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Chapter Forty-Six

Alex

The incessant melody of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere” echoes in my room, and I bury my face in my pillow. He keeps calling, but he hasn’t left a message. The last text he sent was the one telling me he was taking his girlfriend home and we’d talk when he got home.

I stare at the bottle of painkillers on my nightstand, wondering if I should take one. Maybe it would knock me out and I won’t think about him.

I know that’s a lie. Even in my dreams, I’ll see him.

In my nightmares I’ll see him. Everywhere I’ll see him.

Because I love him.

I have never loved anyone the way I love him.

I waited all night for him to come home. I sat there, my heart in my throat, hoping.

Fuck hope. Fuck it all to hell .

Every hour that passed was worse than the last. It reminded me of all the times Vance left me waiting.

It was two am before I realized he was never coming home. It was two-thirty am when I remembered his house wasn’t home. But it felt like it.

As I threw my clothes into my duffel, choking back tears, I told myself it’s better this way.

I knew this would happen. It’s what always happens.

I should have known better. But I hoped things would be different this time.

Hope is the worst kind of fucking pain there is. It tears and it bleeds and it festers. I fucking hate it.

My phone buzzes again, and I pick it up, rubbing my eyes. I feel like shit and have for days.

What day even is it?

One glance at my phone tells me it’s Wednesday. Fuck. I groan when I notice the time. 2:15.

Guess I’m going to have to swallow my pride and go back to Dan’s Physical Therapy.

When I see the notification is from Britt, I breathe a little easier, but then I see what the text is.

It’s a photo of Bentley. Bentley James Evans. Born eight am this morning. Six pounds even.

And the tears come like rain all over again.

I tap out a “congratulations!!” with plenty of emojis and even send a bunch of hearts .

He’s cute and looks identical to Sarah when she was born.

I quickly pull up a local florist and order a gift basket full of candy and cookies along with flowers to be sent to her room.

I know how much she loved the cookies last time, and I’m sure the girls won’t mind the candy.

Part of me wants to go visit her, but I’m not sure I could handle it right now.

Not with feeling as badly as I do. I don’t want to bring my black cloud bullshit into their happy moment.

So I tell myself and Britt I’ll see them when they get settled at home.

She sends me a stream of photos with the girls holding their little brother, and I can’t help but think about Jordan.

About the words that stopped my heart from beating. I don’t know how we got onto the topic of weddings and marriage, because I barely heard any of the conversations. All I could focus on was him.

I told myself it was what needed to happen. I needed to rip off the band-aid.

His girlfriend raved about the two of them wanting to get married, have kids. All that white picket fence bullshit. “Isn’t that right, honey?” she’d asked him.

But he didn’t answer her.

He stared at me with those deep, amber eyes and he said, “Yeah, that’s right. ”

I know he was just answering her. Trying to play the part. Not be a dick, all things considered.

But my stupid fucking heart wanted to believe he was saying it to me, even though I knew it was a lie.

For the briefest moment, hope reared its vicious head, and I could see it.

Jordan looking hot as fuck in a tux, waiting for me. I already know he looks fine as hell in a suit, so it’s not hard to imagine. But the other stuff…

Building treehouses in the woods and painting the nursery in my house that remains empty because Britt told me to manifest my dreams…

It’s the only room in my house I never finished because it didn’t feel right. So I shut the door. It’s been shut for nine years.

It’s why I hate coming home to my fucking house. It’s why I avoid it as much as I can.

No one but Britt knows I bought this house because I thought one day I’d fill it with the things I wanted more than anything. But those dreams died when I left Ashbourne, and now they’ll never come true.

Because love, marriage, a family…

It’s not for guys like me.

It’s for guys like Jordan and Austen. Guys who are worth it .

I told myself I could handle this. I’ve been here before. But this hurts so much worse than it’s ever hurt before. Because I never loved those men.

I realize I have a couple missed texts from my Dad and a few from Austen.

Dad asks if I’ve heard from Austen. I groan, knowing Austen’s in New York, but he doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s up to. Apparently, he’s buying a building for his video game thing he’s been working on for years.

I swore to keep his secret, but that was before I ruined my fucking life.

Again.

When am I going to fucking learn? Probably never.

I shoot a text off to Austen and tell him to text Dad so he doesn’t have a fucking heart attack. I can’t deal with him right now.

My mother texts me too.

Christ, what is this? Is there a fucking full moon or some shit?

I glance at her text.

Kearstin said you weren’t feeling well.

I sigh, figuring it’s best to text her back.

Sick.

It’s not a lie. I am sick.

Sick of being used.

Sick of being lied to.

Sick of getting my heart ripped out of my fucking chest because I’ll never be enough for anyone.

Sick of loving someone who will never love me back.

I push myself out of bed to get something to eat.

I haven’t eaten much, if anything, since Saturday. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost at least five pounds just from stress and lack of an appetite. I throw on some grey sweatpants and one of my Rioters t-shirts.

The team’s always getting themed shirts for local events and campaigns. Most of the guys donate them or do giveaways, but I’ve kept every single one. Every Christmas when I come home, I transfer over any of my Rioter gear I don’t want to keep in my condo in PA.

This house is huge and it’s not like anyone is using the space but me.

I grab my pills and my phone and head out to the kitchen. I need to eat, and if I do decide to knock myself the fuck out, I know not to take a pain pill on an empty fucking stomach.

I blink, bleary eyed, as I make it down the hall to my open-concept kitchen and living room.

The light is too bright, and I realize I’ve been confined to my bedroom for two days.

Though the dark grey and black living room is on point for how shitty I feel, I at least need to get a cup of coffee. So into the bright white room I go.

When I renovated this house, I had the grand idea to put slivers and cracks throughout every room.

Rooms like the kitchen, that are lighter, are spliced with dark cracks and granite.

Rooms like my bedroom are dark with slivers and veins of gold and silver.

And every room is designed around the light fixtures and the giant ornate windows.

When the sun rises and sets, it’s so fucking pretty.

But not even the glittering sunsets can make me feel alive right now.

Everything just feels wrong.

My couch is soft and pretty, but it doesn’t feel right. I don’t sink into the cushions like I do at Jordan’s. My bathroom doesn’t have a too-floral-soapy smelling candle that’s never been lit.

There’s no wood here. Not unless you count the bookshelves I built, but even those are painted black. My freezer is missing cookies and cream ice cream. Hell, it’s empty outside of some questionable meat I must’ve forgotten about.

I toss my phone on the sliver of druzy stones that cut across the kitchen island.

The sun hits it just right, through the oversized window, catching off the chandelier and making the whole thing sparkle.

It took me nearly two months to make the counters because I had no idea how to cure resin and I kept scraping it and fucking it up.

But on the third try, with some help from Britt and YouTube, I got it right.

I set my coffee pot to make a full pot of whatever the fuck it is I have in this house. I grab a bag of whatever’s in the cabinet, not bothering to look at it. My gaze drifts up to the crystal chandelier that hangs over the island. Its crystals glitter, throwing little rainbows all across the room.

All I can think about is how that metal chandelier in Jordan’s living room would look so perfect in here. Amidst all the bright white marble and stone.

The knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. I look around, startled. I’m not expecting anyone.

My heart lifts for a moment, that vicious hope returning. Maybe it’s him. Maybe he’s finally come to his senses…

Until I remember he has no idea where I live.

He’s never been here, and most people don’t know that I live here except for my family and my neighbors.

But being as I’m only here for a week or so at a time, it’s not like anyone would come looking for me.

Which is something I used to appreciate, but now…

The knock persists, and I sigh. I hope it’s not one of those stupid solicitors trying to sell me a new roof.

When I open the door, my eyes widen in shock and my blood runs cold .

“You look like shit, Brewer.” That smooth, dark voice falls over me, making my stomach turn and my brain glitch.

“Yes, well, I’m in recovery. Or did you forget about that?” I bite out.

Vance smiles. “Oh, I could never forget about you, Alex. You know that.”

“What do you want?” I ask, my pulse racing. My heart beats like a freight train.

What the hell is he doing here?

“What the fuck are you doing here, V?” I ask, gripping the door frame.

Vance smirks, leaning one hand against the door. He leans into my space, and instinctively, I hunch my shoulders and look up at him.

And it all comes rushing back like a storm.

All the nights I cried through the pain, reaching for pleasure I’d never feel.

All the games we played on and off the ice.

All the blaring sirens, the hazy alcohol-fueled nights.

His fingers in my mouth, his hands around my throat. His bloody knuckles.

Six years. Six fucking years.

“Isn’t it obvious, Alex?” He reaches for my jaw.

I slap it away, but I don’t miss the sparkle in his eyes when I do so. He chuckles.

“I’ve missed you,” he says smoothly.

I push him onto my porch, shutting the door with a slam as I walk out after him.

“Haven’t you missed me?” he asks, leaning forward.

I step back, my hand braced on the doorknob.

Just in case.

“Oh really? You missed me? Should have thought about that before you fucking broke my knee, asshole.”

Vance rolls his eyes.

“Alex. You know that was an accident.”

“No, it wasn’t!” I hiss. My hands shake as I ball them into fists.

“Yes, it was,” he says, bracing one hand against the wall.

I steady my breath, staring up at him.

“You’re being dramatic,” he breathes.

“You broke my fucking knee because I broke up with you!”

His eyes go dark and my stomach drops.

“I didn’t mean it,” he growls, hitting the wall with his fist. I hate that I brace for the hit. It doesn’t come, but I feel like a strung wire. I open my eyes to see he’s got both hands on the wall, boxing me in. “You know that. Now let me in, and we can talk about this.”

“No,” I say, my voice weak. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We can put all this bullshit behind us and everything can go back to how it was. ”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t want to go back to the way it was. I don’t want to go back to your fucking lies.”

His bright blue eyes blaze like flames as I shiver. I swallow hard.

“You just drive me so crazy, Alex,” he says, grabbing my chin with one hand and forcing me to look at him. “I can’t help myself. It’s your fault.”

It is my fault. All of it.

I tear myself from his grip.

“Get the fuck off my property, Vance.” I push him away.

His blue eyes shift from calculating to the gaze I know best.

The beast inside of the man stares at me with fury.

And I realize my error.

I pushed him.

I never push him Because fighting equals retaliation.

“I am your captain,” he yells. “You are nothing without me. I made you, you little slut. And this is how you repay me?”

“You don’t own me!” I grit out. “You don’t—”“Yes, I do.” He grabs me by the shirt, pulling me close. So close I can smell his bitter breath and feel the spit from his mouth. I claw at his hands, pushing against him, but he’s strong. Stronger than I am .

Adrenaline kicks in and I feel like I can’t breathe. Panic and anxiety swells, because I know what’s coming. I’ve been down this road before with him. More than once.

Three times, to be exact.

“I got you that deal, Alex. Because you couldn’t do it yourself. Remember? I was there. I plucked you from your bumfuck little town, and I made you what you are.”

His fist rears back and I push away from him. He drops me to the ground, and I scramble to get away as I scream one word.

He runs after me, cursing my name.

“Vegas!” I cry, tripping on my own fucking feet and going down again.

He catches me by the shirt, and he yanks me back so hard my knees buckle and I fall with a thud to the ground.

“You listen here, you little shit,” he growls. My eyes water, and I’m choking out sobs. Tears come like rain, and I close my eyes as I brace for the hit I know is coming.

Maybe I deserve it.

Because clearly I’m not worth it.

But the hit never comes. Instead, all I hear is a dark voice. It’s low, steady. Deep with a tinge of gravel and threatening as all hell.

“Touch him again, and I will kill you.”

When I open my eyes, I think I must be dreaming. Vance must have knocked me out cold .

Because all I can see is Jordan Mackenzie with his hands wrapped around Vance Harding’s throat.