Page 45 of Sweet Hate
This shit isn’t me.
Hurricane has me on a spin cycle and I don’t know which way is up anymore.
11.08 p.m. Really? Glaring down at my wrist, time appears to have frozen. I crack my neck to try and relieve some of the pressure inside me.
“LT, you should get some rest,” I almost drop my phone in shock. I didn’t even notice Beckett leaning against my door frame with his arms crossed. He looks like he’s been there a while, one eyebrow arched as he stares at me.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to have figured out what—or should I say who—is behind your charmingly sunshiny mood today.” My head snaps up in a scowl. “Case in point,” he remarks as he pushes off the doorway with a smirk and strolls inside casually, dropping onto the chair opposite my desk, a big shit eating grin stretched across his face. “So, out with it. Tell Dr. Foxy what’s wrong.”
“Dr. Foxy? Seriously?”
“What? I’m testing it out. The ladies seem to like it, which you’d already know if you hadn’t suddenly decided to live like a monk.”
“I’m not living like a monk.”
“No? When was the last time you got laid, Axeman? From where I’m sitting, you’re about ten seconds away from combusting with tension.” I lean back in my chair kicking my legs up on the desk, much to Becketts amusement.
“You’re not fooling anyone, least of all me, bro. So, have you made a move on the bakery hottie yet, or is she fair game?”
My legs slam to the floor with a loud bang. “What the hell did you just say?”
Leaning forward, not intimidated by my tone at all, he steeples his fingers much like a therapist would.
“Oh, nothing much. I see you’re still in the caveman pining stage. I vote you skip ahead and plow her already so you can remove that stick from your ass.”
“Fox, shut the hell up. There will be no plowing.”
Beckett knows exactly which buttons to push to get a reaction from me. Unlike most of the guys here, he’s seen me at my worst and isn’t afraid to poke the bear till he gets me to crack.
“All jokes aside, man, what’s going on? I knew you fixing up the bakery was a bad idea. All you’ve done is flay open all your old wounds.”
“No shit. Thanks for stating the obvious,” I spit out, prickling with annoyance, not sure what this conversation is even remotely trying to achieve.
“OK,I see how this is.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Verona, listen. And listen hard.”
His tone goes serious enough that I find myself looking up at him. I can see the hard set of his features. Shit, if he’s pulling out his stoic medic persona, I really must be fucked.
“We both know this girl is the only one who’s ever mattered. The one who left you bloodied and empty. You know this too,and yet you still came up with the most harebrained scheme possible to keep her in your orbit.”
“It’s not harebrained. They need help fixing the bakery,” I mumble, looking down at the floor.
“Yeah, OK, but that didn’t have to be you.”
“Yes, it did.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because I need to know she’s safe, OK?” I stand up, running my hands through my hair, and start pacing the office like a caged lion. “Ever since she’s come back, she’s all I can think about. I hate her. I hate myself. I hate what I’ve turned into. I hate what I’ve turned us into. She fucking clung to Lucas like a spider monkey when she first saw him. That’s how she used to greet me.Me. Now when I even get her to address me at all, it’s all sassy retorts or straight up dismissal unless it has to do with the bakery. But I’ll take that. I’ll take anything if I can be near her. See her. Smell her. Know she’s safe.”
I pause sucking in a breath, Beckett’s eyes not leaving mine.
“I made the mess we’re in. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been such a coward, I might still have my best friend. I might have her smiling at me instead of having to pretend she is from a fucking photo I saved. I might be able to talk to her, laugh with her, touch her, without feeling like my lungs are caving in from the fear of losing her again.”
