Page 53 of Wreck Me

“Lexi,” I gasp. My heart stops and for a split moment, I’m frozen to my spot, unable to comprehend what the hell is happening. “Get dressed! What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for you. You’re on vacation, I wanted to surprise you.”

This reeks of my father. That fucking bastard will stop at nothing to get me to do exactly what he wants. Does he really think trying to force a woman on me is going to make me any less gay? Make me the dutiful son that he wants so badly?

“You can’t be here, Lexi. Get dressed, now, and you need to leave! Quickly!”

“Griffin, you can’t be serious. I flew five hours to be here with you, let’s enjoy our time. Your dad said we could even extend the trip.”

“There is no ‘we,’ Lexi. Now get out!” I’m in full panic mode now, knowing Carter could be done at any moment, grabbing the baby blue dress that’s lying on the armchair and throwing it at her. She pulls it over her head, finally covering up her naked body, and then slips from the bed.

“We could be great together, Griffin. Why won’t you give us a chance?”

“Because I’m gay, Lexi! I’m fucking gay. I’m into men andonly men. A life with me would be miserable for both of us and not something that was ever in the cards.”

“Surely that’s not true,” she says as she walks up to me, dragging her nails down my bare chest. I’m on the verge of yelling, of pushing her back a step, but Carter’s voice breaks through like an icepick to my heart.

“What the fuck is going on here? Who is this?”

“Hi! I’m Lexi, Griffin’s girlfriend.” My head spins, a hot flash washing over me, and I sway slightly on my feet. Carter’s head whips in my direction so fast that it probably hurts, his eyebrows shooting up, a quick flash of pain crossing his face before his stony walls are slammed back down in place, fracturing my heart in the process.

“Girlfriend?” he repeats, eerily calm, more inquisitive than alarmed. The transition of his emotion is subtle, but I caught it—because I know him. I anticipate a panic attack rising, but it’s the complete opposite. Like he’s broken, empty.

“She is not my girlfriend. I can explain. Give me a minute, and I’ll explain everything.”

“Well, hopefully fiancé, but we’re taking things slow.” Holy fuck, my dad had to find the one bat shit crazy broad in Washington State to sic on me. Carter just nods his head in slow motion, retreating and taking my heart with him. I have to get to him, I have to explain.

“Lexi, we aren’t anything. I just told you I was gay, you need to leave, now!” My fingers grip around her dainty wrists just tight enough that I have her attention but not enough to come close to causing her pain. I grab her purse off the dresser and push it into her chest. “You’re leaving. Go back to the airport, call your dad, and go the hell home.”

“You’re actually serious.”

“Deadly. I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but we were never going to be a thing. I’ve been polite, I’ve toleratedfamily dinners, but this was never going to be anything more than two people being friendly.”

“Wow.” It seems as dense as she is that it’s finally sinking in. She rips her wrist from my hand, and I release her immediately as she storms outside. By the time the slam of the front door echoes through the house, Carter has retreated to his bedroom. I jog down the hallway to get to him, finding him packing.

“Carter . . . can we talk?”

“No.”

“Wh—” I clear my throat of the emotion currently clogging it, making my speech come out strangled. “Where are you going?” I try to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over, stinging my eyes. He’s really not going to let me explain? I would never do something like this. I know how it feels to find someone you care about screwing around behind your back, and I can imagine what’s going through his head right now. But none of it is correct.

“Home.”

“Please stay.”

“Can’t.”

He continues to shove his clothes into his bag, wrapping up his computer and phone chargers, throwing an Aspen Ridge Distillery sweatshirt over his head, and covering the torso that I’m well acquainted with.

“For fuck’s sake, Carter, will you give me more than these one-word answers?”

“No.”

“Can I explain?Please.”

“No.”

Fuck this. Reaching for his bag, I rip it off the bed and throw it into the closet, forcing him to give me a reaction other than borderline empty. He’s withdrawing into himself, and Iwait for the signs of an oncoming panic attack, but they don’t seem to be there. Instead, he’s dejected, almost vacant. I don’t know what’s worse.

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