Bridges Burned (Going Down in Flames #2)(24)

“Thanks for tonight,” she said.

“I live to serve. Call if you need me.”

Once in her room, she hung up her dress and kicked off the sweatpants. The sweatshirt was nice and warm…maybe she’d sleep in it. The little voice in her head that called her pathetic could shut the hell up. Valmont’s warm fuzzy sweatshirt reminded her someone cared.

She flopped backward onto her bed. Did Zavien care? How the hell would she know? He’d never said the words. How many opportunities had she given him to tell her how he felt? Dozens.

The sadness and depression she’d been holding at bay came rolling in like the tide. Her throat burned and her eyes grew hot. Crying seemed inevitable. Maybe it was best to get it over with.

A knock on the door interrupted her scheduled breakdown. Should she answer it? It could be Clint and Ivy. She padded barefoot into the front room.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Zavien said. “We need to talk.”

Best not to get her hopes up. She took a deep breath and blew it out, wrangling her tear ducts into submission. Crying in front of him wasn’t an option. Trying to appear composed, she opened the door and allowed him to enter.

A muscle in his jaw twitched as he studied her outfit. “Nice sweatshirt.”

“Nice bow tie.” If he wanted a fight, she was happy to oblige.

“You left the dance. Where did you go?” he asked.

“To Valmont’s cabin.”

His eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t have left. There are still people out there who want to hurt you.”

“You hurt me.” And now he needed to apologize.

“Aren’t you blowing this out of proportion?”

Fire flared in her gut. “You lied to me. What’s crazy is that Jaxon told me the truth. He said you wouldn’t take me to the dance. How in the hell did he end up being the honest one?”

“I didn’t lie,” Zavien said. “I never said I’d take you as my date.”

“Fine. You’re a rat bastard who insinuated you’d take me as your date. Is that more accurate?”

“I told you many times I couldn’t take you. You said you’d ask Valmont. I couldn’t stand the thought of you with him, so I twisted the truth.”

Bryn held out the hem of her sweatshirt. “Look how tonight ended. If you’d been honest with me I’d be happy to see you right now. Instead, I want to rip your head off.”

“You don’t mean that.” He reached out to touch her cheek.

She smacked his hand away. “Yes I do. You told Nola I misunderstood your invitation. You said it was a stupid crush. She went on and on about how I’d misinterpreted your actions.”

Zavien went very still. “What did you tell her?”

“Oh my God.” Realization punched her in the gut so hard she doubled over. “You’re more worried about her finding out about us than you are about my feelings.”

He took a step toward her. “That’s not true.”

“Then what is the truth?”

“Bryn, this is…it’s complicated.”

No. It wasn’t complicated. It was painfully, heart-wrenchingly, agonizingly simple. “You chose her over me—again.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” He chuckled. “It was a stupid dance.”

Her life, everything she believed about him and how he felt about her, was falling apart, and he was laughing. Sadness transformed into heated anger. “Get out.”

“You’re making too much of this. You don’t really want me to leave.” His trademark lopsided grin appeared. He was so sure of himself. So sure that she’d come running because he snapped his fingers.

Damn it, Jaxon was right. Zavien was amusing himself. She’d been an idiot.

“Get. Out.” White-hot rage flowed through her body. Sparks shot from her nostrils with every breath. She growled and pointed at the door. “Out, now. Before I lose control and burn you to a crisp.”

Zavien backed up a step. Healthy fear finally seemed to set in. He yanked open the door and retreated into the hall. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Come within ten feet of me tomorrow and you’ll regret it.”

Slamming the door, she leaned against it. How could she have been so wrong about him? Her chest heaved as a volcano roared to life inside her. He’d made her look like a fool, just like her grandmother had warned her he would. The flames built inside her and begged to be released. She focused on cold and snow and lemon ice. Nothing worked. She stumbled through her bedroom and opened the window. Roaring in rage, she blasted the concrete terrace with flames over and over again, until there was nothing left. Numb, she went to bed.





Chapter Eleven


At breakfast Monday morning, Bryn scanned the dining hall, waiting to see if the cowardly asshat would make an appearance. Ivy and Clint seemed to sense she didn’t want to talk. They chatted about the weather and homework. She was required to contribute little to the conversation, which was fine with her.

Zavien approached the table carrying a tray.

As his hand touched the chair, Bryn growled. “Try to sit in that chair and you’ll never be able to father children.”

He paused.

She held up her butter knife. “I’m not joking.”