ride home too.”
“You guys drive safe, okay?”
“You too.”
He fishes his phone from his pocket, and I think for a second that he’s going to ask for my number.
My heart skips a beat. Too soon. He’s frowning at his screen. I think he got a text from someone, and
I’m forgotten. Oh well, it’s better this way.
I push the door to the locker room open and shove Jesse out of my mind.
JESSE
“Mom just texted. She wants to know how the performance went.”
“Please don’t tell her about my panic attack. She’ll feel guilty she couldn’t be here.” Em’s voice
is tight and small.
The constant heaviness in my chest becomes more pronounced. I hate how broken she sounds.
“Okay, I won’t, but you know she’ll find out from the other moms.”
Her shoulders sag. “I know. We can tell her tomorrow.”
I glance over my shoulder, hoping to catch another glimpse of Riley as I walk away, but she’s
gone.
“What are you looking for?” Em follows my line of sight.
“Nothing.”
“Riiight. You think Riley is pretty, don’t you?”
It’s pointless to hide the truth from Em, and this is the perfect change of subject.
“I’m not blind.”
“You should have asked her out.”
I laugh. “She lives two hours away from us, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have time for anything
besides skating. She’s Olympics material.”
Em sighs. “I know. But it would be so cool if she became your girlfriend. Then I’d get to hang out
with her all the time.”
I throw my arm over her shoulders. “Em, if Riley Egerton were my girlfriend, I’d hog all her free
time.”
“Oh my God. You barely had a conversation and you’re already in love?”
“Sometimes that’s all it takes,” I joke, but deep down I know that, if given the chance, I’d fall hard
for that girl.
CHAPTER 3
 RILEY

I couldn’t stop thinking about Jesse the entire ride back to Silver Falls. I even wrote down
everything about our meeting in my journal instead of waiting until I got home. I didn’t want to
forget any detail. Coach Miko isn’t one to talk much unless the topic is skating, so after I finished
journaling, I had nothing to distract me from my silly thoughts. I’m allowing myself to obsess about
him today only. Tomorrow he’ll be filed into a dark corner of my mind and on the pages of my diary.
It’s past seven p.m. when we get to my house, and none of the lights are on, meaning Dad isn’t
home yet. The one-story two-bedroom house is the smallest in the neighborhood, and it looks a little
sad in the darkness.
“Don’t forget we’re starting earlier tomorrow. Meet me at the rink at five a.m. sharp. Don’t be
late,” she tells me before I get out of the car.
“When am I ever late for practice?”
“It doesn’t hurt to remind you.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. She caught me doing that once, and I received a tongue-lashing I’ll
never forget. No sooner does she drive off than approaching headlights almost blind me. One of the
headlights is dimmer than the other and needs to be fixed. I lift my arm to protect my eyes from the
glare but don’t move from my spot on the sidewalk, knowing exactly who’s approaching—Dad.
He doesn’t pull into the garage; instead, he stops the car by the curb and rolls down the passenger
side window. “Hey, hon. Did you just get home from practice?”
“Not practice, Dad. Today was the charity event in Milwaukee, remember?”
“Oh, was it today? Sorry, I forgot. The days seem to blur together.”
Yes, when you’re intoxicated most of the time, I can see how that can be true. I keep the bitter
thought to myself though. He seems to be in a good mood today.
“Well, how did it go?” he continues when I don’t reply.
“It went great. I landed a triple axel.”
“Wow, I don’t know what that is, but it sounds complicated.”
Mom would know. She was my biggest cheerleader, drove me to every practice since I was old
enough to skate, and never missed any of my performances or competitions. On days like this, I miss
her more than ever.
“Yeah, it’s hard.” I make a motion to turn and go into the house. It’s cold, and I don’t feel like
chatting with him outside when a hot bath awaits me.
“Get in the car. We need to celebrate.”
“Uh, I’m tired.”
“Come on, kiddo. It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages. Let’s have dinner and catch up. I know
you can’t say no to Seinfeld’s apple pie.”
My stomach grumbles at the prospect of the warm and delicious pie. I haven’t had a piece in ages,
mainly because Coach Miko struck it out of my diet. She said fat skaters don’t jump as high. I’m
committed to following her rules, but I deserve a treat today. I’ll eat less tomorrow.
“All right.” I get in and quickly close the window again.
Inside, it’s not as nice and toasty as Coach Miko’s car, but it’s warmer than outside. It’s April, and
yet winter didn’t get the memo. As if to make a point, it begins to snow. A bit unusual for this time of
the year but not unheard of in Wisconsin.
“Was the performance crowded?” He lifts the thermos cup from its holder and takes a sip.
“Yes, packed. Is that coffee? I could use some.”
“It’s not coffee.”
It finally dawns on me why he’s acting so nice. “Is that booze?”
“Just some rum and Coke, no biggie.”
I lean forward and look closely at his face. Hell. I can’t believe I didn’t notice his glazed eyes
before. “You’re drunk. Take me home now.”
“I’m not drunk. Quit being such a pain in the ass,” he snaps.
Tears turn my vision blurry. I curl my fists, digging my nails deep into my palms until it hurts. “I
can’t believe this. You promised you wouldn’t drink and drive again after your DUI last year. Aunt
Francine spent a fortune paying your legal fees.”
“Fuck that bitch. I didn’t ask for her help.”
“No, I did.” I glance out the window, seeing nothing through the tears that are now rolling down
my cheeks. “I want to go home.”
“Fine, you little brat. You want to go home, I’ll take you home.”
He yanks the steering wheel to the left, hard, making an illegal U-turn despite the traffic. The
wheels lose traction on the wet asphalt, and the car spins out of control. My scream mixes with the
sound of horns going off at the same time. Then comes the impact and the sensation that I’m stuck
inside a giant washing machine.
Pain and chaos blend, and then… nothing.
JESSE
“Mom! Dad! We’re home!” I howl as I walk into the house. The smell of scented candles and baked
cookies hits my nose like a snowball of vanilla and cinnamon.
Em rushes past me, heading straight for the kitchen. Before I follow her, I check the living room,
where Mom usually spends her days reading a book by the fireplace. Her blanket is folded neatly on
the couch, and there’s no steaming mug resting on the coffee table. She might have been too tired to
wait for us. She’d better not have baked those cookies, then. The grand piano lid is open, maybe she
played a little today.
I’m about to go check on her when Dad walks out of his office, cleaning his reading glasses with
his flannel shirt. “You’re home early.”
“Early? It’s past seven. Where’s Mom?”
His brows furrow ever so slightly, but it’s the guilt shining in his blue eyes that makes me leery.
“Uh, she’s not home yet.”
“Not home? I thought she was too tired to go anywhere.”
Em joins us in the hallway, stuffing her face with cookies. “Whurs Muhm?”
Dad opens his mouth to reply, but he’s saved from answering by the shrill sound of his phone. He
fishes it out of his pocket and stares at the screen for a split second before answering. “Hello?”
There’s a pause, and in those few seconds, the change in his posture is obvious. The crease
between his eyebrows deepens, and his lips become nothing but a harsh line on his face. My stomach
tightens as a feeling of doom drops on my shoulders like a bucket of icy water.
“Yes, you’re speaking with Mr. Hartnett.”
“What’s going on?” Em asks.
“Shh.” I don’t take my eyes off Dad, not now that the blood seems to have drained from his face.
He walks to the console in the entry foyer and, with shaking hands, pulls the drawer open and
takes out a notepad and a pen. “Where did they take her?”
A knot the size of Texas gets lodged in my throat. Something happened to Mom. Em steps closer to
me, grabbing my arm in a vicious hold.
“Is she… how is she?” he asks through a choked throat. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as
he swallows hard. “I see. Thanks.”
“What happened to Mom?” I ask.
The pitiful glance he gives me feels like a punch to my chest. “She’s been in an accident in Silver
Falls. We need to leave at once.”
“Silver Falls?” My voice rises. “What the hell was she doing there?”
“This isn’t the time for questions, Jesse. Let’s go!” He walks out of the house, not bothering to put
his coat on.
Em and I run after him. My mind is racing as I try to understand what’s going on. Why would Mom
be in Silver Falls? I thought she was too tired to drive Em to Milwaukee. This doesn’t make any
sense, but I know better than to bother Dad with questions while he’s nervous.
He barely waits for Em and me to buckle up before he puts the car in Reverse and presses on the
gas pedal. The tires screech as we back up.
“Maybe I should drive,” I say.
“I can fucking drive,” he barks.
Em whimpers in the back seat, making me regret not sitting with her.
I turn to make eye contact. “It’s going to be fine, Em. You’ll see.”
She nods, believing me. I wish I could say the same, but the knot in my chest says I’m full of shit.
CHAPTER 4
 RILEY

T he first sound I hear is a constant beep. I can’t open my eyes yet, so I cling to the intermittent
noise, afraid that if I let go, I’ll be sucked into the void again. I try moving my hand next. I can
barely sense it, and it feels as heavy as iron. All I manage to do is twitch my right index finger.
That’s something.
“Riley? Are you awake?” Aunt Francine asks.
A moment later, a hand covers mine. “If you can hear me, hon, try to squeeze my hand.”
I don’t know if it’s the warmth of the touch that helps me, but I manage to flex my fingers.
“Oh my God,” she says in a shaky voice. “You’re back.”
She releases my hand, and I want to beg her to come back, but I can’t make my tongue work. She’s
gone for only a few seconds, and when she returns, she’s not alone. There’s another woman, and she’s
asking questions. My eyelids are peeled back, and the world becomes bright. Not that I can see
anything. My vision is blurry as hell.
But having my eyes opened by someone else helps me. I can do it on my own now. It takes a
minute or so for the room and the people in it to come into focus. I’m in a hospital room with Aunt
Francine, the unidentified lady in scrubs, and a third person—a doctor, judging by his white jacket.
“Riley, I’m Doctor Nisbet. How are you feeling?”
Panicked that I can’t answer his question, I glance at Aunt Francine, who isn’t quite as put
together as she usually is. Her chin-length dark hair is wavy instead of severely straight, as if she’s
been running her fingers through the strands.
“It’s all right if you can’t speak right now. You probably need to drink water first.”
My bed is raised, so I’m in a semi-sitting position. The nurse brings a plastic cup to my dry lips.
I’m not sure if I’ll be able to swallow, and my fears are justified when water drips down my chin.
“Easy, just take a small sip.”
I slurp the water as if it were soup, but I can handle only a little bit. The nurse seems to know that,
and she leans back, taking the cup with her.
“What happened to me?” I croak.
“You don’t remember anything?” Aunt Francine asks.
I concentrate hard, but all I get is a big blank space. “No.”
“You were in a car accident. Your father lost control of the vehicle and…” She pauses, and the
pain in that gesture speaks louder than words.
Panic rises in my throat, constricting my airways. “Is Dad okay?”
“Your father isn’t dead, but we can talk about him later. Let’s focus on your recovery so I can take
you home.”
 I want to know where my father is—not that I expect him to be at my bedside in a hospital. But
surely he visited.
That brings another question to mind. “How long have I been in the hospital?”
“A week,” she replies.
“A week? I don’t… remember.”
“Oh, honey…”
“You’ve been in a coma, Riley,” the doctor pipes up. “The longer a patient remains in that state
after trauma, the lower the chances that they’ll come back. The fact you’re awake and talking is very
good news.”
I curl my fingers around the sheet as I process that information. My injury was severe enough that
they weren’t sure I’d come back. The fact my movements are returning doesn’t help offset the fear that
the damage to my body was too great.
“Give it to me straight, Dr. Nisbet. Will I… will I be able to skate again?”
“There’s no reason to believe you can’t skate. You didn’t sustain any injuries to your back or
legs.”
“But let’s not think about skating now,” Aunt Francine butts in. “The focus is to get you out of
here.”
“I can’t not think about skating. I am skating.”
“Riley… You’re more than a sport.”
“Nurse Christina will get you prepped for your tests,” the doctor continues. “You’ll be home
before you know it.”
The thought doesn’t give me comfort. If I have to stay off the ice for too long and I’m stuck in that
house with Dad, I’ll wither and die.
After a few more exchanges between Dr. Nisbet and my aunt, he leaves. While the nurse fusses
over me, Aunt Francine steps out of the room with her phone glued to her ear. She’s a busy person, a
councilwoman at Lakeview, where she resides.
Thinking about that town stirs something in my memory, but as hard as I think, I can’t bring the full
picture to the forefront of my mind.
“What do you know about my accident?” I ask the nurse.
Her spine becomes rigid, and she won’t meet my stare. “Oh, I wasn’t here when you were brought
in.”
Something is off, and I can’t tell what is.
“But you must know more than I do. Please, my mind is blank. Any information might help bring
my memories back and speed up my recovery.”
She glances at the door in a cagey manner and then back at me. With a sigh, she says, “You were
in bad shape when you came in. You coded once.”
“What about my father?”
“He sustained minor injuries. He was released into police custody a few hours later.”
“The police? Wh—” I stop midsentence, because she doesn’t need to answer that. I remember
now.
He was taking me to Seinfeld’s for pie to celebrate my triple axel. But he was drunk.
I close my eyes, fighting the tears. “I can’t believe he pulled that stunt again.”
“I’m sorry.”
I look at her as a dark thought penetrates my brain. “Was anyone else hurt in the accident?”
She stares back at me, unmoving, but her eyes speak louder than words.
 “They were, weren’t they?”
“I shouldn’t be the one telling you this, but… a passenger in the other vehicle died.”
A strangled gasp escapes my throat. I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to hold in any other
distressed sound. My body is shaking; I don’t know if I’ll be able to string another sentence together,
but I have to know who my father killed.
“Do… you know the name of his victim?”
She nods. “Bethany Hartnett.”
My heart gives a painful lurch. Her last name. Hartnett. Why does it sound familiar?
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know, hon. She wasn’t from Silver Falls.”
“What I mean is, was she a wife, a mother?”
Who’s going to hate my father forever?
“Both.”
CHAPTER 5
 JESSE

M y eyes are painfully dry as Mom’s casket descends into the ground. Next to me, Em cries
softly. I keep a tight hold of her hand for her benefit and mine. I can’t lose my shit when it
took so long to calm her down. But inside, hell, rage is all I feel. I clench my jaw harder,
hurting my gums. The pain is welcome.
The entire town came to pay their respects. I accept their condolences numbly. They are a parade
of ghostly faces, blurry and without substance. My mind is miles away, back in that Silver Falls
hospital, being told that Mom was gone and then learning the asshole who caused the accident was a
drunk driver.
I want to kill him for robbing us of her. She’d been fighting a ruthless disease all these years only
to be taken from us by some piece of shit. I will never stop hating him, even if he spends the rest of
his days rotting in jail.
Someone hugs me tight, bringing me back to the awful here and now. It’s Zoey, our neighbor and
honorary sister. She steps back, revealing a tear-streaked face and red eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Jesse. I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I can’t either.”
Em whimpers louder, diverting Zoey’s attention from me. She engulfs my sister in a bear hug
while her brother and my best friend, Deacon, steps into her place in front of me. He taps me on the
shoulder, his brown eyes shining with emotion, but he’s a guy of few words, so all he says is, “I’m
here for you, bro.”
“I know.”
My father remains stoic in his pristine dark suit. His blond hair is combed back and not a strand is
out of place—a complete contrast to his appearance over the past few days when he didn’t bother to
shave or shower. If it weren’t for Grandma coming to stay with us, I don’t think he’d have gotten out
of bed.
Everyone is falling apart around me, so I have to stay strong. Allowing grief to take over is not an
option. I hold on to my anger instead. It’s much easier to manage, and I have a target: Tom Egerton.
I’ll make sure he spends the rest of his life suffering for what he’s done.
CHAPTER 6
RILEY
FIVE MONTHS LATER

I stare at the entrance to Lakeview High, my new school, and try to get rid of the nervous jitters
wreaking havoc in my body. I haven’t attended a regular school since seventh grade. I don’t know
what to expect. It feels like a cruel punishment to be forced to attend high school in my senior year
after my ordeal over the past five months. Unfortunately, there was little I could do. Aunt Francine,
who’s now my guardian since my father is behind bars, got it into her head that I need normalcy.
Dad was convicted of homicide by intoxicated use of a vehicle. As far as I’m concerned, he’s
dead to me. His reckless act not only killed an innocent person but also hurt someone else besides
me. Bethany Hartnett wasn’t the one driving that evening. Her friend was, and she got hurt too.
The truth is, it’s not the prospect of starting a new school that’s terrifying me. It’s coming face-to-
face with one of my father’s victims: Jesse Hartnett, the cute boy I met on the day of that awful
accident. It didn’t take long for me to remember him and his sister and find out who he was.
Does he hate me because of what my father did? I won’t blame him if he does because I am guilty.
If I hadn’t started the argument with Dad, he wouldn’t have made that U-turn. Bethany Hartnett is dead
in part because of me.
The first bell rings, telling me I have to either go in or turn around and hide in my bedroom for the
rest of my existence.
Squaring my shoulders, I force my legs to move. One step at a time, Riley.
Inside the building, I barely see any difference between this and my old middle school. It’s the
same blur of color, people, and a maddening swirl of chaos. The lockers here are painted blue instead
of red though, and the linoleum floor is in a checkered pattern, alternating between off-white and
gold. If the fast-food chain White Castle were a school, it’d look like this.
I keep a tight grip on my backpack’s straps and walk without making eye contact. At first, I’m just
another faceless student in a sea of bodies. Until someone looks at me twice and says my name. Like
an idiot, I turn, meeting the curious stares of a trio of pretty girls who I’m sure run this place.
“Oh my God. It is her,” the blonde in the middle says, not hiding the contempt in her tone.
Hell.
“I can’t believe she has the audacity to step foot here,” the blonde’s friend replies.
I turn around and keep walking. Engaging with them will do nothing for me. I was worried about
Jesse; I didn’t foresee that other students would also hate me. It was naive of me not to predict this.
I’ve been living in Lakeview long enough to know it’s a village. Everyone knows everyone here.
It took only one person recognizing me for the news of my arrival to spread like wildfire through
the hallways. Instead of flying under the radar, now I feel the weight of several stares smothering me.
It’s hard to ignore them when I sense their judgment and contempt.
I was supposed to find my locker, but I can do that later. Wanting to hide from all these people
giving me the death glare, I increase my pace, not slowing down when I turn a corner. Something
solid stops me in my tracks. Not something. Someone.
I jump back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” My words turn into vapor.
Jesse Hartnett is the wall currently blocking my path. His blue eyes, which were warm and kind
when we first met, are now icy cold. He’s not a wall, he’s an iceberg that’s going to sink me like the
Titanic.
 “So the rumors were true,” he says. “You are here.”
“Yep.” I grip my backpack straps tighter, twisting them.
“I didn’t believe you’d be stupid enough to enroll in my school.”
I expected his animosity toward me. I’d be angry too, if I were in his shoes. But I didn’t predict it
would hurt this bad. The guilt I’ve been carrying for the past five months seems to intensify tenfold.
“Trust me, this is the last place I want to be. Just pretend I don’t exist.”
He steps into my personal space, forcing me to shuffle back until my backpack meets the wall.
He’s so damn tall I need to crane my neck to maintain his stare.
“You only wish I could forget who you are and the pain your family caused mine. Things aren’t
that easy, Egerton.”
“No, they aren’t. Is this where you tell me you’re going to make my life a living hell if I don’t quit
school?”
“Oh, it’s too late for that. I don’t want you to quit.”
“You don’t?”
He leans closer, bringing his mouth to my ear. Goose bumps prickle down my arms. I hold my
breath while my heart takes off in a mad dash. I can’t believe my body is betraying me this way. Jesse
hates me, and here I go and get all flustered.
“No, but I will make your life hell,” he whispers and then steps back.
I’m having a hard time getting air into my lungs while he’s glowering at me with so much loathing.
“You delivered your message. Why are you still staring?” I grit out.
“You should have died in that accident too,” he says in a flat tone before walking away.
I lean against the wall, fighting a dizzy spell. Black dots appear in my vision. My chest hurts
almost as if I were having a heart attack. My legs threaten to give out from under me, so I slide down
the wall and sit, hugging my knees. I’m either having a cardiac arrest or a panic attack. Both seem
plausible.
The comings and goings of students continue, but no one asks if I’m okay. I’m anathema. At least
they don’t kick me when I’m down. I rest my head in my hands and take deep breaths, hoping I don’t
pass out. The second bell rings, but I stay where I am. The cacophony reaches a crescendo, the sound
of hundreds of people rushing to get to class. A door bangs shut close to me, and then silence.
I’m finally alone, and I’m definitely late.
Footsteps approach, and I’m sure it’s a hallway monitor or faculty coming to tell me off. I glance
up and realize I guessed wrong. It’s a girl with shoulder-length brown hair and freckles all over her
face.
She stops in her tracks, not too close, and asks, “What’s wrong with you?”
Not are you okay, or do you need any help.
“Many things.”
She furrows her brows and pinches her lips. “That goes without saying, but what I meant was, do
I need to call 9-1-1?”
“I’m not sure.” Crazy amusement takes over, making me snort. “Wouldn’t that be a doozy?”
The girl tilts her head. “You dying on your first day at Lakeview? Probably.”
I wave my hand. “Well, you can run along now. Maybe your wishes will be granted.”
“I don’t want you to die,” she retorts as if my statement offends her.
“Could have fooled me. You sure as hell aren’t doing anything to help me.”
“I asked if you needed an ambulance.”
I’m getting nowhere with this girl. “This conversation is burdensome. If you’re not going to help,
and you wish me dead like your friend does, then please leave me alone.”
Her eyebrows arch, almost meeting her hairline. “Who told you they wanted you to die?”
“Jesse Hartnett. Not that I blame him.”
She seems surprised. “I can’t believe he said that to you.”
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”
She watches me for a few more seconds before replying, “I don’t think you’re on the verge of
dying. If you’re going to skip class, I’d suggest not staying here, waiting to get busted. The restroom
near the library is a good place to hide.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
She walks away without another word.
Out of all my interactions so far, this was the strangest, but oddly, also the kindest. I get up, using
the wall for support. My legs are steady, and the black dots in my vision are gone. I got over whatever
was happening to me.
I glance at the clock mounted on the wall. I’m late as hell. My first-period class is in the first
room to my right.
I head in the opposite direction.
Restroom it is.
CHAPTER 7
 JESSE

T he second bell rings just as I burst through the door leading to the quad. I’m too fucking angry to
sit in class. I wish I could head to the rink and practice instead, but if I do that, my father will
know I skipped class. The downside of his owning the only rink in town.
I knew Riley Egerton had enrolled at Lakeview High. The principal called my father, anticipating
issues. Dad was livid. Like me, he’d cursed the Egerton name. There was nothing the principal could
do though. The asshole who killed my mother is in prison, and his daughter is now living with her
aunt, a Lakeview councilwoman.
I was determined to hate Riley like I hate her father, but seeing her messed with my head. The
memory of our first meeting overlays with the present, confusing the fuck out of me. I shouldn’t have
gotten close. Her scent was sweet and fresh, and her breath caressed my skin like a warm summer
fog. It reminded me of what I’d lost, of dreams turned to ashes.
I’m rattled, shaking with fury. I can’t believe I let her get to me like that. But that’s not the only
emotion swirling in my chest. Guilt is there as well, sinking its claws in my heart. I shouldn’t have
told her I wished she’d died, even though the thought consumed me during the first few days after the
accident. Her son of a bitch father claimed that she was the one who caused the accident. He was
drunk, and maybe he was trying to save himself, but what if he was telling the truth?
There isn’t a soul outside, so I walk to the edge of the property and jump the fence that separates
us from the elementary school playground. I head to the swings, picking the one in the middle, and
take deep breaths, hoping the bite of the autumn air and the scent of dewy grass and fallen leaves will
soothe my soul. Grabbing hold of the chains, I push off with my feet, swinging backward and up. The
chains creak with the motion, but they hold.
I close my eyes and surrender to the feel of the cool breeze kissing my cheeks and the whisper of
rustling leaves. Then comes the familiar stomach drop as my body swings backward. I keep going
until I can push Riley’s crestfallen expression into a dark corner of my mind.
CHAPTER 8
 RILEY

I give myself first period to get my act together. I can’t hide in the bathroom for the entire day. Ten
minutes before my next class is about to start, I go find my locker. I don’t waste time with decor
and other nonsense, I just dump what I don’t need and head to where I have to be, chemistry.
I’m early, so I pull out my phone and scroll through social media to kill time while I wait outside
the room. It’s torture, really. Most of the people I follow are figure skaters, and watching them post
about what they’re doing is hell when I haven’t stepped on the ice since I was released from the
hospital.
I click on Melanie Carmichaels’s most recent video. She’s added another level of difficulty to her
program. No triple axel from her, but without me to compete against in the sectionals in November,
she’s a sure thing to head to the US Figure Skating Championships next year.
Jealousy spreads through my chest like a disease, and my eyes sting with anger. The doctors
cleared me for practice months ago, but I can’t bring myself to do it. According to my therapist, I’m
associating skating with the accident, and until I can separate the two, the blockage will remain. I
don’t know how to pull them apart when they’re so tangled in my mind. My skating was what put in
motion all the events of that horrible night.
“You have got to be kidding me,” someone blurts out.
I lift my gaze and meet Jesse’s glare once again. Hell and damn. I don’t want a repeat of what I
went through an hour ago.
“Are you stalking me now?” I ask.
He snorts. “This is my next class.”
My spine goes rigid. “Mine too.”
It didn’t occur to me that I might be in some of his classes. I could try to drop this one, but what
would be the point? Our paths are going to cross no matter what. I might as well get used to it by
overexposure to Jesse and his hatred. Maybe I’ll become immune to the effects.
The bell rings, saving me from another tense conversation with him. Students pour out of the
classrooms, creating a chaotic barrier between Jesse and me. Even with the sudden sea of people
standing between us, he keeps staring at me. It’s unnerving, and yet… I don’t look away.
He breaks the connection when he enters the classroom. I follow him, but not because I want to
continue our silent battle. I just want to pick a seat as far away from him as possible. He chooses a
desk in the middle row by the window. I head for the back of the room and a corner desk. Maybe I’ll
be invisible there.
The room fills up quickly. No one notices me at first, but those who do quickly glance in Jesse’s
direction. I can imagine what they’re thinking. Suddenly this class has become very interesting to
them.
No one takes the chair next to mine. It seems they don’t want to piss off Jesse. When the door
closes and the teacher takes his seat behind his own desk, I let out a breath of relief. Being left alone
is the best outcome I could have hoped for.
A late arrival ends my hope of having the table to myself. He glances at Jesse and his neighbor,
the blonde girl who recognized me first, and makes a face as if to complain about something. Jesse
shrugs and points at the clock mounted on the wall.
“Deacon Price, please find your seat or get out of my class,” the teacher says.
The guy scans the room, and when his gaze lands on the chair next to mine, his expression
hardens. Shit. It’s the only seat available, and judging by his silent exchange with Jesse, I make the
educated guess that they’re friends. Fucking fantastic.
He veers in my direction, not hiding his contempt. I move my chair as close as I can to the wall,
but when his muscular frame parks next to me, I feel trapped. He removes his leather jacket, not
caring that the sleeve slaps my arm. I lean away from him, gluing myself to the wall, very much aware
that this class will be torture.
The teacher begins his lecture, but I have a hard time concentrating on the words coming out of his
mouth. His voice is drowned out by my pulse drumming in my ears. I keep my gaze glued to the front
of the classroom, even when I sense my neighbor staring at me.
When he curses under his breath, curiosity gets the better of me. I glance at him.
He catches me and barks, “What are you looking at?”
“Words came out of your mouth. I looked. That’s all.”
He scoffs and then raises his arm, catching the teacher’s attention.
“Yes, Deacon?”
“I’d like to change partners.”
Partners? What the hell is he talking about? I must have missed an announcement.
The teacher pulls his glasses down his nose and attempts to level him with a glower. “No.”
“But Mr. Abruzzo—”
“No buts. You know the rules, Deacon. If you wanted your choice of partner, you should have
arrived earlier and picked a different seat.”
Everyone is now staring at me, and once again, I feel like Judas. They’ve judged and found me
guilty by association.
If they knew the hand I’d played in the accident, I bet my punishment would be more severe than
death glares.
“I guess you’re stuck with me,” I pipe up.
“You’d better not be a moron.”
“Ditto.”
He keeps his mouth shut while Mr. Abruzzo continues with the lecture, but when the practical
portion comes, things become tense again. We’re extracting bismuth from Pepto Bismol tablets, and
the first step is to grind up the tablets—all one hundred eighty of them.
Deacon slides the mortar and pestle toward me. “Go on.”
“Why do I have to grind the tablets?”
“Because I don’t feel like it.”
Instead of retorting, I count to ten in my head. At least he didn’t use a sexist excuse.
“Besides, that’s a girl’s job.”
Ah, there it is.
 “Fine. I’ll do the grinding while you sit there sulking like a little bitch,” I snap.
“What did you call me?” he asks, standing up and leaning toward me in an aggressive manner.
I curl my fingers around the pestle, prepared to use it as a defensive weapon. Of course this had to
happen while Mr. Abruzzo stepped out of the room for a moment.
Jesse appears behind his friend, pulling him back by the shoulder. “Calm down.”
He turns. “Are you going to defend her now?”
“I’m not defending her. I’m stopping my best friend from doing something stupid.” Jesse spares
me a loathing glance. “She’s not worth it.”
“No, she’s not. But I can’t work with her. I’d rather flunk this class.”
“Seriously, dude?” I interject. “What did I ever do to you?”
I understand Jesse hating me, and all his friends taking his side, but Deacon is acting like my
father killed his mother, too. She wasn’t even the friend that got hurt, so what’s his deal?
“What’s going on?” the teacher asks as he returns to the classroom.
“Nothing, Mr. Abruzzo,” Jesse replies.
“Get back to your seat and focus on your own project, Jesse.”
“Yes, sir.” He nods but doesn’t move.
When the teacher gets distracted by another pair of students, Jesse turns to Deacon. “You can’t
flunk this class. Remember what’s at stake.”
His brows furrow, and I wonder what Jesse meant by that.
I force my eyes to return to the assignment. I don’t want them to know I’m curious.
“This is going to be hell,” Deacon mutters.
“Go sit with Daphne. I’ll take your spot and work with the devil’s spawn.”
I whip my face toward them so fast that I crack my neck. “Mr. Abruzzo said no to switching
partners.”
They ignore me. “Go, before Daphne messes up the experiment.”
“Are you sure?”
The question is loaded, and Deacon’s eyes shine with uncertainty and maybe guilt for entertaining
the idea.
“Yes, I’ll be fine.”
Deacon grabs his jacket from the chair, making sure I see in his eyes how much he dislikes me,
and walks to his new partner. Daphne seems confused when he parks his butt on the chair next to hers.
She looks over her shoulder, throwing daggers in my direction.
Mr. Abruzzo finally notices the exchange. “Was I not clear when I said no to switching partners?”
“This was my seat originally,” Jesse replies and then pulls his chair closer to mine.
The teacher lets out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
Wait—is he just going to let this slide? What kind of bullshit is this?
I’m left staring with my mouth agape.
Then Jesse casually asks, “Are you going to grind those up, or should I take over?”
“Why did you switch with Deacon?”
“You heard our convo. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“Yes, but that still doesn’t explain why.”
He leans closer, narrowing his eyes. “Deacon can’t do subtle. He doesn’t know how to hate
without an explosion. I do.”
“Did you convince everyone in this school to hate me?”
He laughs without humor. “No, your father did.”
 I wince. That was a below-the-belt hit.
There’s nothing I can say, so I take my anger out on the bubblegum-pink tablets, crushing them
until they’re pulverized.
CHAPTER 9
 JESSE

I let Riley work on the first step of the experiment without interfering. It gives me time to come to
grips with the decision I made. Partnering with her wasn’t my plan. I don’t want to interact with
her, save to use her as a target for my anger. But Deacon is a hothead. He took my mother’s death
almost as hard as me. She was like a second mom to him. He’d do something stupid to avenge my
family and end up ruining his own life. I can’t have that on my conscience.
“The tablets are ready, what’s next?” Riley asks.
“We need to dissolve the pills in a solution of six parts water to one part concentrated muriatic
acid.”
“Make sure you have your goggles, gloves, and masks on,” Mr. Abruzzo says as he opens all the
windows.
Immediately, cool air invades the room. I welcome the drop in temperature, but next to me, Riley
shivers. The words to offer her my jacket are on the tip of my tongue—that’s how I was raised—but I
swallow them down.
“You do the next step,” she tells me.
“Why? Are you afraid to get burned?”
“Strong chemical smells are triggering to me.”
I didn’t expect that answer. I shouldn’t care to unpack the confession, but I can’t help my curiosity.
“Why is that?”
She keeps her gaze down. “It reminds me of the hospital.”
I clench my jaw as I try to control the tsunami of contradicting emotions her statement draws from
me. She got hurt in the accident, and if I could think logically, I’d view her as another victim, despite
the seed of doubt her father planted there. But I can’t see her in that light when she looks like the
monster who took my mother away from me.
“That means no more skating then,” I say, thinking about the chemical smell of fake ice.
Guilt claws its way into my heart again. I shouldn’t have said that. She’s an amazing skater; she
probably loves to be inside a rink just as much as I do.
Her peach-perfect porcelain skin drains of color, and she grows quiet. I force myself to ignore her
and focus on the project. Getting to know her is a risk I don’t dare take. I’d rather keep on hating the
idea of her.
CHAPTER 10
 RILEY

B y the time school lets out, I’m drained, but my day is far from over. I was hoping my walk from
school to Aunt Francine’s would revitalize me. No deal. I have an appointment with my
therapist, and since today was my first day, I’m sure she’ll have a million questions for me. I’m
not looking forward to that.
The appointment is at five o’clock, so I have time to try to psych myself up for it. I need to
rehearse what I’m going to say. There’s no chance in hell I’m gonna tell her about the charged
interactions I had with Jesse. From saying he wishes I was dead to partnering with me in chemistry,
that boy’s mood changes like the tides. Maybe I’ll start calling him moon boy.
I’m surprised to see Aunt Francine’s car in the driveway. She usually doesn’t come home until
after six.
I find her in the kitchen, already out of her tailored suit and wearing jeans, a turtleneck sweater,
and a puffy vest. She’s preparing mugs of hot chocolate, and it makes my mouth water.
“Hey, you’re home early,” I say.
“I wanted to be here when you came home from school. How was your first day?”
“Not as bad as I thought it would be.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily.
She offers me one of the mugs, and the delicious smell of hot cocoa wafts to my nose, making me
think about happier times. “Thanks.”
She arches an eyebrow. “You didn’t see Jesse Hartnett at all?”
The hot chocolate turns bitter in my mouth. Why did she have to bring him up? “Yeah. I saw him a
couple times.”
“And?”
With a sigh, I set the mug down on the counter. “And nothing. He ignored me when I saw him in
the hallway.”
“You said you met him more than once. What happened in the second encounter?”
I shouldn’t have indicated multiple encounters. My mistake. “We have chemistry together. He’s my
partner.”
Her eyes bug out, and it would have been comical if I wasn’t wrapped in a ball of dread over that
little detail. “How did that work out?”
I shrug. “It was fine.”
She narrows her eyes as she studies me. I bring the mug back to my lips, partially hiding my face
from her scrutiny.
“Hmm. I hope so. If that boy gives you trouble, you tell me, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
 “Finish your cocoa so we can go.”
“Go where?”
“Shopping. I realized I never took you out to get new clothes for school.”
“I don’t need anything. I’m fine with what I have.”
She waves me off. “Nonsense. Every girl likes new things at the start of the year.”
She seems so enthusiastic about going shopping that I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m not like
most girls. I never cared about new clothes or the latest electronic gadgets when my dreams cost so
much. Figure skating is an expensive sport. A pair of skates can cost up to two thousand dollars, then
there’s the coaching, time on ice, costumes, and traveling for competitions, among other things. If
Mom hadn’t had a good life insurance policy, I wouldn’t have been able to afford my passion. My
father didn’t make enough money to pay for all that. He could barely keep a job after Mom died in a
freaky hiking accident. She slipped and fell into a ravine while on a team-building trip with her
coworkers. The reason he didn’t blow the insurance money was that Aunt Francine and I were the
beneficiaries, not him.
“I guess I could get new tights and socks.”
She shakes her head. “We’ll see when we get there.”

T he sugar from the hot chocolate makes me sleepy, and I end up dozing off during the drive.
“We’re here, hon,” Aunt Francine announces.
I blink my eyes open and glance out the window. My stomach drops when I realize she
tricked me. We aren’t parked in downtown Lakeview. We’re in front of Blizzard Warriors ice rink,
the only rink in town.
“What are we doing here?”
“I had a conversation with Dr. Simmons. She believes visiting an ice rink could be beneficial.
You haven’t set foot in one since the accident.”
“Because I can’t bear the thought. You know I tried and failed.”
“True, and I didn’t push it then. But enough time has passed and… well, I think you do need a
little shove.” The corners of her lips twitch into a tentative smile, but it doesn’t work on me.
I’m angry that she lied to me, but at the same time, the longing in my chest can’t be denied. I’ve
missed skating so damn much. It was the only thing in my life that brought me joy after Mom died, and
I’m letting my father’s actions take that away from me.
“I’ll go in on the condition that you won’t force me to skate.”
“Of course, sweetheart. Baby steps.”
I nod, more to my benefit than hers. With a deep breath, I open the door and get out of the car. My
pulse accelerates as butterflies gather in my stomach. I’m more nervous than I used to be before a
competition. I don’t know what triggers will go off once I step inside.
Aunt Francine walks around the car and laces her arm with mine. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
We walk through the sliding doors side by side. I’m glad our arms are interlaced. I might have
bolted right back out. The familiar mixed scent of buttery popcorn, hot dogs, and roasted nuts hits me
first. It’d normally make my mouth water, but I can’t think about food when my stomach is twisted into
Another random document with
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on the intrenchments and blockhouses on the hills to the left.
The regiment was deployed on both sides of the road, and moved
forward until we came to the rearmost lines of the regulars.
We continued to move forward until I ordered a charge, and the
men rushed the blockhouse and rifle pits on the hill to the
right of our advance. They did the work in fine shape, though
suffering severely. The guidons of Troops E and G were first
planted on the summit, though the first men up were some A and
B troopers who were with me.

"We then opened fire on the intrenchments on a hill to our

left which some of the other regiments were assailing and
which they carried a few minutes later. Meanwhile we were
under a heavy rifle fire from the intrenchments along the
hills to our front, from whence they also shelled us with a
piece of field artillery until some of our marksmen silenced
it. When the men got their wind we charged again and carried
the second line of intrenchments with a rush. Swinging to the
left, we then drove the Spaniards over the brow of the chain
of hills fronting Santiago. By this time the regiments were
much mixed, and we were under a very heavy fire, both of
shrapnel and from rifles from the batteries, intrenchments,
and forts immediately in front of the city. On the extreme
front I now found myself in command with fragments of the six
cavalry regiments of the two brigades under me. The Spaniards
made one or two efforts to retake the line, but were promptly
driven back.

"Both General Sumner and you sent me word to hold the line at
all hazards, and that night we dug a line of intrenchments
across our front, using the captured Spaniards' intrenching
tools. We had nothing to eat except what we captured from the
Spaniards; but their dinners had fortunately been cooked, and
we ate them with relish, having been fighting all day. We had
no blankets and coats, and lay by the trenches all night. The
Spaniards attacked us once in the night, and at dawn they
opened a heavy artillery and rifle fire. Very great assistance
was rendered us by Lieutenant Parker's Gatling battery at
critical moments; he fought his guns at the extreme front of
the firing line in a way that repeatedly called forth the
cheers of my men. One of the Spanish batteries which was used
against us was directly in front of the hospital so that the
red cross flag flew over the battery, saving it from our fire
for a considerable period. The Spanish Mauser bullets made
clean wounds; but they also used a copper-jacketed or
brass-jacketed bullet which exploded, making very bad wounds
indeed.

"Since then we have continued to hold the ground; the food has
been short; and until today [July 4] we could not get our
blankets, coats, or shelter tents, while the men lay all day
under the fire from the Spanish batteries, intrenchments, and
guerrillas in trees, and worked all night in the trenches,
never even taking off their shoes. But they are in excellent
spirits, and ready and anxious to carry out any orders they
receive. At the end of the first day the eight troops were
commanded, two by captains, three by first lieutenants, two by
second lieutenants, and one by the sergeant whom you made
acting lieutenant. We went into the fight about 490 strong; 86
were killed or wounded, and there are about half a dozen
missing. The great heat prostrated nearly 40 men, some of them
among the best in the regiment."

Annual Reports of the War Department, 1898,

volume 1, part 2, page 684.

There have been much contradiction and controversy concerning

some of the orders by which the battle of San Juan was
directed. The following are the conclusions on that subject of
a civilian observer who seems to have seen and investigated
with impartiality:

"The orders under which the battle of San Juan was fought were
given by Adjutant-General McClernand to General Kent, commanding
the Infantry Division—consisting, in addition to the
organizations already mentioned (Wikoff's and Pearson's
brigades), of the First Brigade, including the Sixth and
Sixteenth United States Infantry and the Seventy-first New
York, under General Hawkins—at about nine o'clock in the
morning. There is no question fortunately as to the exact
wording of the orders. A little green knoll to the left of the
Santiago road and half a mile short of the San Juan Heights was
pointed out as the point which was to be the extreme limit of
the forward movement of the Infantry Division. Once there,
further orders would be given. The orders under which General
Sumner advanced from El Pozo would appear to have been more
specific, and certainly more clear than the orders which
General Kent received for the Infantry Division a few minutes
later. At the same time, it is true that these orders were
also based upon a complete misconception of the situation and
a total ignorance of the Spanish position and the lay of the
country beyond El Pozo. General Sumner's orders were to
advance along that branch of the Aguadores Creek which runs
parallel with the Santiago road from El Pozo, until it joins
the main stream of the Aguadores at the angle subsequently
known as the 'bloody angle,' where the creek makes a sharp
turn to the left, and then runs a general southerly course
toward the town of Aguadores and the sea. This creek General
Sumner was instructed to hold until the result of Lawton's
attack upon Caney became known, and he received further
orders. Once the creek was reached, Sumner, under the most
unfavorable circumstances of a heavy fire, and the thick and
pathless jungles which his men had to penetrate, deployed his
whole division, and then sent back word to McClernand, the
adjutant-general of the corps, acquainting him with the actual
conditions by which he was confronted, and asking whether his
orders contemplated an attack upon the enemy's intrenched
position, setting forth at the same time the utter
impossibility of keeping his men inactive for a long time
under such a heavy fire as was being poured in upon them.
{607}

"Had it been proposed to carry out the plan, as discussed and

agreed upon at General Shafter's headquarters the night
before, to advance along the right flank of the Spanish
position, keeping in touch with Lawton, obviously these two
divisions, or a large part of them, should have been directed
to take the direct road which ran north from El Pozo to
Marianaje and thence to El Caney, leaving in front of San Juan
only force sufficient to retain the Spaniards in their
position. But the divisions were ordered to proceed along the
Santiago road, and in a very few minutes came under fire. The
original plan may have been changed at the last moment, of
course; but as every movement that was subsequently made was
in the line of carrying this plan out, until finally, on the
12th, General Lawton succeeded in completely investing the
town on the north and west, this does not seem likely. The
more probable explanation of the movement and of what
followed, and the one accepted by general officers, is as
follows: That it was still intended to follow Lawton's advance
on the right, but that owing to our failure to develop the
Spanish position in our front, and our complete ignorance of
the lay of the land, the flank movement was not begun until
too late—not until the troops had been led into a position
from which they could be extricated only by wresting from the
Spaniards the block-houses and the trenches from which,
unexposed and unseen, they were delivering such a galling fire
upon our men, engaged in wandering aimlessly about in an
almost trackless tropical jungle. At this moment of great
confusion and uncertainty, when the road was choked with the
regiments of both the cavalry and infantry divisions, mutually
hindering one another in their struggles to advance, and
having to sustain a heavy and destructive fire which could not
be answered, an ordeal even for the veteran soldier; at this
moment, when something might still have been done to mislead
the enemy and cover our advance, the war balloon was sent up
directly behind our columns. This mistake betrayed the exact
location of our advance, and the Spanish fire became heavier
and better directed, and our losses more severe."

S. Bonsal,
The Fight for Santiago,
chapter 6 (New York: Doubleday, Page & Company).

The same writer gives a sickening account of the sufferings of

the wounded after the battle and the miserable failure of
provision for any kind of succor or care of them. "Of course:"
he says, "in view of the perilous situation which the two
divisions now occupied upon the crest of the hill, and the
great anxiety which was felt at headquarters for the safety of
the whole army, and the preparations which had to be made
against the expected night attack of the Spaniards to drive
our men back and retake their lost position, the search for
the dead and wounded this evening had to be confined to a very
limited area, and was only as thorough as the shortness of the
time for which men could be spared from the colors permitted.
The jungle and the great fields of long grass were not
searched, and thus many of the wounded were not discovered
until the following day; and quite a number, indeed, not until
the armistice was declared, on the third day after the battle,
when the men had time to ransack the hill-side and the valley
for the missing. And there were some—those who had the
strength when they fell to crawl through the cactus, the
Spanish bayonet, and all manner of prickly and trailing plants
into the deeper and more protected recesses of the jungle—who
were never discovered at all until days, many days, had
passed; and the gathering of the vultures told where some poor
fellow had died without care and without food, of his wounds
or from starvation. Of such an one, when his place of hiding
was discovered, there was, as a rule, only left a whitened
skeleton and pieces of the uniform he had worn. The last
resting place of not a few was never discovered at all.

"I believe I am giving a moderate estimate when I say that at

least one-third of the men wounded on July 1st received no
attention, and were not brought back to the division hospital
until the afternoon of Ju]y 3d. This night we knew nothing,
and had not even the slightest suspicion, of how numerous the
undiscovered wounded were. … Only about half of the wounded
men who were discovered this evening and been brought back to
the dressing station when the moon rose above the dark forest
line, and lit up the battlefield and the heights of San Juan
as clearly, and, indeed, more clearly than day, for there was
now not the dazzling force and the confusing mirage of the
pitiless sunlight to blind the sight. The majority of these
men had had their wounds dressed where they fell, or soon
after falling, with the first-aid bandages. There were very
few indeed to whom it had been possible to give any further
attention than this, as the regimental surgeons, for want of
transportation, had been unable to bring their medical chests,
and those who were best provided carried with them only small
pocket cases. …

"When the first-aid bandages were applied, the wounded man and
those who helped him were, as a rule, under fire, which made
any but the most summary methods of wound-dressing quite
impossible. Fortunately these bandages, so simple and
practical, lent themselves excellently well to this procedure.
The first thing the soldiers or the hospital attendants would
do when they came upon a wounded man was, in the case of a
wound in the body, to tear off his shirt, or in the case of a
wound in the leg, tear off his trousers, and then wrap around
the wound the first-aid bandage. The wound-dressers were
generally in such haste, and the wounded men usually so
helpless to assist in any way, and their shirts and trousers
so rotten from the drenching rains in which they had been worn
without change day or night, that the taking off of the clothing
was literally what I call it—tearing, and the garment came off
so rent as to be quite useless for further wear. Consequently
the soldiers were carried half-naked, or, if they had been
wounded in both the body and the lower limbs, as was so
 frequently the case, entirely naked, to the army wagons and so
down to the hospital, where there was not a scrap of clothing
or bedding forthcoming to cover them with. These who were
stripped in this way during the daytime were baked and
blistered by the fierce sunlight, only to shiver with the
penetrating cold and dampness after the rain had ceased to
fall and when the chill night came on.

"Knowing that he was totally unprepared to clothe or cover the

wounded that would probably be brought in, the chief surgeon
of the corps issued an order, the evening before the battle,
that all wounded men should be brought in with their blankets,
halves of shelter-tents, and ponchos when possible. This was
certainly a step in the right direction, even if it was but a
frank confession by the authorities that no preparation had
been made by them for the emergency which it cannot be said
was suddenly thrust upon them, but which they might have
foreseen and should have been preparing against for many weeks
previous.
{608}
While the attending soldiers, realizing how serious for their
wounded comrades it would be to have to lie in the hospitals
uncovered to wind and weather, made great efforts to find
their packs, these efforts were not often successful, and a
great majority of the wounded reached the hospital half
naked, and had thereafter only the covering and the bedding
which their comrades and the hospital attendants were able to
'rustle' for them, and this was little enough and not seldom
nothing at all.

"Had this expedition been provided with a greater number of

surgeons and hospital attendants, had the ambulances been at
hand which we left in Tampa or upon the transports, ambulances
without which it is reasonable to suppose—at least we had
supposed—no civilized power would enter upon an aggressive
war, much less upon a campaign in which we had the advantage
of choosing both our own time and the field of operations, the
outrageous treatment which our wounded suffered, and the
barbarous scenes which we were called upon to witness upon
this and the following days would never have occurred."

S. Bonsai,
The Fight for Santiago,
chapter 8 (New York: Doubleday, Page & Company).

The troops which had carried San Juan Hill were intrenched,
that night, in the positions they had gained, and those which
had taken El Caney were brought into connection with them,
Lawton's division on their right and Bates's brigade on the
left. The battle was renewed by the Spaniards soon after
daylight on the morning of the 2d, and raged with more or less
fury throughout the day. That evening, about 10 o'clock, a
fierce attempt was made to break through the American lines,
but without success. Again, on the morning of the third, the
Spaniards reopened battle, but with less vigor than before.
General Shafter then sent the following letter to General
Toral, the Spanish commander: "I shall be obliged, unless you
surrender, to shell Santiago de Cuba. Please inform the
citizens of foreign countries, and all women and children,
that they should leave the city before 10 o'clock to-morrow
morning." In reply, General Toral wrote; "It is my duty to say
to you that this city will not surrender, and that I will
inform the foreign consuls and inhabitants of the contents of
your message." Several of the foreign consuls at Santiago then
came into the American lines and persuaded General Shafter to
delay the shelling of the town until noon of the 5th, provided
that the Spanish forces made no demonstration meantime against
his own. This established a truce which was renewed, in a
series of negotiations until the 10th. "I was of the opinion,"
reported General Shafter, "that the Spaniards would surrender
if given a little time, and I thought this result would be
hastened if the men of their army could be made to understand
they would be well treated as prisoners of war. Acting upon
this presumption I determined to offer to return all the
wounded Spanish officers at El Caney who were able to bear
transportation, and who were willing to give their paroles not
to serve against the forces of the United States until
regularly exchanged. This offer was made and accepted. These
officers, as well as several of the wounded Spanish privates,
27 in all, were sent to their lines under the escort of some
of our mounted cavalry. Our troops were received with honors,
and I have every reason to believe the return of the Spanish
prisoners produced a good impression on their comrades. The
cessation of firing about noon on the 3d practically
terminated the battle of Santiago." General Shafter goes on to
say that when the battle was fiercest, on July 1st, he probably
had no more than 12,000 men on the firing line, not counting a
few Cubans who assisted in the attack on El Caney, and who
fought with valor. They were confronted by about equal numbers
of the enemy, in strong and intrenched positions. "Our losses
in these battles were 22 officers and 208 men killed, and 81
officers and 1,203 men wounded; missing 79. The missing, with
few exceptions, reported later." Up to this time, General
Shafter had been unable to complete the investment of the town
with his own men, and had depended upon General Garcia with
his Cubans, placed on the extreme right of the American lines,
to watch for and intercept reinforcements. They failed to do
so, and 2,800 Spaniards, under General Escario, entered the
city on the night of the 2d. The American commander now
extended his own lines as rapidly as possible and completed
the investment of the town.

Annual Reports of the War Department, 1898,

volume 1, part 2, pages 155-157.

As stated above, permission was given on the 3d for

non-combatants to leave the city. "They did leave in the
following days to the number of perhaps 20,000, filling the
neighboring villages and roads with destitute people, mostly
women and children. It then seemed to fall to our lot to see
that these people did not starve in a desolate country, and to
 be as much our duty to take care of these people, whom our
policy had driven from their homes, as it was for Spain to
feed the reconcentrados, whom they drove from their homes
under their war policy. The task was not insignificant."

Report of Inspector-General
(Annual Reports of the War Department, 1898,
volume 1, part 2, page 596).

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA: A. D. 1898 (July).

Annexation of the Hawaiian Islands.

See (in this volume)

HAWAIIAN ISLANDS: A. D. 1898.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA: A. D. 1898 (July 1).

National Bankrupt Law.

After years of effort on the part of its advocates, a national

bankrupt law was enacted by both Houses of Congress and
received the President's signature on the 1st of July, 1898.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA: A. D. 1898 (July 3).

Destruction of the Spanish squadron at Santiago.

On the morning of July 3, Admiral Cervera, convinced that

Santiago would be taken by the American forces, and acting
under orders from the Captain-General at Havana, made a
desperate attempt to save his squadron by escaping to sea. The
result was a total destruction of the Spanish ships, in an
engagement with the blockading fleet, of which Admiral Sampson
gave the following account in his official report:

"The enemy's vessels came out of the harbor between 9.35 and
10 a. m., the head of the column appearing around Cay Smith at
9.31 and emerging from the channel five or six minutes later.
The positions of the vessels of my command off Santiago at
 that moment were as follows: The flagship 'New York' was 4
miles east of her blockading station and about 7 miles from
the harbor entrance. She had started for Siboney, where I
intended to land, accompanied by several of my staff, and go
to the front to consult with General Shafter.
{609}
A discussion of the situation and a more definite
understanding between us of the operations proposed had been
rendered necessary by the unexpectedly strong resistance of
the Spanish garrison of Santiago. I had sent my chief of staff
on shore the day before to arrange an interview with General
Shafter, who had been suffering from heat prostration. I made
arrangements to go to his headquarters, and my flagship was in
the position mentioned above when the Spanish squadron
appeared in the channel. The remaining vessels were in or near
their usual blockading positions, distributed in a semicircle
about the harbor entrance, counting from the eastward to the
westward, in the following order: The 'Indiana' about a mile
and a half from shore, the 'Oregon'—the 'New York's' place
being between these two—the 'Iowa,' 'Texas,' and 'Brooklyn,'
the latter two miles from the shore west of Santiago. The
distance of the vessels from the harbor entrance was from 2½
to 4 miles, the latter being the limit of day blockading
distance. The length of the arc formed by the ships was about
8 miles. The 'Massachusetts' had left at 4 a. m., for
Guantanamo for coal. Her station was between the 'Iowa' and
'Texas.' The auxiliaries 'Gloucester' and 'Vixen' lay close to
the land and nearer the harbor entrance than the large
vessels, the 'Gloucester' to the eastward and the 'Vixen' to
the westward. The torpedo boat 'Ericsson' was in company with
the flagship and remained with her during the chase until
ordered to discontinue, when she rendered very efficient
service in rescuing prisoners from the burning' Vizcaya.' …

"The Spanish vessels came rapidly out of the harbor, at a

speed estimated at from 8 to 10 knots, and in the following
order: 'Infanta Maria Teresa' (flagship), 'Vizcaya,'
'Cristobal Colon,' and the 'Almirante Oquendo.' The distance
between these ships was about 800 yards, which means that from
the time the first one became visible in the upper reach of
the channel until the last one was out of the harbor an
interval of only about 12 minutes elapsed. Following the
'Oquendo,' at a distance of about 1,200 yards, came the
torpedo-boat destroyer 'Pluton,' and after her the 'Furor.'
The armored cruisers, as rapidly as they could bring their
guns to bear, opened a vigorous fire upon the blockading
vessels, and emerged from the channel shrouded in the smoke
from their guns. The men of our ships in front of the port
were at Sunday 'quarters for inspection.' The signal was made
simultaneously from several vessels, 'Enemy ships escaping,'
and general quarters was sounded. The men cheered as they
sprang to their guns, and fire was opened probably within 8
minutes by the vessels whose guns commanded the entrance. The
'New York' turned about and steamed for the escaping fleet,
flying the signal, 'Close in towards harbor entrance and
attack vessels,' and gradually increasing speed, until toward
the end of the chase she was making 16½ knots, and was rapidly
closing on the 'Cristobal Colon.' She was not, at any time,
within the range of the heavy Spanish ships, and her only part
in the firing was to receive the undivided fire from the forts
in passing the harbor entrance, and to fire a few shots at one
of the destroyers, thought at the moment to be attempting to
escape from the 'Gloucester.'

"The Spanish vessels, upon clearing the harbor, turned to the

westward in column, increasing their speed to the full power
of their engines. The heavy blockading vessels, which had
closed in towards the Morro at the instant of the enemy's
appearance, and at their best speed, delivered a rapid fire,
well sustained and destructive, which speedily overwhelmed and
silenced the Spanish fire. The initial speed of the Spaniards
carried them rapidly past the blockading vessels, and the
battle developed into a chase in which the 'Brooklyn' and
'Texas' had, at the start, the advantage of position. The
'Brooklyn' maintained this lead. The 'Oregon,' steaming with
amazing speed from the commencement of the action, took first
place. The 'Iowa' and the 'Indiana' having done good work, and
not having the speed of the other ships, were directed by me,
in succession, at about the time the 'Vizcaya' was beached, to
drop out of the chase and resume blockading stations. These
vessels rescued many prisoners. The 'Vixen,' finding that the
rush of the Spanish ships would put her between two fires, ran
outside of our own column and remained there during the battle
and chase.

"The skillful handling and gallant fighting of the

'Gloucester' excited the admiration of everyone who witnessed
it, and merits the commendation of the Navy Department. She is
a fast and entirely unprotected auxiliary vessel—the yacht
'Corsair'—and has a good battery of light rapid-fire guns. She
was lying about 2 miles from the harbor entrance, to the
southward and eastward, and immediately steamed in, opening
fire upon the large ships. Anticipating the appearance of the
'Pluton' and 'Furor,' the 'Gloucester' was slowed, thereby
gaining more rapidly a high pressure of steam, and when the
destroyers came out she steamed for them at full speed, and
was able to close to short range, while her fire was accurate,
deadly, and of great volume. During this fight the
'Gloucester' was under the fire of the Socapa Battery. Within
twenty minutes from the time they emerged from Santiago Harbor
the careers of the 'Furor' and the 'Pluton' were ended, and
two-thirds of their people killed. The 'Furor' was beached and
sunk in the surf; the 'Pluton' sank in deep water a few
minutes later. The destroyers probably suffered much injury
from the fire of the secondary batteries of the battle ships
'Iowa,' 'Indiana,' and the 'Texas,' yet I think a very
considerable factor in their speedy destruction was the fire,
at close range, of the 'Gloucester's' battery. After rescuing
the survivors of the destroyers, the 'Gloucester' did
excellent service in landing and securing the crew of the
'Infanta Maria Teresa.'
 "The method of escape attempted by the Spaniards, all steering
in the same direction, and in formation, removed all tactical
doubts or difficulties, and made plain the duty of every
United States vessel to close in, immediately engage, and
pursue. This was promptly and effectively done. As already
stated, the first rush of the Spanish squadron carried it past
a number of the blockading ships which could not immediately
work up to their best speed; but they suffered heavily in
passing, and the 'Infanta Maria Teresa' and the 'Oquendo' were
probably set on fire by shells fired during the first fifteen
minutes of the engagement. It was afterwards learned that the
'Infanta Maria Teresa's' fire main had been cut by one of our
first shots, and that she was unable to extinguish fire. With
large volumes of smoke rising from their lower decks aft,
these vessels gave up both fight and flight and ran in on the
beach—the 'Infanta Maria Teresa' at about 10.15 a. m. at Nima
Nima, 6½ miles from Santiago Harbor entrance, and the
'Almirante Oquendo' at about 10.30 a. m. at Juan Gonzales, 7
miles from the port.

{610}

"The 'Vizcaya' was still under the fire of the leading

vessels; the 'Cristobal Colon' had drawn ahead, leading the
chase, and soon passed beyond the range of the guns of the
leading American ships. The 'Vizcaya' was soon set on fire,
and, at 11.15, she turned inshore, and was beached at
Aserraderos, 15 miles from Santiago, burning fiercely, and
with her reserves of ammunition on deck already beginning to
explode. When about 10 miles west of Santiago the 'Indiana'
had been signaled to go back to the harbor entrance, and at
Aserraderos the 'Iowa' was signaled to 'Resume blockading
station.' The 'Iowa' assisted by the 'Ericsson' and the
'Hist,' took off the crew of the 'Vizcaya,' while the
'Harvard' and the 'Gloucester' rescued those of the 'Infanta
Maria Teresa' and the 'Almirante Oquendo.' This rescue of
prisoners, including the wounded, from the burning Spanish
vessels, was the occasion of some of the most daring and
gallant conduct of the day. The ships were burning fore and
aft, their guns and reserve ammunition were exploding, and it
was not known at what moment the fire would reach the main
magazines. In addition to this a heavy surf was running just
inside of the Spanish ships. But no risk deterred our officers
and men until their work of humanity was complete.

"There remained now of the Spanish ships only the 'Cristobal

Colon'—but she was their best and fastest vessel. Forced by
the situation to hug the Cuban coast, her only chance of
escape was by superior and sustained speed. When the 'Vizcaya'
went ashore, the 'Colon' was about 6 miles ahead of the
'Brooklyn' and the 'Oregon'; but her spurt was finished, and
the American ships were now gaining upon her. Behind the
'Brooklyn' and the 'Oregon' came the 'Texas,' 'Vixen,' and
'New York.' It was evident from the bridge of the 'New York'
that all the American ships were gradually overhauling the
chase, and that she had no chance of escape. At 12.50 the
'Brooklyn' and the 'Oregon' opened fire and got her range—the
'Oregon's' heavy shell striking beyond her—and at 1.20 she
gave up without firing another shot, hauled down her colors,
and ran ashore at Rio Torquino, 48 miles from Santiago.
Captain Cook, of the 'Brooklyn,' went on board to receive the
surrender. While his boat was alongside I came up in the 'New
York,' received his report, and placed the 'Oregon' in charge
of the wreck to save her, if possible, and directed the
prisoners to be transferred to the 'Resolute,' which had
followed the chase. Commodore Schley, whose chief of staff had
gone on board to receive the surrender, had directed that all
their personal effects should be retained by the officers.
This order I did not modify. The 'Cristobal Colon' was not
injured by our firing, and probably is not much injured by
beaching, though she ran ashore at high speed. The beach was
so steep that she came off by the working of the sea. But her
sea valves were opened and broken, treacherously, I am sure,
after her surrender, and despite all efforts she sank. When it
became evident that she could not be kept afloat, she was
pushed by the 'New York' bodily up on the beach, the 'New
York's' stem being placed against her for this purpose—the
ship being handled by Captain Chadwick with admirable
judgment—and sank in shoal water and may be saved. Had this
not been done she would have gone down in deep water and would
have been, to a certainty, a total loss.

"I regard this complete and important victory over the Spanish
forces as the successful finish of several weeks of arduous
and close blockade, so stringent and effective during the
night that the enemy was deterred from making the attempt to
escape at night, and deliberately elected to make the attempt
in daylight. The object of the blockade of Cervera's squadron
was fully accomplished, and each individual bore well his part
in it—the commodore in command on the second division, the
captains of ships, their officers, and men. The fire of the
battle ships was powerful and destructive, and the resistance
of the Spanish squadron was, in great part, broken almost
before they had got beyond the range of their own forts. …
Several of the [American] ships were struck—the 'Brooklyn'
more often than the others—but very slight material injury was
done, the greatest being aboard the 'Iowa.' Our loss was 1 man
killed and 1 wounded, both on the 'Brooklyn.' It is difficult to
explain this immunity from loss of life or injury to ships in
a combat with modern vessels of the best type, but Spanish
gunnery is poor at the best, and the superior weight and
accuracy of our fire speedily drove the men from their guns
and silenced their fire. This is borne out by the statements
of prisoners and by observation."

Annual Report of Secretary of the Navy, 1898,

volume 2, pages 506-511.

Some particulars of the destruction of the "Furor," the

"Pluton," and the "Infanta Maria Teresa," and of the rescue of
 surviving Spaniards, including Admiral Cervera, are given in a
report by Lieutenant Huse, executive officer of the "Gloucester,"
as follows: "The 'Pluton' was run on the rocks about 4 miles
west of Morro and blew up. Our crew cheered at the sight of
the explosion. The 'Furor' soon commenced to describe circles
with a starboard helm, her fire ceased, and it became apparent
that she was disabled. A white rag was waved from forward and
we stopped firing. Lieutenants Wood and Norman and Assistant
Engineer Proctor were sent to rescue the crews and to see if
the prizes could be saved. These found a horrible state of
affairs on the 'Furor.' The vessel was a perfect shambles. As
she was on fire and burning rapidly, they took off the living
and then rescued all they could find in the water and on the
beach. The 'Pluton' was among the rocks in the surf and could
not be boarded, but her crew had made their way ashore or were
adrift on life buoys and wreckage. These were all taken on board.
I have since learned that the 'New York' passed a number of
men in the water who had doubtless jumped overboard from the
destroyers to escape our fire. All these were probably
drowned. While this work was going on several explosions took
place on the 'Furor,' and presently—at about 11.30—she threw
her bows in the air, and turning to port slowly sank in deep
water. …

{611}

"While one of our boats was still ashore, seeing heavy clouds
of smoke behind the next point the ship was moved in that
direction, the men being at quarters and everything in
readiness for further action. On rounding the point two
men-of-war were found on the beach burning fiercely aft, the
majority of the crew being crowded on the forecastle and
unable apparently to reach land, only 200 yards away. Our
boats, under Lieutenant Norman and Ensign Edson, put off to
the nearer vessel, which proved to be the flagship 'Infanta
Maria Teresa,' and rescued all on board by landing them on the
beach through the surf. Lieutenant Norman formally received
the surrender of the commander in chief and all his officers
and men present, and as soon as all hands had been transferred
ashore, brought on board this ship all the higher officers,
including the admiral. Lieutenant Wood meanwhile rescued the
remaining survivors on board the 'Oquendo,' the second of the
burning vessels. The Spanish officers not feeling that the
prisoners on shore were secure from attack by Cuban partisans,
by your orders I directed Lieutenant Norman to land with a
small force, establish a camp on shore, and hoist the United
States flag over it. He took with him all the rations that
could be spared from the stores aboard."

Annual Report of Secretary of the Navy, 1898,

volume 2, page 542.

The following is a translation, from Admiral Cervera's report,

as partly published in newspapers at Madrid, giving his
description of the destruction of his flagship and his own
rescue from death: "The enemy's fire produced terrible damages
on board the 'Infanta Maria Teresa,' destroying the elements
of defence—among others, the net for protection against fire.
In this critical moment the captain of the ship, Señor Concas,
fell wounded, and it was necessary to withdraw him, I taking
command of the vessel, because it was impossible to find the
second commandant of the 'Maria Teresa.' Immediately
afterwards they reported to me that my cabin was burning in
consequence of an explosion. The fire soon became very great
and ignited other parts of the ship. I gave orders to my aid
to flood the after magazines, but it was impossible. Dense
clouds of smoke impeded walking in the passages and practicing
any kind of operations. In this situation I could only think
of beaching the ship, and did so, running aground on Punta
Cabrera. The contest was impossible on our side, and there was
nothing more to be done but to save as much as possible. I
thought to lower the flag, but that was not possible on
account of the fire, which prevented all operations. In these
anxious moments two boats came to the aid of the 'Maria
 Teresa,' into which a number of us jumped. Those that were not
dying were saved with nothing. The 'Teresa' lowered a small boat,
which sank before it could be of any service. Subsequently
they succeeded in launching a steam launch, but this also sank
after making one voyage to the beach. I succeeded in saving
myself with nothing, two sailors helping me, one named Andres
Sequeros and the officer D. Angel Cervera, all of us arriving
on board the American ship 'Gloucester' naked. At this time we
were all naked."

Annual Report of Secretary of the Navy, 1898,

volume 2, pages 558-559.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA: A. D. 1898 July (4-17).

The surrender of Santiago and of all the Spanish forces
in eastern Cuba.

The following is a continuation of the report made by General

Shafter of his operations at Santiago de Cuba, resulting in
the surrender of the entire forces of Spain in eastern Cuba:
"The information of our naval victory was transmitted under
flag of truce to the Spanish commander in Santiago on July 4,
and the suggestion again made that he surrender to save
needless effusion of blood. On the same date I informed
Admiral Sampson that if he would force his way into the harbor
the city would surrender without any further sacrifice of
life. Commodore Watson replied that Admiral Sampson was
temporarily absent, but that in his (Watson's) opinion the
navy should not enter the harbor. In the meanwhile letters
passing between General Toral and myself caused the cessation
of hostilities to continue; each army, however, continued to
strengthen its intrenchments. I was still of the opinion the
Spaniards would surrender without much more fighting, and on
July 6 called General Toral's attention to the changed
conditions and at his request gave him time to consult his
home Government. This he did, asking that the British consul,
with the employees of the cable company, be permitted to
return from El Caney to the city. This I granted. The strength
of the enemy's position was such I did not wish to assault if
it could be avoided. An examination of the enemy's works, made
after the surrender, fully justified the wisdom of the course
adopted. The intrenchments could only have been carried with
very great loss of life, probably with not less than 3,000
killed and wounded.

"On July 8 General Toral offered to march out of the city with
arms and baggage, provided he would not be molested before
reaching Holguin, and to surrender to the American forces the
territory then occupied by him. I replied that while I would
submit his proposition to my home Government, I did not think
it would be accepted. In the meanwhile arrangements were made
with Admiral Sampson that when the army again engaged the
enemy the navy would assist by shelling the city from ships
stationed off Aguadores, dropping a shell every few minutes.
On July 10 the 1st Illinois and the 1st District of Columbia
arrived, and were placed on the line to the right of the
cavalry division. This enabled me to push Lawton further to
the right and to practically command the Cobra road. On the
afternoon of the date last mentioned the truce was broken off
at 4 p. m., and I determined to open with four batteries of
artillery, and went forward in person to the trenches to give
the necessary orders; but the enemy anticipated us by opening
fire with his artillery a few minutes after the hour stated.
His batteries were apparently silenced before night, while
ours continued playing upon his trenches until dark. During
this firing the navy fired from Aguadores, most of the shells
falling in the city. There was also some small-arms firing. On
this afternoon and the next morning we lost Captain Charles W.
Rowell, 2d Infantry, and 1 man killed, and Lieutenant Lutz, 2d
Infantry, and 10 men wounded. On the morning of July 11 the
bombardment by the Navy and my field guns was renewed and
continued until nearly noon, and on the same day I reported to
the Adjutant-General of the Army that the right of Ludlow's
brigade of Lawton's division rested on the bay. Thus our hold