Page 134 of Broken Pieces
I don’t stop walking or glance back. Because if I do, I might catch one last glance of Zane not giving a shit.
And I’m not sure I can handle that today.
The world doesn’t slow down.
Engines rumble, brakes squeal, someone yells across the street. Laughter from a group of guys floats past me.
None of it lands. It’s all background noise to the chaos in my head.
Every step I take pulls another memory to the surface.
The way his hands gripped my waist. The sound of his voice, curling around my name, while he was buried inside me. The heat of his breath on my skin. The way I came apart for him.
And then the cold bed this morning.
That fucking ache in my chest when it dawned on me that even though I gave him my virginity, it meant nothing to him. That perhaps I was only a warm body he used to burn off whatever demons were clawing at him last night.
Maybe that’s all I ever was to him.
By the time I push through the school gates, I’m already spiraling.
My chest feels too tight, throat raw, stomach twisting.
I don’t paste on a smile. My face tells the truth today. I’m storm clouds and cracked bones and not in the mood to play nice. Let them fucking stare, whisper. I’ve got nothing left to give.
Cassie’s waiting by the lockers, holding two coffees and bouncing on her toes.
She waves one when she sees me coming. “Morning, Sunshine.”
I grunt and take the cup from her hand. The heat seeps into my fingers, but it doesn’t reach the cold sitting under my ribs.
“Wow,” she mutters, watching me. “Someone’s in a mood.”
Then I hear them.
“Hey, Skylar,” Liam calls out, that sleezy voice makes me sick. “Still got that pretty little moan? Thought maybe you’d saved a few for me.”
Laughter follows.
His pack’s always around him.
Bryce Anders, who walks like he owns the place because his dad’s a hotshot lawyer who slips the cops enough cash to clean up his messes.
Connor Vale, another rich asshole who thinks money permits him to treat people like trash. They feed off each other’s filth.
I keep my eyes forward, steps steady. No reaction. No emotion. Just keep moving.
Cassie doesn’t.
“Go fuck yourself, Liam,” she snaps, her voice sharp through the hallway. “Actually, scratch that. I doubt your pathetic little cock could survive the trauma of your own hand.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then the laughter starts.
Not from his boys. They’ve gone dead quiet, but from everyone else crowding the lockers.
Liam’s hands curl at his sides, his jaw grinding like he’s chewing on broken glass. But he’s not stupid enough to do anything. Not here. Not with this many witnesses.
