“There were gunshots,” she sobs. “And before I knew what was happening … everything just went dark.” Her eyes grow wide with panic. “Is everyone okay? My friends?—”
“Shh, baby,” I murmur, standing on the sidewalk between The Lookout and The Tower. “They were just firecrackers, okay? Everyone is safe.You’resafe.”
“Firecrackers?” she whispers, her lips quivering. “Are you sure?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, Isla, I’m sure.” Craning my neck down, I press my lips to her forehead. “I’m so sorry that happened. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there sooner.”
Even though anger is burning inside of me and I’m pissed at those motherfuckers for scaring her, the only thing I care about in this minute is Isla and taking care of her. So, moving quickly, I stride up the walkway to The Tower. But the more reality hits her, the more she begins to move around in my arms, and by the time I reach the bottom step, she’s full-on thrashing.
“Put me down,” she grumbles, wiggling around. “I want to go home, Hendrix. Put me down.”
Ignoring her, I take the steps two at a time until my hand is reaching for the door, and that’s when she fucking loses it.
“Put me down!” she screams, kicking her feet and flailing her arms. “I am humiliated about what just happened, and the last thing I want to do is be near you!”
I drop my hand from the door to secure her and hold her tightly while looking down into her angry yet beautiful face. Tears stream down her red cheeks, and her lips tremble.
“If I put you down, you can’t run away from me,” I whisper. “If you do, I’ll just chase you and throw you over my shoulder.”
Her eyes roam my face as her brows pull together.
“If I’m running from you, you should take the hint and stop chasing me,” she whispers, more tears falling from her eyes. “You aren’t my Prince Charming, Hendrix. You made that clear yesterday,” she squeaks. “Let me go. I can’t … I can’t do this back-and-forth shit with you anymore. So, whatever this thing was between us, it’s over. It isn’t healthy for either of us.”
“Isla, I’m—” I rasp, only for her to cut me off.
“Put me down, Hendrix.” She’s begging me now, like it’s torturing her to be this close to me. “I don’t want to be near you right now.”
Every fucked-up part of me wants to carry her inside and lock her in my bedroom, forcing her to hear me out until she forgives me. I want to confess that I was a little bitch yesterday and sabotaged us before we had a true chance to even start. But the way she’s looking at me in this moment tells me that she’s made her mind up.
She doesn’t want me anymore.
She finally sees me for who I am, and I can’t fault her for it; I pushed her to do it.
Gently, I set her down just as her friends run down the sidewalk toward us. She stumbles back away from me, like she can’t stand to be this close before looking up at me briefly.
“I’m sorry,” I utter. “I’m so fucking sorry, Isla.”
Her lips part, like she might say something, but instead, she sighs and turns away from me. And as she heads toward her friends and they walk her home … she never looks back.
Not once.
ISLA
I lie in my bed with absolutely no music, no television, and no sound, and even though I try to stop replaying what happened an hour ago at the party, I can’t. My friends have come in multiple times to check on me, all looking for some sort of explanation without actually asking for one, but I just keep brushing them off. I can see the concern in their eyes, but right now, I just want to pretend it never happened.
Damn the trauma from when I was a little kid, coming back to bite me in the ass.
I hate most of all that when I came to, Hendrix was the one holding me. For a moment, I relaxed. I relaxed because despite what he’d done, I knew I was safe. Then reality hit. And my mind traveled back to not many days ago when he was a heartless prick, looking at me with cold, dead eyes, and I needed to get the hell away from him.
“Knock, knock,” Harley says instead of actually banging on the door seconds before she cracks it wider. “Mind if I come in?”
“All right.” I sigh. “Come in.”
Pushing the door further open, she sneaks inside and closes it behind her. Making her way to my bed, she climbs into the vacant side and flips onto her side to look at me.
“How are you doing?” she whispers, her red hair spilling onto my pillow.
I’m always so jealous of her hair because it’s different. It makes her stand out, especially paired with her bright green eyes.
