I don't turn back. Because some lessons are worth the price of fine china, and some scars need to be visible—carved into mahogany and memory—to remind us why we can never go back.
Let them see that scar for years to come. Let them remember the day Holly McAdams decided she was done being what everyone else wanted her to be.
Chapter Twenty
Chance
Holly'srighteous fury radiates off her in waves, and fuck if it isn't the hottest thing I've ever seen.
And most heartbreaking. Because I delivered the kill shot.
My cock strains against my zipper, proving once again that my body has zero respect for appropriate timing or brotherly loyalty.
I went too fucking far. I knew it from the minute “sugar lips” came out of me.
She saunters out, hips swaying head held high, taking the stunned silence with her.
Everyone begins talking at once, between our moms, Charlie, and Eve it’s a storm of commentary…
You should check on her.
No, you should go check on her.
Mom, she’s fine.
That’s the most fine I’ve ever seen her actually.
It’s Chance you should worry about, he’s going to need a bodyguard.
Eve whips around in her chair then, the look on her face dialed to look at this fucking idiot, “I’m sure you haven’t planned for this, but on account of you being a moron… what’s your preference cremation or burial?”
My father tries and fails to hide a grin behind his coffee cup.
Wait,grinning?
Okay, stick a pin in that for later because on my other side Nick hasn’t said a single word, and instead pierces with a dangerous intensity, anger rolling off him.
And me?
I'm drowning in guilt for playing into the exact thing she's fighting against, even if it was meant to keep our cover.
I panicked. Seasoned soldier, known for his level head, and I choked under pressure.
Risking a glance, I see an expression I never expected from my best friend. Nick looking at me like I just crossed a line I’ll never be able to walk back.
“I need air.” I shove back from the table, the chair scraping against hardwood like a scream.
“Yeah, you do.” Nick’s voice is low but firm, his chair creaking as he stands. My gut clenches as I hear his footsteps close behind mine.
“Nick—”
“Keep walking,” he snaps, his voice tight and brimming with fury. When we round a corner, he jabs a finger toward a side door along the hall leading to the locker rooms. “In there. Now.”
The minute the door snaps shut behind us, he rounds on me. “What the fuck was that?” he demands, his voice low but sharp enough to cut.
Dragging a hand down my face, I look away. Lies are easier when you don’t have to meet someone’s eyes. “It’s not what you think.”
Except it is.
