Page 100 of Riding the Pine

A tremendous urge to rip it from his hands and pour it over his head strikes me, but I can’t make any part of my body move.

I’m frozen in place as he smirks at me, the knowing in his eyes telling me he’s still playing with me.

I’m frozen in place as he salutes me with his donut still in his hand.

And I’m frozen in place as he saunters down the street away from me, swaggering as though he doesn’t have a care in the world, while I’m standing here, unable to move, with hot piss trickling down my legs.

CHAPTER 42

Scott

Ithought I was angry before, but seeing that arrogant, criminal piece of shit so much as look at my girl has my blood boiling so much I can barely stand still.

It took a minute to register who he was, which, as it turns out, is lucky for him, because I’d have beaten him to within an inch of his life right there on the street had I figured it out a fraction of a second sooner.

He looked familiar, one of the football players from UCR, but other than being a cocky prick, nothing else stood out about him until Athena froze like Elsa had waved her fingers at her.

If she hadn’t gripped my arm like she was about to crumple onto the ground, I’d have chased after him and done the world a fucking favor.

Apollo goes back to the car to grab his gym bag, he says he’s got an extra pair of sweats. I sweep Athena into my arms and rush her inside the therapist’s office. It doesn’t take us long to get her cleaned up and into fresh pants, but she’s shaking so hard, she’s crying and mumbling incoherently I’m not sure the therapist is going to get anywhere with her.

He guides us into his office even though we’re ten minutes early and haven’t completed the paperwork up front. He has usplace Athena in a chair, but she doesn’t let go of mine or Apollo’s hands. She sits staring into the eyes of the stranger we’re hoping will help her through this trauma.

To be honest, I don’t know what he says to her. I have no idea how he calms her down and stops her tears because while I’m standing here holding the hand of the woman I love, I’m imagining flaying Brock’s skin with a knife. Or dumping his body in an ocean somewhere for the sealife to eat him.

I can’t find any level of calm, and from the way Apollo’s jaw is working, he can’t either.

Somehow, we all make it through thirty minutes of whatever the hell happened, and we’re being shown back out to make another appointment.

Athena’s still shaky as I guide her back to the car. Before he starts driving, Apollo pings the group chat with a message to say someone needs to message the lawyers about getting some kind of restraining order, or no contact order for both of the fuckers who hurt Athena.

She snuggles into my side for the silent ride back to her apartment, her body exhausted from the encounter in the street. I don’t blame her, I’m reeling from it too, but in a rip-his-head-off-his-body-with-gardening-shears kind of reeling.

Knowing Apollo as I do, I can tell he’s feeling every bit of the tension and murderous urges that I am. I can’t kill someone, no matter how much my current hurricane of emotions may tell me it’s a good idea. I need to abide by Athena’s wishes and not make things worse for her.

But fuck. All I want to do is get revenge for her. To make those sons of bitches hurt for what they did to my girlfriend, my best friend, the woman clinging to me in terror.

I can’t settle when we put Athena to bed for a nap. I can’t settle when Apollo tells the boys what happened. And I can’t getthe image of her lying on the ground behind the library out of my mind.

“I’m going for a run.” I stand up from the couch, avoid eye contact with all three of my friends, and make my way to the door.

If they protest, I don’t hear it, but I take to the streets, pounding the concrete as I run faster and faster, harder and harder until my lungs burn with exertion.

As if carried by autopilot, or driven by some inner, hardwired bloodlust, I find myself on the same street as the football house, close to the hockey house. I’m easily identifiable, but I don’t give a shit. I’m going to tell these assholes to stay the fuck away from her or they’ll have my fists to answer to.

Fate seems to be smiling on me because as I approach the intersection, there’s Brock, shoveling a cheeseburger into his fucking face.

Well, asshole, my girl can’t eat much of anything right now because of you. He’s got his arm draped around a girl, which serves only to make my blood pound harder. How many other women has he hurt?

I flex my fists, ready to run past and not engage, but he sends his date into the house ahead of him while he checks his phone.

Huh. Curious.

The street’s pretty empty, it could be the perfect time to give him a piece of my fucking mind. Another fist-flex. I’ll keep it simple, short, sweet, just tell him if he sees her in the street to turn and walk the other way.

I won’t hit him. I’ll grit my teeth and let the lawyers handle it.

Running in his direction grabs his attention, and that sly smirk spreads across his face. He tilts his head as though he’s contemplating sticking his arm out to clothesline me, and part of me wishes with my whole fucking chest he would, just so Icould beat the shit out of him, and it would legitimately be self-defense.

---