Page 33 of Injustice and Absolution

CHAPTER TWELVE

DELILAH

If there’s one thing this club knows how to do, it’s throwing a party. It’s pretty muchallwe do around here.

But when you live in a rural area like we do, you’re not left with much in the way of nightlife. There are some bars in town and some late-night restaurants, but that’s not really our scene. And why go out when you can throw a raging bonfire in the comfort of your own backyard?

Especially when Royce is out of town, and you don’t have to risk exposure to his harsh cold shoulder.

For weeks he appeared in control, his face aloof as though that night never happened—the only change being that he went from mostly ignoring me to completely ignoring me.

I know the only reason he would choose to go on a delivery is to get away. And I also know I’m the reason he left. As if he couldn’t stand to be near me any longer.

Does he blame me for what happened?

Does he hate me because of what we did?

Does he regret his suggestion that I stay that night, when I tried to leave initially?

These, and many others, are the fears that plague me incessantly. But even more so since I found out he left a few days ago.

I’ve grown angrier toward his behavior the more time that’s passed since we had sex. It’s like going through stages of grief. Only, it’s my own common sense I’m grieving.

Although can you truly grieve something you’re not sure you had in the first place?

Tilting back my third beer of the evening, I let the last of the now warm bubbles slide down my throat. I’ve been drinking more than I ever have lately. I’m well on my way to becoming a full-fledged alcoholic unless something drastic changes.

How could I have been so stupid to believe Royce would want to have a future with me? Apparently, I’ve lost all sense of reality. And what about Maggie? It would fucking kill her to know I’ve eventhoughtabout Royce in that way, let alone that I’ve actually gone and slept with him.

I grab another beer from the cooler and shake my head in anger at my selfish stupidity.

“Wow,” I hear a familiar voice to my left. “I sure am glad I’m not them.”

I turn to find Drew looming, unsure about whether to approach me or not.

What is he doing here?

“What?” I question, irritation clear in my tone. “Who?”

“Whoever the hell you’re mad at.” He throws his hands up in surrender, liquid from his half-drunk beer sloshing against the inside of the bottle.

Before I can bark at him any further, his expression relaxes, easing my frustration with a warm smile.

“Oh.”

“May I?” He gestures to the empty spot on the bench next to me, and I nod my approval.

I take in his appearance for a little longer than I’d like. His dark T-shirt fitted tight over a muscular frame, showing off his fit body. Dark, bootcut jeans hanging low on his hips, baggy over his boots at the ankle.

His dark hair and long sideburns glowing in the flickering fire. The glimmer in his eyes I’ve seen both times we’ve spoken before shining brighter than ever.

He’s different from Royce... But I suppose that’s a good thing.

Silence falls between us for a few minutes. Though I’m quiet by nature, I usually feel immense pressure to fill the awkward void with some type of conversation. Whether it be the beer tempering that anxiety of mine or if Drew’s presence somehow calms me, I’m grateful for the reprieve.

“You want to talk about it?” He finally breaks the silence.

“No.”

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