Page 9

Chapter Seven

I f there was one word for what I’m feeling right now, it would be regret.

Why the hell did I kiss him, let alone let him put his fingers in me? Granted, I wasn’t in my right mind. I was frantic, panicked, angry, and feeling every damn emotion on the spectrum. But to let him finger me?

And worse, he enjoyed it. Probably more than I did. I felt it in every move, every pull of his mouth, every sharp press of his fingers. He liked having me pinned there, knowing I’d given in.

God. I can’t stand Sebastian. He’s cold, ruthless, and arrogant. He's everything I despise in a human being.

Now I hate myself almost as much as I hate him.

I dig my nails into my palms until the sting forces my breath to steady. No. I won’t let him get under my skin. But the truth is, he’s already in there, buried like a splinter I can’t dig out. Has been ever since he pushed his cock between my lips on that damn altar.

The drive back is a blur. I stare out the window, refusing to look at him, refusing to speak.

Sebastian doesn’t push. He doesn't smirk or taunt, and somehow that’s worse. Because it means he’s probably thinking about it too.

The second he pulls up outside my dorm, I unbuckle and fling myself out the door.

"Avery," he says, voice quieter than I expected.

"We don’t need to talk about it," I snap. "Any of it. Ever."

A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I was just gonna say I’ll call an Uber to get me home."

"Oh." I gulp, cheeks flushed. "Well, thanks for getting me back here."

"Don’t mention it. I mean, after all..." His grin sharpens. "I sort of owe you one for that kiss. Not to mention, what followed."

I reach across the center console and punch him square in the shoulder. "Don’t be a fucking asshole, Sebastian."

He laughs. Should've known he'd be an ass about this. For a second I thought maybe regret hit him as hard as it did me. But no, he was just biding his time to throw it in my face.

In one swift motion, I yank my keys out of the ignition and slide back out of the passenger side door.

My heart hammers loud enough to drown out my thoughts as I bolt up the stairs. I don’t stop until I’m locked in my room, back pressed against the door.

"You’re the one who's an asshole," I whisper to myself. "An absolute asshole."

But no matter how many times I say it—no matter how many times I try to convince myself it meant nothing—I can still feel his mouth on mine and his warm hand down my pants.

He broke apart our kiss to remind me that everything fueling that moment was hate, and that’s what I hold onto.

Not the way he kissed my neck as if I was his goddess to worship, not how he breathed me in as if I were the only oxygen left on earth.

Just the hate—searing, passionate, once in a lifetime hate.

Brogan walks through the door, pizza box balanced on one arm, and a six pack of spiked seltzer clutched in the other.

"Movie night," she says brightly, but as her eyes sweep over me, her smile fades. "You okay?"

I force the best fake smile I can manage. "Yeah, just tired."

She tilts her head. "You sure?"

I shake my head fast. "I’m fine. It's just…it's been a day."

Brogan steps inside, kicks off her shoes and sets the pizza and seltzer on the desk.

"I figured we could use a break," she says, flipping open the box. "And I’ve got good news, sort of."

"News?" Piquing my interest, I give her my full attention. With any luck, Callan's memory has returned.

"Yup," she quips. "If things stay stable, they might move Callan out of the ICU in a couple days."

My breath catches. "That’s amazing, Brogan."

While I'm happy Callan is showing improvement, I can't help but dwell on the fact that he still can't remember what we shared. I wonder if he ever will.

"Yeah," she beams. "They’re already talking about rehab once he’s healed enough." She grabs a slice of pizza and sinks into the bed. "It won’t be easy, but it's progress."

I nod, throat too tight to speak. Callan is making progress and here I am letting his best friend get me off in the middle of the goddamn woods.

I sit beside her with a slice in my hand and I force myself to take a bite I can’t even taste.

Brogan presses play on How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. It's the same movie we always watch, and we laugh our asses off every single time.

For a while, I pretend I'm watching. I pretend everything is normal and I’m not drowning in guilt. But halfway through, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I glance over and my eyes widen when I see it's an unknown number.

Frowning, I pick it up.

Unknown: Nice performance tonight in the woods.

The pizza slips from my fingers, hitting the box with a dull thud.

Brogan looks over. "What is it?"

I snap my phone facedown. "Nothing." I clear my throat. "Just a spam call."

But my heart is racing because someone was there again , and this time, they wanted me to know.

Fortunately, Brogan doesn’t press me about the text. I think she's learning when to back off and I'm grateful for that. The last thing I want to do is explain what's really been going on in my life.

We continue to watch the movie—sort of. Brogan laughs at all our favorite scenes, then throws popcorn at me when I don’t react.

I try. I try so fucking hard. But all I can hear is that message buzzing through my brain:

Nice performance tonight in the woods.

They saw me. They saw Sebastian. They saw everything .

Another text comes through, and this time I hold my breath as I pick up my phone.

Brogan doesn't seem to notice, so I turn it over slowly, stealing a glance at the screen.

That's when I see the picture that was sent—Me, pinned against that tree with my legs wrapped around Sebastian.

No message, just a picture that speaks a thousand words.

My heart drops deep into the pit of my stomach as I stare at the image.

It’s grainy, but unmistakable. My fingers curling around his hair, his mouth devouring mine like it was owed to him.

It's too hard to see what's going on between us, but this is enough to destroy everything I've built with Callan.

My throat burns as I slam the screen face-down on the comforter like that’ll somehow erase the image from existence.

Brogan stirs beside me, murmurs something under her breath, then settles again with a sigh. I stay still, barely breathing, heart pounding against my ribs.

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and try not to unravel.

What the hell does this person want? A chase? Revenge? To hurt us all one by one?

He already got to Callan—sweet, stupid, brave Callan. He's lying in a hospital bed, broken and bruised, and I’m here fucking around with his best friend like my world hasn’t already fallen apart.

A sob punches out of me before I can stop it.

I slide off the bed quietly, my fingers trembling as I pick up my phone again.

I cross the room and my reflection catches in the mirror, flushed and ruined. I don’t even recognize myself.

"What are you doing?" Brogan asks, her eyes barely open. She looks as exhausted as I feel.

"Just need to use the bathroom. Be right back."

Stepping into my slippers, I pull open our dorm room door and exit with my shoulders slumped, defeat feeling too heavy to carry.

Once the door is closed behind me, I look at the picture on my phone one more time, just to be sure. Just to burn it into my memory so I never forget how far I’ve slipped.

My thumb hovers over the message, and for a second, I consider replying, but I don't even know what I'd say. Maybe something along the lines of: Fuck you! Come out and face me already!

None of it matters because whoever is doing this, they don’t want a conversation; they want control. And right now, they’ve got it.

They didn’t just get inside my head this time. They sank into my guilt and that's where the real damage starts.

I stand in the hall for a few minutes, just staring at my phone, debating texting Sebastian so he knows what's going on. But I decide against that because I don't even want to discuss the kiss, let alone the fact that someone other than us knows it happened.

Swiping away the remnants of any tears on my cheeks, I push the door back open slowly, fully expecting Brogan to realize something is wrong. She always knows.

But when I close the door and step farther into the room, I see she's asleep on my bed. Curled on her side, nostrils flaring slightly with each breath.

With the pizza box still open and the seltzers she brought untouched, I go to her empty bed and slip beneath the covers, tugging the blanket up to my chin.

The movie is still playing, but I don't even watch it; I just stare through it, trying not to think about the kiss, or the photo, or the fact that someone’s out there pulling strings and watching me fall apart.

With any luck, sleep will drag me under before I completely fall apart.