Real (Real, #1)(31)

We’re done.

She just made it clear as day and I don’t want us to be done.

But it really doesn’t f*cking matter what I want or don’t want because she doesn’t f*cking believe me. And why the f*ck should she, Donavan, when you go kissing bimbos to spite her?

I groan, run a hand through my hair f*cking beside myself as Sammy pushes me out of the elevator car and down the hall.

“She’s irrational and f*ck she was going to sleep with that * and … motherf*cker!” I shout into the hallway, not caring who the hell is asleep or if anyone is listening. I’m feeling everything all at once when I’m so f*cking used to feeling nothing that I can’t concentrate.

Anger vibrates through me.

My teeth grind. My hands fisted. My blood pounding.

Fucking Rylee.

Sammy points to the door to his right and when I stop he puts both hands on my shoulders. “Get your f*cking hands off of me, Sammy!”

He just laughs and at me in that snarky way he has, and I’ve just added him to the list of people I want to punch. Right after that f*cking bar-boy he prevented me from plowing. I try to jerk my shoulders from his hands as he steers me down the hall, but I should know better by now. He’s stronger than a f*cking ox.

I’m so angry at him.

So pissed at her.

So disgusted with myself for the shit I pulled earlier without trying to make things right.

Rage blinds me and since every f*cking room in this resort looks the same, I don’t even realize what room Sammy shoves me into. By the time I look up, it’s too f*cking late.

“Uh-uh! No way! Get that egotistical * out of here!”

My head snaps up the minute I hear her voice. Sugar and spice laced together. Rage and lust and pure need collide momentarily until my mind flashes back to the image of Rylee with that f*cker in the bar. The emotion hits me like a freight train.

I hate her.

I want her.

I hate that I want her so much that this is f*cking killing me.

And she comes into view but without the dim light of the bar, I really see her. Hurt staining her face and defiance in her eyes, and I do the only thing I know how to do … push away the good and prepare for the pain. “Fuckin’ A, Becks! What the f*ck is this?” I yell, furious that I was coerced into a confrontation that I don’t want. That I do want. I don’t know what the f*ck I want because she doesn’t want me anymore.

I notice her packed suitcase and my heart f*cking constricts in my chest. She’s leaving me? The part of me that hoped this was all just a show dies a fast f*cking death. And I thought her always saying she’d stay meant she would. That she understood I’d push and hurt to prove otherwise. I guess she doesn’t understand me as much as I thought she did.

I say the only thing I can to hide the hurt lancing through me, to lash out. To hide the unexpected let down that drops through my soul knowing she doesn’t want to be here and watch me chase the green flag tomorrow.

I confessed that I use pleasure to bury the pain … but f*ck, right now, I’m about to use anger to hide the foreshadowed devastation.

“Thank Christ! Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, sweetheart!”

She steps toward me and I can see the fire in her eyes, the fury in her lips, and that goddamn defiance in her posture. That defiance that makes me ache to take her like no other f*cking woman I’ve ever met before, ever had before.

“This is over here and now!” Beckett’s voice booms at us in a tone I’ve heard very few times during our friendship. Instinct has me turning to look at him because last time I heard him like this he threw a punch at me. I don’t need this shit right now. Not Becks pissed and sure as hell not him interfering. “I don’t care if I have to lock you in this f*cking room together, but you two are going to figure your shit out or you’re not leaving. Is that understood?”

I start to argue with him the same time that Rylee’s voice rises, but he cuts us both off. “Is that understood?”

The anger in his voice stuns me momentarily, and f*ck me, Rylee gets the first word in. “No way, Becks! I’m not staying in this room another second with this *!”

“Asshole?” It rolls of my tongue as if it’s a question, but she’s right. Fucking right in every sense of the word but I’m so beyond angry right now. First her and now Becks turning against me? The hairpin trigger had been pulled tight in the bar, and I’m primed and ready to fight.

I whip around to face Rylee, only to find her body f*cking inches from mine. How can I hate and hurt right now but my body vibrates from her nearness? Fuck me, she’s my kryptonite.

Where are the f*cking superheroes now?

And I’m so grateful when she speaks because it pulls me from my thoughts—thoughts that are so f*cking scattered I can’t figure out which one to focus on. The woman makes me have more personalities than the splintered images of my reflection in that shattered mirror. For some reason though, I don’t think all the king’s horses and all the king’s men will be able to put this Humpty Dumpty back together again.

She snorts in disgust. The sound forces me to focus on the here and now rather than the memories of what she feels like against me. Beneath me. Part of me.

“Yeah! Asshole!” She sneers at me with such derision that I can feel it pulse in waves off her.