Page 89 of No Saint
“Shut the fuck up!”
He paled a little more.
“You blocked my number. You cheated on her.” God, I wanted to grab the little shit by his throat and choke him out. “Why the fuck should I believe you?”
“I went to my mom’s for the weekend. I can show you receipts. Whatever will prove it to you. Just…” He struggled against my hold. “Don’t hit me.”
But my grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened. Frustration and anger pushed me harder by the second.
“I care about her. I would never do anything to hurt Jade. Okay?”
“Oh,youcare about her?” I snorted back an angry laugh. “You have the audacity to tellmethatyoucare about her?” My hand had moved to his throat, squeezing a little too tightly. “You blocked my number to get her. Pretended to be her friend. Took advantage.”
“I didn’t do it so she’d date me.” Gasping, he clawed at my hand, attempting to pry it loose. “I was just trying to help her. With her exams, and her dad losing his job—” The words spewed out like vomit. “She was a mess. Then you guys broke up, and she cried all the time, and…”
His blabbering faded to the background, none of his words audible over my own thoughts. Her dad had lost his job when we were still together? Before fuckface had blocked my number? I’d thought we told each other everything back then, but no. She’d told Brent—her “friend”—and not me. Hurt wormed its way deep inside me. Jade must have been checked out months before shewanted that break. And this little shit was there to be her white-fucking-knight. My jaw tensed, and I gave him one last shove, bringing my face inches from his.
“Leave her the fuck alone. You see her on campus, your ass better turn the other way. She walks into a bar you’re in, you leave. Lose her number. Forget she exists, or I’ll fucking kill you. Understood?”
After he gave a frantic nod, I dropped him onto the grimy restroom floor and left. Pissed as hell, without the damn Doritos.
The sun had long ago dropped below the tops of the pine trees. The unbearable heat had shifted into a close-knit humidity that had condensation rolling from the bottle of whiskey clutched in my hand. The back door creaked open, and Dog lazily sat up in the lawn chair beside me.
“Hey, you coming?” Bellamy’s voice drifted over the lawn, but I didn’t bother looking at him.
“Nah. Don’t feel like it.”
Footfalls crossed the grass seconds before Bell stopped in front of me. “You okay, man?”
Not even fucking close. “Yeah. Fine.”
He glanced at the bottle in my hand. “You only drink whiskey when shit’s fucked up.”
I lifted the drink to my mouth and took a hearty swig. “I said I’m fine.”
“I know it was shit for you this weekend, but the suspension is up after next week.”
“Bell—”
“Or is this just about Jade?”
Thankfully, the door banged open again, saving me from having to answer that. Petey and Rogue rounded the side of the house.
“You guys coming or what?” Rogue asked.
“Yeah,” Bellamy said, then held out his hand. “Where are your keys?”
“What the hell do you need my keys for?”
He thumped the side of the bottle. “Just in case you decide you want to come out.”
Mumbling “bullshit” under my breath, I lifted to one side, fished my keys from my pocket, then tossed them to him. I wasn’t stupid enough to drink and drive, but if it made his mother-hen ass feel better…
I watched him join the rest of the guys before I took another sip. Dad used to get onto me for drinking, saying it wouldn’t solve my problems. The thing he didn’t know was that I’d watched the man who had never touched a drop in his life go from downing half a pint of whiskey every night after Mom became sick, then half a liter after she died. He’d hide it in a Thermos, topped it off with a little coffee, but I could smell the liquor on his breath and hear the bottles clank together every time he took out the trash. He wasn’t wrong; it didn’t solve jack shit, but it sure as hell helped numb the pain.
A light breeze kicked up, stirring leaves across the yard, and I dropped my head back against the chair. It had been hard enough that Jade left me, hard when I’d thought she cut all contact with me. But knowing that the person I had felt closer to than anyone else hadn’t felt close enough to confide in me—but had talked to that manipulative fuckface…
That was a piece of rusted shrapnel clean through the damn heart, ripping and tearing, and I didn’t want to feel any of it, so I drank.
