Page 8 of The Stallion (Men Under Revue #2)

Bria

Present Day

SIX FUCKING YEARS LATER.

Goddamn stupid. That was how I felt as I curled into a ball on the floor of my shower, water streaming over me as I cried my eyes out over a man— no, a boy —who shouldn’t have ever fucking mattered to me.

“Bria.” A soft voice carried over the sound of water hitting the tiles, and I buried my head deeper into my hands.

Fuck this.

Fuck him.

“Go away, Ash. I don’t want one of your pep talks.” I croaked, my voice muffled.

“Is that fucking so?” She threw open the curtain and stared down at me, hands on her hips like she didn’t give a shit if she found me naked— which I wasn’t .

“What the hell happened? Weren’t you going to see Connor today?” Asher’s brows knitted together with concern as she crouched down beside me, tilting her head to get a good look at my face.

I’m sure my makeup had run all over it by now, making me look like a feral, ratchet raccoon— or psycho brunette Barbie…

“He’s gone…” I whispered under my breath as she tried to calm me down from the shame spiral that had consumed my entire being. “The son-of-a-bitch left me. He won’t answer a single call or text. He’s completely ghosted me.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Connor I know...” I could hear the doubt in her tone, a sense that she didn’t believe me. “You two are endgame… Are you sure?”

“You seriously think that I would be sitting here—a fucking wreck of a woman if I wasn’t?” My voice cracked as my breathing turned erratic and heavy through all the heart-strained sobs. “I guess the game was over for one of us.”

The water in the shower had turned cold, causing me to shiver and grit my teeth from the sudden drop in temperature. I hugged my knees even tighter to my chest, pressing my forehead into them.

I never told Asher the harsh reality of the last three years—that my relationship with Connor had started crumbling with every passing day, and I had been pretending we were as happy and perfect as ever.

While deep down, I was becoming starved for touch and attention .

I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d fucked, spending most nights getting myself off with vibrators while he ignored my growing needs. Always claiming to be too busy or too tired to care.

After six long years, we never moved in together, and Asher didn’t seem to see that as a sign of a problem in our relationship. Assuming we just preferred to have the personal space while we could, before we eventually married.

I let her believe whatever facade she wanted because I was too afraid to admit that I had become nothing more than his doormat—something I utterly despised—just a pretty little thing to wrap around his arm when the need or event called for it.

The love I thought I once felt for Connor had inevitably turned me into the one thing that I resented— a fucking pushover.

“Hey, what’s up? It’s—” I could hear Connor’s voice over the speaker before Asher hung up and called his number again, this time allowing the voicemail to run until she could leave a message.

“Connor, you sorry son-of-a-bitch. You pick up this goddamn phone right fucking now before I come over there and nail your balls to the wall!” Asher shrieked into her phone like a banshee, threatening him with seething rage.

I wiped the tears away from my red and swollen eyes as I peered up at her, feeling lost, helpless, and shattered to fucking pieces.

Fuck, I was an emotional disaster…

Two days had passed since Asher dragged my ass out of the shower and into dry clothes before allowing me to curl up in the middle of her bed.

I refused to leave her room—mine, nothing more than a reminder of all the times he stayed the night. And instead of abandoning me to my depressed demise, she tried her hardest to feed and comfort me.

Asher and I had been living together since the start of college—going on nine years now. And she knew Connor just as well as I did, seeing as we met him during our junior year.

Like her, I believed that Connor and I would be together forever. Things were going great between us… until they weren’t. When he suddenly became emotionally distant and unavailable, no matter how hard I tried to attract his attention.

“This just isn’t like him…” Asher repeated as she paced at the foot of the bed, swinging her phone around a few times before dropping it onto the sheets.

She had tried calling him ten times in the past hour, even more if you count the previous two days.

But he still hadn’t answered. “What the hell happened, Bria?”

I wish I could tell her… I wish I could remember.

I was at his townhouse one minute, planning to surprise him since he had just returned from his most recent out-of-state training camp.

And the next… I was back here, crying on the shower floor, my shame washing away, down the drain.

It was as if I had disassociated from the moment I arrived until I returned home. I vaguely remember my heart shattering and that he was gone—out of my life entirely. That he wasn’t coming back, and how I meant absolutely nothing to him.

Six years. Six fucking years of my dedicated life—wasted.

“Nothing… everything…” I mumbled, staring at the ceiling and begging myself not to cry all over again. I’ve shed more than enough tears for that deceptive asshole.

Pulling a pillow over my head, I pressed it firmly against my face and let out a violent scream until my throat burned, forcing me into silence as I caught my breath.

“And you say I’m dramatic…” Asher chuckled, and I felt the mattress dip with her weight as she sat beside me on the edge of the bed. “You know… I hate to tell you this, but in the end, Connor didn’t deserve you. Yeah, he made you happy, but he never truly deserved your love and loyalty.”

“I thought you said we were perfect for each other. A match made in heaven or whatever that bullshit saying is.”

“Because you were, whenever you were together—at least that’s what I always saw from the outside looking in.

How was I supposed to know the truth when you never confided in me?

Looking good together and a man understanding your worth are two very different things.

One can be seen while the other can’t, and I’m guessing—by how easily he just blew you off—that all he cared about was your value on his arm, not in his heart. ”

Oh, great, even my best friend could sense that I was doing nothing more than wasting my time on him. At least now I didn’t feel so bad for not telling her what a piece of shit he had become years ago.

“You could have told me—”

“Told you what? The truth? Ripped your happiness away while breaking your heart into a million pieces?” Asher scoffed, palming her forehead.

“Yeah, because that's exactly what best friends do to one another. You two had been together for a ridiculously long time. I just assumed that you would know when to walk away from a bad thing…” She blew out a distressed sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Asher’s heart was always in the right place—mine, however… Not so much.

There was silence for several minutes before she snapped her fingers, signaling an idea, and hopped off the bed, heading straight into the closet. Within seconds, she had dropped two large suitcases onto the floor, and I narrowed my eyes at them.

I could hear Asher rummaging around and sat up to see clothes being thrown in several directions.

“What are you doing?” I asked, curiously crawling across her bed to get a better look at the inside of the closet.

“Getting you the fuck out of here. You need some therapy—girl therapy.” Some what?

Asher picked up her phone and started sending text messages like rapid-fire bullets.

“We’re going to my parents’ cabin for the weekend.

Get packing.” She didn’t look up from her phone once as she continued typing and sending.

“I don’t think—”

“No, you don’t. Let me think for you. Pack your shit, we’re leaving in twenty.”

“But I—”

“Just pack your bags, Bria, and stop arguing with me…” Asher groaned, dropping her phone to the floor before spearing her hands through her hair and tugging at the roots.

“You’ve been in my room—my bed for two whole days, and I’m sorry, but snuggling up to my decomposing best friend is not a fetish I’m willing to get into.

” Her nose scrunched as if I, in fact, smelled like a dead body, and while releasing a long sigh, she finished her speech with, “Please, girl… Just go.”

Giving in to her demands, I exhaled while shaking my head, picked up one of the empty suitcases, and dragged it across the hall to my bedroom.

As I reluctantly made my way down the hall, pulling a suitcase full of clothes that only reminded me of Connor and our now non-existent relationship, I could hear laughter coming from the entryway of our apartment.

Turning the corner, I saw Asher, Mikayla, a.k.a. Mick, and Natalie gossiping by the front door—all three grinning from ear to fucking ear.

“Um… What’s this?”

“There she is! Ready to get the hell out of here?” Asher beamed, holding her arms out wide, as if waiting for me to rush into her for a hug.

I arched my brow, skeptical whether this would be a relaxing weekend in the mountains or something else entirely .

Asher was known for her devious plots and side-tracked plans. And while I was always ready to trust and take her word at face value, sometimes I felt like it was a gamble.

“Sure? I—guess?” There was no confidence in my tone. I knew that.

It had been over forty-eight hours since I last spoke with Connor, and my mood was still not improving. I should be happy, right?

Dodging a bullet and getting a fresh start for a new relationship. The world was my oyster, even though I felt like I had lost my pearl.

At only twenty-seven, anything should still be possible. I was young, attractive, fit, and the fucking queen of the Savage Sirens—Tahlia was forced to step down due to her constant failed attempts of bringing us to number one at nationals.

The bitch’s reign had finally come to an end.

So why was I finding it incredibly difficult to see the silver lining in all of this?

“Right. Not the attitude I was hoping for, but the Sirens will make this a girls’ trip you’ll never forget!” Asher shot a wink over to Mick and Natalie before picking up my suitcase and hauling it out the door to her SUV. “Fucking hell, Bria… did you pack your entire closet in this thing or what?”

“I mean… kinda ?” I recoiled. “I didn't know what to bring, so I just threw a bunch of shit in there and called it a day.”

The central portion of my brain was too busy focusing on all the outfits I wore for Connor over the years—the scant tight dresses, the booty shorts that rode up my ass—it felt as though I was purging my closet instead of packing it.

Fuck, was I really nothing more than a skimpy trophy whore to him?

“It’s a weekend trip, not a two-week vacation…” Asher groaned as she lifted the suitcase into the back of her grey Jeep Grand Cherokee, shoving it right up beside hers.

“You say that now, but at least I won’t be the one complaining when you suddenly have nothing to wear.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, mocking her for what always seemed to happen on every trip we’d ever taken together. Asher always ended up stealing an outfit or two from me, never packing enough to suit her indecisive needs.

“Fair point… Let’s hit the road, ladies. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us!”

Mick, Natalie, and I climbed into the SUV, the two of them in the back and me in the front passenger seat, ready for what I had hoped would be a tame girls’ weekend—one where I could figure my shit out before returning home for cheer practice.

There was nothing worse than a leader who couldn’t lead, and I worked too fucking hard to get here to have it all ripped away simply because of a bad breakup.

I’ll make Connor regret ever landing that first kiss on me.

A fucking waste.

Three hours into our drive, Asher took a left instead of a right, and immediately, my bullshit alarm sounded and I knew…

I perked up in my seat, my accusing glare directed straight at the side of her head as she smiled.

“You passed the turn to the cabin, Ash…” I scolded.

“That I did.” So nonchalant. So Asher. So fucking dead.

“Why?” I growled, knowing exactly which direction we were now heading.

In about two more hours, I would find us surrounded by a boulevard of lights—a strip of hotels and casinos, confirming that I was right to suspect foul play with her and her perky little attitude.

“Look, you’re not going to get over that sad excuse of a man without getting under another—someone way fucking better, and you know as well as I do that— one , you won’t find a man worthy of claiming that position at the cabin, and two , it’s fucking Vegas, baby!”

Mick and Natalie cheered right alongside her in the back seat—the scheming fucking traitors.

Within five minutes of the turn, “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” by No Resolve started blasting over the radio—Asher cranking up the volume to sing along—and the fucking irony of it all sent me into hysterical laughter.

As if that didn’t sum up the story of my life at this very moment in time.

A weekend filled with partying, drinking, and the never-ending list of breakup anthems .

This new girls’ trip was either going to be precisely what I needed or a colossal fucking mistake.

Las Vegas…

The city that never sleeps…

What’s the worst that could happen?