Page 72 of An Inevitable Marriage

“Oh, I don’t know.” He grinned and came at me with a combination of punches that left me ducking and weaving. “How ’bout we address the fact you practically threw me and Tristan out?” Eyes burning with mirth, he bounced on his feet. “Has she moved into your bedroom yet?”

The thought of Snow in my bed turned the blood in my veins into a fucking inferno. It didn’t take much to picture her splayed out on my sheets while I found different ways to make her scream.

A jolt of pain snapped me back to reality. Rafe’s gloved hand connected with my ribs.

“Maybe I should quit PR and go into matchmaking.” He laughed. “I’ve got a knack for it.”

I shot my right arm out, glove tapping my friend’s chin more forcefully than I intended.

He shuffled back, touching the spot I’d knocked. But instead of glaring at me or even retaliating, the bastard smiled a wide toothy grin.

“This is going even better than I thought it would.”

I rushed forward, ready with another strike. “What?”

“Oh no.” Rafe dodged my punch and surprised me with another one against my ribs. “Watching you figure it all out is part of the fun.”

Tired of the conversation and his damn riddles, I doubled down. So did he. For the better part of an hour, we bobbed and weaved, throwing jabs and hooks until every breath we took sent a big rush of fire to our lungs.

Usually, this was enough to calm whatever demon had been eating at us. It wasn’t. Not for me and not for my friend either.

He had a pensive look on his face all the way back to our cars.

“Everything good with you?” I asked, giving him a sideways glance.

Rafe’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure. You ever wonder what’s the fucking point? Why we keep doing the shit we do, like hamsters running on a never-ending wheel without getting off?”

“All the time,” I answered honestly.

A deep swallow worked its way down his throat as he turned his attention to the busy street. “I’m tired of it.” His troubled gaze was back on me. “And you should be, too.”

“I—”

He shook his head. “I know we don’t talk about this shit. So I’ll say it once and never again. You’re not your father. Or your grandfather. The poison tainting their blood does not run through yours.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t let that fear in.” He breathed out. “Trust me, it’ll consume you.”

Too late. It’d been consuming me for years. I didn’t want to tell him that.

Didn’t need to either. Slapping a palm against my shoulder blade, he tapped me once then got into his car and drove off.

It occurred to me I probably should have asked him what was bugging him, but talking about feelings and shit wasn’t my strong suit.

I wanted to change that.

On the way home, the only thing I could think about was how all three of us knew exactly how fucked-up we were, yet we never talked about it. Maybe if we did, we’d actually work through some demons rather than keep them locked up in the dark where they could keep feeding on our fears.

Fears we allowed to rule our lives.

That’s how it was for me, at least.

The fear of being my father’s son kept me from acting on this undeniable pull I had to Snow.

But what if, by doing that, I kept myself from experiencing something wonderful?

Fuck, my head hurt.