Page 19

Chapter 18

Merci

Waking up alone a few days ago sucked. Like, I get it—Zach had an early practice or whatever, but would it have killed him to leave a note? Or maybe shoot me a text? Even a "Hey, thanks for letting me wreck your throat" would've been better than radio silence.

Not that I'm obsessing over it or anything, and I’m not sure he even has my phone number. I definitely haven’t given it to him.

But still, if he tracked me down in Miami, he certainly could find my number if he really wanted to.

I shift in line at the food court, my fingers tapping against my thigh as I wait to order. The place is packed with the usual lunch crowd, all chattering and laughing like they don't have a care in the world.

Must be nice.

The guy behind the counter clears his throat. "You gonna order or just stand there all day? "

"Right. Sorry. Grilled cheese and a strawberry milkshake."

He gives me a weird look, probably judging my life choices. Whatever. It might be freezing outside, but my comfort drink is the only reliable thing in my life right now.

Well, that and how fucking lonely I feel.

Shit. Is my life ever going to be easy, stable?

We don’t always get what we want.

My father’s words reverberate for a few seconds, but I shove them away.

Fuck him. Because some people do get what they want. So why the hell can’t that be me for a change?

Redirecting my thoughts, I think of Eli, who’s been buried in some massive art project. And when he's not sculpting, he's off visiting his boyfriend in New Jersey. And Raiyne's got an insane hockey schedule, just like Zach, though we've been texting.

Turns out forgiveness comes easier when you're lonely as fuck.

Speaking of insane hockey schedules, the damn Titans have been on the road playing away games. Not that I've been keeping track or anything. It's just . . . hard not to notice when your stepbrother-slash-whatever-the-fuck-he-is disappears after basically claiming your throat as his personal playground .

And the worst part?

The way my body responds to him like it's been waiting for him all along. The way my heart does this stupid flutter thing whenever I think about him. Not sexually, but . . . something deeper.

For fuck’s sake, we actually cuddled and fell asleep. And it was so goddamn peaceful.

Until I woke up and he was gone.

What if this is all part of Zach’s new revenge plan? If making me fall for him, then crushing my heart into dust is just another way to watch me bleed. Because goddammit . . . it’s already working.

I really need Eli to come home so I can talk to him.

My order arrives, and I grab my tray before checking out. The cashier rings me up, and I hand over my card, trying not to think about how pathetic my social life has become.

I walk into the court and scan for an empty table so I can drown my sorrows in some strawberry deliciousness when I spot Zach. He’s sitting with his friends near the windows, looking unfairly hot in a maroon Henley that stretches across his broad shoulders.

So, they’re back.

My eyes narrow as I glare at him. Not that he notices, too wrapped up in whatever conversation he’s having. Then Viktor-fucking-Novotny grabs my stepbrother’s milk carton and takes a sip.

Oh, hell no.

I slam my tray onto an empty table and stomp over. Viktor hands the carton back to Zach, both of them completely oblivious to the storm headed their way.

Not today, Satan. Not. Fucking. Today.

Just as Zach's about to take a drink, I smack the carton out of his hand. Milk splatters across the floor, the carton spinning in a sad little arc before coming to a stop.

“What the fuck?” Zach’s eyes narrow as he stares up at me.

Ignoring him, I place my hands on the tabletop and lean closer, glaring right at Viktor, wishing I had laser vision so I could incinerate the bastard. “Maybe keep your mouth off things that aren’t yours.”

Viktor's lips curl into that insufferable smirk of his. "Aw, is someone jealous again?"

"Of you? Please." I bare my teeth in what might pass for a smile. "You’re like a fungus. Persistent, annoying, and impossible to get rid of.”

Zach’s brunette friend chokes on his drink, coughing and laughing simultaneously. The other blond at the table smirks, leaning back in his chair like he’s watching his favorite reality show.

And Zach ?

He only stares at me, face blank as ever.

My throat tightens, tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. Why doesn’t he care that I'm upset? Without another word, I turn and walk back to the table where my tray is. Luckily, it’s empty. My chest heaves as I drop into the chair.

I take an angry sip of my milkshake, the sweetness doing nothing to chase away the fucktastic hurricane of emotions raging inside. My leg bounces under the table as I pick at my grilled cheese, tearing off pieces of crust and arranging them in a neat little pile.

Deep breaths, Merci. Deep fucking breaths.

"Well, if it isn't the community hole."

I look up to find the guys from the frat party looming over me, including the one who punched Eli in the leg. I fight back the smirk threatening to form as I take them in. Alexei sure did a number on the asshole’s face.

But my stomach churns as the one in the middle—some douchebag in a backward baseball cap—leans closer, his eyes raking over my body like I’m something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe. "What, no slutty crop top today?"

My jaw clenches as I set my cup down. “Fuck off.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the guy who had yanked me off the table says as he reaches out to brush his fingers against my cheek. “We’re just trying to get to know you better. ”

I bat his hand away, my lip curling. "Touch me again, and you'll lose that hand."

"Feisty little—" The words cut off in a choked gurgle as a large hand wraps around his throat.

Zach towers over him, squeezing until the guy's face turns red. "Keep your fucking hands off what isn't yours. Or do I need to break your other wrist?"

The two other guys back away, hands raised. "Chill, man. We were just—"

"Leave." Zach’s voice comes out like a deep, threatening growl. "Now."

They scramble back, practically tripping over themselves to get away. Zach releases the asshole he’s currently choking, and the guy stumbles after his friends, coughing and sputtering.

"I had that handled," I mutter, stabbing my finger into my lukewarm sandwich.

"Sure you did, Little Scorpion." He slides into the chair across from me.

My heart does a stupid little flip at the nickname. "Don't."

"What?"

"Don't act like you give a shit." The words come out sharper than intended. "Is this your new plan? Get me to fall for you, then break my heart? Because if so, get it over with."

His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. "I can't hurt you anymore."

"No shit. Mrs. Novotny established that." I rip off a piece of my sandwich and shove it into my mouth, chewing vehemently. After I swallow, I glare right at him. “But I guess you get to mind fuck me, huh?”

He only stares at me, the silence heavy and uncomfortable. I rub my hands over my face, hating that I’m being such a drama queen. Zach literally saved my ass from those jerks, and here I am giving him shit because I have feelings for him but have no fucking idea if they’re returned.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence. “Do you just go around choking people for fun?”

“Only when they deserve it.”

I snort and roll my eyes. “Such a hero.”

He leans back in the chair, his steel-gray eyes boring into mine. “Such a pain in the ass.”

I fidget with the straw of my milkshake, chewing on my bottom lip. Time to say what I’ve been wanting for the past two months. My throat tightens, and I take a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“The guys rattled you. I get it. No big deal.”

I shake my head. "No, not that.” My voice cracks, and I look down at the table, unable to meet his gaze. “For what happened five years ago. For pushing you down the stairs. For . . . everything.”

He doesn’t respond, and when I finally get the courage to look up, his expression is neutral. But he hasn’t looked away, hasn’t made a move to get up.

So, I continue for reasons I don’t fucking understand. "My father used to lock me in a chest freezer in the basement. Sometimes for hours. In the dark. In the cold. I'd scream until my throat was raw, scratch at the sides until my nails broke off." I swallow hard, fighting back tears. "I was six the first time. It got worse as I got older because the space got smaller, and I couldn't . . . I couldn't breathe . . . So, when you locked me in that closet, I . . . I completely lost it. Didn't even know what I was doing.”

A muscle twitches near his eye, but otherwise, his face remains impassive. The lack of reaction makes me feel exposed, vulnerable.

My eyes drift to his left arm, to the intricate tattoos covering the scars I know lie beneath. I reach across the table, my fingers tracing the inked patterns. "I didn’t mean to hurt you, Zach. I swear I didn’t mean to—”

"You almost took it all away." His voice is cold, mechanical. "The only thing I'm good at."

Tears spill down my cheeks. He doesn’t forgive me. He can’t. And I understand. Because there’s the other part that’s haunted me since that night .

The what ifs.

What if I hadn't screamed? Our parents had been so focused on me. What if they never turned around?

My stomach roils, bile creeping up my throat. I jump up from the table, my chair scraping against the floor. "I can't . . . I have to . . ."

I bolt from the food court, my heart pounding in my ears, my vision swimming. The last thought that echoes in my mind as I push through the doors and into the cold is one I can’t escape, no matter how hard I try.

What if Zach had actually died?