Page 24

I head downstairs in a daze, still not sure how I went from kissing Ben, to Alexander pummeling him into the ground, and everything in between. Ben, my boyfriend, the person I thought was my first love, the one I thought was a solid, unwavering force at my side, has been fucking the one person in the world I thought I knew better than myself. I mean, fuck, it’s so cliché, my boyfriend and my best friend. Maybe Ben was right, maybe I am dumb, because how didn’t I see this? My brain flicks back to the last time Ben was here with Malorie in tow, how she showed up with him, how they acted with one another.

God, I’m so fucking stupid.

They’ve been going behind my back for months, lying to my face for all that time, and neither of them had the decency to tell me. I was heartbroken and grieving, and they were fitting in their fucking no doubt any chance they could get. Every unanswered phone call and delayed text, where I didn’t get a response right away, were they doing it then? When they gave me a sleeping pill after my mother’s funeral to help me, were they doing it then? Every night since I’ve been gone, have they been crawling into one another’s arms and fucking each other’s brains out?

Every word of our friendship, every year of our relationship, every single memory of the three of us together has now been changed, tainted beyond repair. Ben had the nerve to insinuate that I was a whore? Me? The virgin who has only ever kissed two people in her entire life, all the while he was fucking my best friend? What a fucking hypocrite.

Did Alexander know? Did he see something? Sense something? Is that why he disliked him so much, because he knew I was going to end up hurt? Not that it matters I guess, nothing matters when it comes to my friendship, or my relationship, because whatever I thought I had was a lie, and feelings of sadness and relief go to war inside of me.

Tears blur my vision as I reach the kitchen, finding Nova, Jake, and Archer all cleaning up, with Maddie and Evie nowhere to be seen. Daemon already has two ice packs in his hands, and a bunch of other stuff that he has clearly taken out of a first aid kit, and when he spots me, he reaches out silently to hand them to me. I take them with a grateful smile, planning to just turn on my heel and leave without a word, but as I’m starting to learn, nothing is ever that simple with these Flyers.

“Bree,” Archer calls out, and I pause on the other side of the island from him, turning to look at him. “I’m sorry about what happened, but for what’s it worth, I have never seen Alexander lose his temper, not once in the almost four years that I’ve known him,” he tells me firmly, and I’m not sure what to do with his words.

On one hand I’m glad he defended me, but on the other, I hate myself for pushing him over the edge, and for what?

“Arch is right,” Nova cuts in, tossing a few glass bottles into the trash as he turns to me. “Alexander always looks at everything with a clear head and a cool attitude, so it must have taken a lot for him to stray from that.”

Both of their statements seem like they are trying to convey some sort of meaning to me, but what do they want from me? Alexander said it himself, we are just friends, so whatever they think is happening here, they’re wrong.

I don’t bother saying anything in response, just nod between them and offer Daemon a final smile in thanks, before retreating back upstairs. When I get back to Alexander’s room he is pacing back and forth in front of his bed, but stills as soon as I walk back inside, some of the tension leaving him instantly, as if he thought I wasn’t coming back. I don’t say anything as I wordlessly direct him to his desk chair, gesturing for him to take a seat, and when he does I drop down in front of him, laying out the supplies on his desk.

We are both quiet as I take my time cleaning the blood off his hands, and it’s only now I realize it isn’t just Ben’s, but his too. One of his knuckles is slightly cracked, and for some reason it brings fresh tears to my eyes at the thought of him getting hurt because of me.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, knowing those two words aren’t enough, but I don’t think there is anything else I can say. Everything is just a fucking mess.

“Sorry?” he repeats in question, and when my eyes flick up to meet his stare, his brow is furrowed, as if trying to make sense of my apology. “What the fuck are you sorry for?” he snaps, clearly still pissed, but his tone holds nowhere near as much bite as Ben’s did.

“For all of it,” I start lowering my gaze because I can’t bear the sincere look in his eyes, so instead I focus on cleaning his wounds. “For Ben, for being in your room, for ruining the party, for getting blood on your carpet, for you being hurt,” I breathe, listing off just a few of the awful things that have happened tonight, trying and failing to keep my emotions at bay. “I’m just so sorry, Alexander.” I toss the now blood-stained cotton pads aside, and attempt to put the ice packs on the back of his hands, but he grabs them and tosses them back onto his desk.

“Aubree, you listen to me,” he grits, gripping my chin and pulling it up so his fierce gaze can collide with mine. “You did absolutely nothing wrong. I don’t give a fuck about my room, or the damn party, as long as you are okay,” he tells me, searching my eyes as if to try and decipher how I’m feeling, but his care only makes more tears fall. “Come here,” he sighs, leaning forward and pulling me against him, and for the second time this week I sob into his chest. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but it’s long enough for his masculine scent and steady heartbeat to calm me completely, and when I pull back he ignores the pain in his knuckles to once again swipe away my tears.

“You really need to ice your hands,” I choke out, slowly slipping away from his touch, not trusting myself to be so close to him right now, and he has the audacity to roll his eyes at me.

“Oh yeah? Patched up a lot of bloody knuckles have you?” he asks with a scoff, and I can’t help but smile a little.

“Actually, my dad punched a wall in the hospital the night my mom died, so…” I trail off, shrugging my shoulders, rising back to my feet so I can clean up, but before I can move away Alexander tugs on my hand.

“Aubree, I’m sorry if I scared you, I don’t know what came over me,” he starts, but I cut him off, lacing our fingers together and squeezing gently.

“It’s okay, you were just having my back, that’s what good friends do, right?” I ask, once again finding myself praying at this moment, except right now I’m praying for him to call bullshit.

I want him to take the word friends from me and tear it apart, to tell me that he didn’t do this to be my friend, but because he couldn’t bear the idea of Ben touching me.

Instead, he nods slowly. “Yeah, right,” he breathes, agreeing with me, and I force a flat smile to my face, just in time for us to be interrupted.

“Bree,” Evie says gently, and my head snaps over to the door to find her, along with Jake, Archer, and Daemon all standing there. When she sees my tear-stained face she rushes inside and pulls me into her arms. “I’m so fucking sorry, babe.” Her words are muffled against my hair, causing emotion to rise inside of me once more, but it’s as if the tightness of her hug holds me together completely.

“We got you guys some food,” Jake cuts in, stepping forward with Daemon to put some plates on Alexander’s desk, and I can’t hide my smile as I spy the mac and cheese, especially when Daemon adds a couple of cans of pink lemonade next to it.

These guys. These fucking guys who I have only known for two months, are showing me more kindness that I have ever known. I doubt Ben could even tell you the color of my eyes, let alone my favorite comfort food or drink, and the thought turns any sadness to solace. I shouldn’t be sad it’s over, I should be grateful it’s finished before I wasted anymore of my time with him.

“Thank you,” I say, not addressing any of them in particular, because right now they’re all here showing me support, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

“Downstairs is all locked up, but Daemon and I will keep an eye on things,” Archer finally cuts in, silently communicating some sort of look with Alexander, and all he does is nod in response.

“Oh, well I should probably head home,” I start, looking between them all, and every single one of them defaults their stare to Alexander.

“Absolutely not,” he snaps, rising to his full height and towering over me in that way he always does. “You’re not going home, not when that prick could turn up at any time, you’re staying here.”

At the reference to Ben his anger is once again palpable in the air, and I shift uncomfortably, especially having to have this conversation with an audience. “Alexander, I can’t stay here,” I reply, flicking my eyes between him and our voyeurs, not that they seem to care, and I’m starting to realize just how close-knit of a group they are.

“Aubree, you either stay here, or I’ll be following you home and staying at your place with you, so pick your poison,” he demands, and I can feel the attention of all of them awaiting my answer.

I don’t say yes, but I don’t say no either, instead we remain in a stand off until Archer clears his throat. “Well, I think that's our cue,” he laughs, breaking the tension, and when I turn to him, he is eyeing both Alexander and I knowingly, before focusing on his teammate. “Ice your hand before Cap comes in here and kills you,” he adds, rolling his eyes, as he starts to usher the rest of them out of the room.

Alexander barely waits for the door to be closed, before he moves to his dresser and pulls out another one of his jerseys. “Here, you can shower in my bathroom, I’ll use the one down the hall,” he starts, grabbing some clothes for himself, before he leaves without another word.

Well okay then, guess I am staying here.

I make quick work of washing up and getting changed, trying not to look in the mirror when I pull Alexander’s jersey over my head, scared I might like the view too much. Then I wolf down the food to try and soak up some of the alcohol I drank, before sitting awkwardly at his desk, waiting for him to come back.

When he eventually walks back in I immediately wish he hadn’t, because he is only wearing a pair of black, basketball type shorts and nothing else. I swallow thickly at the sight of his bare torso, with ab upon ab just completely on show, as he stalks toward me and grabs one of the drinks Daemon placed down. He doesn’t bother with the food, and honestly, even after the shower he still seems too stressed to eat, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I do what any normal girl would do in his half-naked presence. I stare at him until I feel like my eyes might start to bleed.

“Careful, love,” he warns, and when I snap my eyes to him, he has a dark look in his, one that almost renders me speechless.

“You need to put on a shirt,” I snap, a little breathless, and the infuriating asshole fucking smirks, as he towers over me and glares down at me.

“Why?” he asks, that insufferable smile still in place, and I swear he flexes a little, and I bite the bullet and rise to my feet, shoving past him.

“You own a fucking mirror, you know why,” I toss back, not missing his soft chuckle, as he turns and leans on his desk as I begin to pace.

“Oh, I do, but I want to hear you say it,” he dares, his words teasing me in a way they shouldn’t, and the knowing gleam in his eyes gives me confidence I definitely don’t feel.

“Fine. Put on a shirt because your body is distracting,” I grit, and his smile only widens.

“Anything for you, love,” he winks, rising back up and grabbing himself a shirt, before nodding his head toward the bed. “I usually sleep on the right if that’s good with you,” he continues, moving to pull back the covers, and I freeze as I look between him and the bed, only now just processing what’s going to happen.

“Oh, right, so like, we’re both sleeping here, in your bed, together?” I ask to confirm, and he pauses his movements.

“I can go sleep downstairs if that makes you more comfortable?” And I can tell from the genuine tone of his voice that he really means that.

No anger, no pressure, just complete sincerity.

“No, no, of course not, it’s fine, I’m just not really used to sleeping with anyone,” I admit softly, moving to the left side of the bed, and he nods in understanding.

“You and me both, Trouble.”

“Please, you’ve probably had a hundred girls in here,” I scoff playfully, ignoring the bitter taste of jealousy on my tongue. “Shall we call back your harem of hot tub girls, because you know I could always sleep on the sofa,” I tease, as I climb into bed, and I feel the heat of his body almost instantly, as he joins me and turns down the light.

“Well, who knew you had such a vivid imagination of my sex life,” he drawls, turning on his side to face me with a knowing smirk, and I’m glad he turned down the light, because at least he won’t be able to see me blush. Before I can deny his statement he adds, “And I have never fucked anyone in here.”

“Bullshit,” I yell almost immediately, unable to keep it in, and he laughs at my outburst.

“I may be a bit of a whore, but I am not a liar,” he replies smoothly. “I don’t lead girls on, it gives them false hope of something I was never able to give them. We flirt, have our fun for one night, and then go our separate ways, it’s transactional, and everyone is aware of that up front.”

His words are candid, a thought that has me wanting to claim bullshit again, because all he has done is flirt with me since we first met. Was that transactional, or something more?

“Now go to sleep, it’s been a rough night,” he adds in a demanding tone, and I smirk into the dark, as I reach out, finding his hand and giving it a soft squeeze.

“Thank you, Alexander, you really are one of a kind,” I tell him truthfully, meaning that more than he could ever know, and when I move to pull my hand away he tightens his hold, not letting it go.

“Goodnight, Aubree.”

And the last thing I remember is him rhythmically stroking the back of my hand until I fall asleep.