Page 63 of A Wreck, You Make Me (Bad Boys of Bardstown #3)

Chapter Twenty-Three

THE WRECKING THORN

Guilt is not an emotion I feel often.

I think it’s useless and wasteful. It makes you dwell on things when it’s always better to not.

It’s better to bury them and move on. Besides, you can’t go back and change things, can you?

So what good is it to think about it? But I’ve been feeling it a lot lately, when it comes to my family and the distance I feel from them.

I’ve been feeling it even more ever since I met her—or rather, since I chased her down at that gala months ago, because she’s always running from me—I’ve felt it often.

I’ve been able to brush it away though, bury it deep.

I’ve been able to justify my actions, wrap them in a pretty bow.

No matter what I did, what lines I crossed—offering money in exchange for sex, stalking her at her jobs, blackmailing her to be with me—I thought of it as her getting something out of it.

I thought of it as ‘helping’ her in exchange for her ‘helping’ me.

I even justified doing what I did that night at the club, humiliating her, making that video, having her ride my boot, as something that I was owed for being hurt.

While I still feel like a piece of shit for it, I’ve been able to live with myself.

Or rather, I’ve been able to sleep at least a couple of hours at night, with her under the same roof as me. Not at all healthy if you’re prepping for the season, but fuck that right now. Soccer is the last thing on my mind at this moment.

Instead, what’s on my mind is that I don’t know how to bury this. What happened two days ago. What I did. How I broke her trust. Again, I’ve broken it often enough, but this feels like a new low for me. Or maybe I’m starting to grow a conscience because of her. Maybe she’s changed me in some way.

Either way, I should’ve told her. She’s not safe with me.

For many, many, many reasons.

That everything she’s worried about is true.

Yes, us being together will complicate things.

Not for her, of course, but for me. Conrad is going to fucking hate it.

He’s going to lose his shit if he finds out I’m sleeping with his new stepsister.

He’s crazy like that. He’s good like that.

He’s already been eyeing me ever since that night when I declared she was my business.

If he had his way—which I think he’s waiting for—he’d take her away from me and put her somewhere safe. Only because he knows how I watch her.

Only because they all know, all my siblings, how I watch her.

Like she’s a piece of juicy fruit and I can’t wait to sink my teeth into her.

Not a lie, and yes, she is juicy. Probably that’s why they all drop by the house so much.

They never used to before, but now they’re over every fucking day and it’s really fucking annoying.

She’s also worried about Snow. Rightfully.

Snow is young, younger than her. And she’s made sure that Snow remains as innocent as possible of how the world works.

Probably because she knows way too much about it.

And if Snow finds out what’s been going on behind her back, she’ll be happy, I know, but she’ll also be planning a future for her sister and me.

Not to mention the fucking media. They haven’t left me alone these past few months and now they won’t leave her alone either.

Just by her association with me. And she doesn’t know it yet, but it fucking sucks being torn down every single day.

Being doubted and criticized and fucking taken apart.

The only way I’ve been able to survive it is because of her.

Because of her ‘cheerleading,’ which I always dismiss and insult, but somehow it’s become my saving grace these past weeks.

She has become my saving grace. Jupiter Jones.

She doesn’t even know the ways she has helped me.

My Little Strawberry, the good girl no matter how much I try to turn her dirty and bad.

Who told me in very specific, explicit words that she wants to be a part of something.

That she wants a family. She doesn’t want to deceive or lie.

She doesn’t want to keep any more secrets or hurt anyone.

And yet, I made her into my dirty little secret up against a fucking tree.

The night before I was set to leave for my season.

And now I’m avoiding her texts because I don’t know what to say.

I don’t have the right words.

“Who the fuck are you glaring at?”

I look away from my phone and focus on the man sitting beside me.

We are at a club—I forget the name—in New Orleans, where we just had our first game.

Which we won, surprisingly. Courtesy of our strong strikers, Ledger and Riot.

I didn’t manage to score anything, but I wasn’t also the dumb fucker who kept missing every pass like I used to at the beginning of this season’s practices.

And you know what, I’m proud of my boys, even though they’ve been annoying me ever since the news of our family’s two new additions broke out.

I’m proud they picked up the slack when I wasn’t in top form.

But most of all, the reason I am in a better form than before, even if remotely, is because of her.

So as much as I’m proud, I’m also so fucking…

lonely. Without her. To celebrate. Or cheering me from the stands like so many of these boys’ girls do.

I’m pathetically sad and lonely and instead of celebrating our hard-earned but also miraculous victory, I want to see her.

I want to talk to her. I want to somehow convince her to wear my jersey and send me a picture of it so I can carry it with me into the next game.

I mean, she shouldn’t, not after how I recorded her that night, seemingly for revenge but not really, but when has doing the right thing stopped me?

See my dilemma? Born to be an asshole, but somehow it’s fucking with my head that I can’t be anything else.

Anyway, back to the man who just asked me the question: his name is Byron Bradshaw and he’s one of my oldest friends from Bardstown.

We went to high school together, but now he’s the captain of the New Orleans team that we won our game against. Not to mention he also happens to be my new sister’s favorite player.

When Snow found out we were playing New Orleans, she couldn’t hide her excitement.

Not going to lie, it hurt a little. I thought I was her favorite.

Plus, Byron isn’t the kind of a guy I’d imagine straitlaced and shy Snow ever liking, but it’s okay.

I let it slide. In fact, I’m surprising her with his autograph and I’ve extracted a promise from him to visit Bardstown in a couple of months so Snow can personally meet him.

And of course, we’ve had the ‘stay away from my sister’ talk already.

Not that he would, but still, you never know. Men are assholes. Like me.

In any case, before I can reply to him, about the phone thing I mean, another guy sitting in our corner speaks for me. “Must be girl trouble.”

It’s Ark Reinhardt. He’s also one of my oldest friends, but no, he isn’t a soccer player.

He used to play in high school but never really had any aspirations to go pro.

Instead, he owns one of the most respected security companies east of the Mississippi, based out of New York City and Bardstown.

He was in town for business and decided to stop by for the game and, of course, the activities after.

All three of us are huddled in our own corner, away from the crowd.

While I admit I’m not being very good company right now, I also don’t want them hassling me about things.

So I pocket my phone, pick up my beer from the glass table in front of me and say, “I never have any trouble with girls. You’re probably thinking about yourself. ”

Ark smirks, sipping from his own beer. “Nah, it’s you. Because you’re usually the one to fuck around with them.”

“I’m not fucking around,” I snap, my chest going tight. I know it was a joke, but I don’t even want to hear any jokes about me fucking with her. Although that’s exactly what I did and am doing. Will probably continue to do.

“Ah,” says Byron, sipping his beer before tipping the bottle toward me and guessing correctly. “There’s your problem. He did fuck around. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”

My chest grows even tighter, and since these days the urge to punch people isn’t far behind, I crack my knuckles, imagining jamming them into his bearded jaw. “I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you.”

My pissed-off tone might have penetrated, because both my friends lose their amusement and sit straight. Ark’s the first to check in. “Is it about the engagement?”

Byron is next. “Are you still?—”

“I don’t want to talk about her,” I cut him off.

First because that’s my default reaction. I never want to talk about her with anyone. I don’t even want to say her name, if I can avoid it. It makes everything even more real and painful than it already is. Or at least, it used to be.

Second, the engagement. Yeah, that was a big one.

A big fuck you that smacked me in the face and punched me in the gut.

That’s what it felt like when I arrived at practice and found everyone looking at me with pity.

I didn’t get it in the beginning. Until one of the guys on the team looked so apologetic for me missing the pass that I had to call everything to a halt and rip them all a new one. Which is when I found out.

My twin brother got engaged.