Real (Real, #1)(32)

Good. The wall’s back up. Right where I need it to be. Fucking Christ! If she thinks that’s going to hurt me, she’s gonna have to try a whole f*cking lot harder. It’s hard to hurt a man that died inside years ago.

But I swear to God she brought me back to life.

Get your head straight, Donavan. Hurt her before she hurts you. You told her the truth. You chased. You tried. She wouldn’t listen. Still isn’t going to listen.

Which means she’s not going to hear me. She’s going to believe whatever the f*ck she wants to. And in turn she’s going to leave me.

Broken.

Shattered.

Irreparable.

Break her before she’ll break me.

“You want to talk about *s? Try that stunt you pulled with bar-boy back there. I believe you claimed the title right then, sweetheart.”

“Bar-boy? Wow, because having a harmless drink is so much worse than you with your gaggle of whores earlier, right?”

She shoves at my chest like she did downstairs and I accept her anger. I welcome the physicality that comes with the force of the push. I welcome the sting in my heart from that goddamn look in her eyes that says she hates me, loves me, is hurt by me.

I need a f*cking minute, a pit stop second. I need to stop that burn in my gut and get my f*cking head back in the game. I pace back and forth, blowing out a breath to shove the emotion aside and bury it down deep with the rest of my secrets.

I notice the smirk on Becks’s face out of the corner of my eye—the one telling me I’m in so f*cking deep and the cement’s starting to harden around my feet … and around my heart—and I can’t help the words that fly out of my mouth. “She’s driving me f*cking crazy!”

I’m talking to Beckett, friend to friend, searching for some kind of help here to quiet the confliction within and of course Rylee latches on to the one word I leave hanging out there for her like a checkered flag in the wind.

“You’d know all about the f*cking part seeing as you f*cking Tawny is what started this whole thing in the first place,” she screams at me.

I don’t even have time to register the jolt of Beckett’s body beside me before he stutters out, “What?”

Oh f*ck.

“What? He didn’t tell you?” She sneers at him.

Shut the f*ck up, Rylee. Becks is in big brother mode and this is my f*cking business.

Motherf*cker.

“I told the * that I loved him. He bailed as fast as he could. When I showed up at the Palisades house a couple days later, Tawny opened the door. In his T-shirt. Only his T-shirt.” She takes a deep breath, focused completely on Beckett and ignoring me. “Colton didn’t have much more on either. Told me nothing happened. But that’s a little hard to believe with his notorious reputation. Oh and the condom wrapper in his pocket.”

I cringe, her words hitting every part of me that wants to hide. Becks turns to look at me and I can see it hitting him, lie by f*cking lie. That I let this argument fester to become this because I’m so f*cking stubborn that I didn’t tell her the truth. I see the disbelief in his eyes and how infuriated he is in the clench of his jaw. “Are you f*cking kidding me here?”

“What?” I can hear the confusion in her voice, but I can’t look at her because I’m too focused on the look on his face.

“Leave it, Becks.”

“What the f*ck, man?” Here comes the bulldog. Fuckin’ A. He’s not going to leave this alone, is he?

“I’m warning you, Beckett. Stay out of this!” I’m so pissed at myself—at everything that’s happened tonight—the anger inside ignites and I turn the inferno toward him. My fists clench. My blood boils.

He takes the bait, focusing on me rather than Rylee, and adds kerosene to my fire. “When you start jeopardizing my team and the race tomorrow, then it becomes my business …” He shakes his head. “Tell her!”

“Tell me what?” Rylee shouts out in the silence of the room. The only other sound is the testosterone reverberating between Becks and me.

He gives me the look—that look that tells me he is so disappointed in me, mixed with what the f*ck are you trying to pull. I give him the only answer I can because right now I don’t even know what I’m f*cking doing. “Beckett, she’s like talking to a goddamn brick wall. What good will it do?”

“She’s right. You’re an ass!” he says, and I can see the challenge in his eyes even before he spits out his next words. “You won’t tell her? Fine! Then I will!”

I’m done, trigger pulled, buttons pushed successfully.

My hands grip his shirt and I’m pressing him against the wall without a second thought, jaw clenched, fists itching. “I said leave it, Becks!”

What the f*ck am I doing? About to go to blows with my best friend over a f*cking chick? She must be the real deal. Fucking voodoo *, my ass. More like schizophrenic *. She has me all over the goddamn place.

I can see the amusement in his eyes. The look that says, she’s got you by the balls, Wood, and I think you like it, want it, but are scared shitless.

No f*cking way.

My emotions are ruled by anger and I’m so confused my game’s off and no one knows that better than him. He could have our positions reversed in a millisecond. So why hasn’t he pushed back? Taken the bait? Hurt me so I’m given the due I deserve?