Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(30)

Axelle





I couldn’t look more anti-Valentine’s Day if I tried.

Staring at my reflection, I almost laugh at the glam-goth thing I’ve got going on. If Cupid had an enemy, it would be me.

I slide on my chunkiest black biker-esque heels, complete with buckles and a thick sole, just in case I need to stomp on the pudgy diaper-wearing fairy who’s aiming his arrows at everyone but me. The spaghetti strap of my purple racer-back tank slides off my bare skin, and yeah, I’m not even wearing a bra because f*ck Valentine’s Day.

I grab my full glass of wine off the dresser and attempt another sip, but end up pouring the whole thing out. I’m too annoyed to drink, and that’s probably for the best.

Lord knows all I need to make this night a complete disaster is to pour a little liquid anger on my already foul mood.

“I still don’t understand why you agreed to go if you hate it so much.” Mindy’s in the kitchen, sipping her glass of wine, her feelings for the day clearly not turning her stomach. Lucky brat.

“You look great.” I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and nurse it, hoping it’ll cool my mood.

She does a cute little spin, showing off her bright red mini-dress and super strappy heels. “And my panties match.”

“Yay!” Ugh.

She narrows her eyes. “Axelle, why do you hate Valentine’s Day so much?”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t hate it.”

“Really? So you’re dressed like a biker-vampire who looks like she’s ready to drain the male race just for the fun of it because…?”

“I’m not—”

“You’re wearing pants.” She pulls up my hand and shows it to me. “Black fingernails, Ax? I mean, if I were a guy, I’d be terrified to get my dick anywhere near that scowl you’re wearing. And this?” She motions to my face with a swirl of her finger. “You’re taking heroin chic to a whole new level.”

“Okay, I get it! You don’t approve.” I salute her. “Ten-four, boss!”

She sighs and takes a sip of wine. “Poor, poor Clifford. He’s in a no-win situation tonight.”

“He’s taking me to dinner and then back to his place for a party, Mindy. I mean this is far from a romantic evening. I’ve been with the guy for like three months now, and outside of his bedroom, we’ve never even hung out alone. So don’t make tonight out to be any different from any other night, because for me it’s just like last night, but I had to put a whole hell of a lot more effort into getting ready.” I’m practically panting I’m so annoyed.

“What time is he picking you up?” The cheeriness in her voice makes her message clear. She wants my angry-ass gone. Not that I blame her.

I snag my keys off the counter. “I’m meeting him at his place. I’m already late. And I won’t be home until tomorrow, so the apartment’s yours.”

“Axelle.”

I whirl around, expecting to have to defend myself from another one of her verbal onslaughts, but instead she wraps me in a hug.

“I understand. And seriously, you can do better.” She pulls back, and I have to look away from the concern I sense in her stare.

“Have fun tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, I’m gone.

A few minutes later I pull up to Clifford’s, and the driveway and street outside his place are already packed with cars. Looks like the party started early.

I rest my forehead on the steering wheel and wish I’d never agreed to go out tonight. To think that I could be home watching a movie with Killian, not needing to explain my shitty mood because he already knows everything about me. He’d tread carefully, keep the mood light, and steer the subjects away from anything parent-related. He’d go out of his way to make me laugh, and always before he’d leave, he’d hug me for so long, not letting go until he whispered, “Their loss,” as if to remind me that the men in my life have given up the honor of knowing me.

My fingers itch to call him, to beg him to drop everything and spend tonight with me, but the problem is I know he will.

I know, and always have, that if I need him he’d drop everything to be there. And as selfish as I am, as badly as I want nothing more than that right now, there’s no way I could do that to him.

Not after the smile I saw on his face when he was with Brynn. If anyone on this earth deserves happiness, deserves to live a life of love and success, it’s Killian McCreery.

I drag myself from my car, and already it’s as if this godforsaken holiday has sapped me of my energy. As my feet carry me to the door, I prepare for what’ll lie within.

Clifford and twenty of his closest friends are huddled around the television, smoking weed, with the music blaring. And when I push through the front door without knocking that’s exactly what I see.

Fuck.

“Babe!” Clifford hops up from the couch, throwing his controller to the guy next to him with orders to “Play for me until I get back.”

He crosses to me and I take in what he’s wearing: his favorite pair of skinny jeans, a Jane’s Addiction T-shirt, and combat boots. Nice to see he dressed up. Fucking *.

He moves to hug me, but stops just shy of touching me.