I was hoping to explain to make it all make sense. I’m only trying to do what’s best. I know I could make it all right if I had time, but I didn’t have any time.
“Don’t be mad because he made the best choice,” Sam’s godforsaken voice chimes.
Lev launches himself at her, hoisting her up by her neck. “You better shut the fuck up before another ends up dead,” he shouts.
Another fist flies, cracking me in my ribs, and I don’t fight.
Wyatt points at me and snarls, “You better pray I catch her before she leaves!” Then he tears out of the room in the same direction she went.
I slump to the floor, my face in my palms.
What does one do when you’re forced to choose?
Either decision would have fucked us. I just went with the one that leaves the girl I think I’m in love with shattered.
Fuck!
67
ARIAH
I’m going to be sick. I head straight for the bushes and throw up. Once the contents of my stomach are emptied into the green bushes, I run straight for Thomas and the waiting car.
“Miss Bradford?” He stares in confusion but opens the door.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this stupid fucking last name. This name brought me to this fucked up town where my heart was yanked from my chest.
Tears stream freely down my face. I try to compose myself as I hear the car door slam.
“Ariah,” Thomas tries again.
“Please just get me out of here,” I plead.
He takes off as I see Wyatt run out of the building, but their treachery needs no explanation.
They didn’t choose me. I thought their feelings were genuine, but as Wes said, they selected the person who would be Fraternitas’s wife material, and I’m not that.
My stomach churns as we pull up to the house. I don’t wait for Thomas to let me out. Once the car’s in park, I throw the car door open and rush for the bathroom, praying I make it before I heave again.
I make it up the stairs in time to put my face into the toilet bowl. The events of the last thirty minutes and the stress of the last few weeks have finally caught up to me.
How fucking stupid of you, Ry.I let them in, and they played me.
My grandmother appears, and I hear the sound of the faucet turning on between retches.
She kneels next, her hand rubbing my back. “Get it all out.”
Once my stomach finally settles, she flushes the toilet as I fall to my ass on the bathroom floor.
She takes the cool cloth and wipes at my feverish skin. Tears still stream down my face as I try to speak, but nothing comes out.
“Shh, child. Just let it out,” she whispers, sitting on the floor next to me and pulling me into her arms. “We can worry about the who’s and what’s later.” And I do just that.
After what feels like twenty minutes, my tears finally cease. I need a plan.
Sitting up, I brace my hand on the floor when the room feels like it’s spinning.
Fucking Hell. I’m over these damn dizzy spells.
