The blood drains from his face. His eyes cycle through emotions, never once straying from mine. Realization. Horror. Disbelief. Fury.
Mason is oblivious, and when Wes doesn’t respond and I remain silent, he continues on. “You shouldn’t be mad at Ivy,man. It was a long time ago. No feelings there or anything. Just a hookup. We should have told you at the beach.”
Wes’s jaw ticks. His voice shakes as he utters one word. “Him?”
I give a single nod.
And that’s all it takes. Wes’s eyes ease away from mine and settle on his childhood friend’s. I don’t recognize his voice, the tone deep, ragged, eerily low. “What the fuck did you do?”
A shiver wracks down my spine. Mason laughs a little, holding up his hands. “Dude, I told you. We just fucked. I’m sorry it happened, but it’s not a big deal.”
Wes takes a step forward. “We all know that’s not what happened.”
Mason blinks in surprise. Throws me a hasty glance. “Wait, you think…you think I did something to her? She wanted it?—”
In a movement so fast I nearly miss it, Wes’s fist flies at Mason’s face, catching him off guard. Wes doesn’t stop at one hit. He goes at him again, his knuckles crushing through skin and bone and cartilage, and I shriek as blood splatters across his face. Mason stumbles back into the dresser before lunging for Wes, but he’s had too much to drink, and Wes dodges his attempt instantly. Wes shoves him to the floor, punching him a third time. A fourth time. For a moment I worry that he’s not going to stop, too caught up in the frenzy of violence I’ve been carrying around in my chest and heart and stomach for the past two years.
“Wes,” I cry. “Wes, you need to stop.”
Hearing my plea, his fist freezes mid-air. His entire body is shaking, eyes wild and face twisted with the anger I know all too well. It breaks my heart to see him like this, and I can’t stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks.
Wes lowers his face toward Mason’s. His voice shakes with emotion. “I want to make this crystal fucking clear. You comenear her again, and I’ll end you. You’re—I can’t even—who the fuck are you? How the fuck could you? You’resick.”
Mason groans but doesn’t say anything. Maybe he can’t say anything, his face a bloody, mangled mess.
Before Wes can threaten him further, Kaden and Ben appear in the doorway, taking in the scene with wide eyes.
“We heard a bang,” Ben says, staring at Mason.
“What the fuck happened?” asks Kaden.
“Get him out of here,” Wes snaps. “Please, just…just get him the fuck out of here. I can’t even—I can’t fucking look at him.”
Ben and Kaden must realize that something is really wrong because they don’t ask questions. They don’t hesitate. They hoist a bleeding Mason between them and drag him out of the room. I half expect Wes to follow, but he doesn’t. He shuts and locks the door, then sits on the edge of the bed, staring down at his torn, bloody knuckles. He flexes his fingers, wincing, before looking up at me with lost, unfocused eyes.
He’s spinning out. I see it happening, I recognize the spiral, and I know he needs me to say the words out loud to wrap his mind around it fully and completely.
I take his good hand, gripping it tight in my own, and I finally fill in the blanks. I finally tell the whole story.
“Mason Bryce is the man who raped me.”
My words hang in the air between us for a long time, and then Wes swallows, tears springing to his eyes at my devastating admission. In this moment, he looks shattered. Unfixable, even, and I hate that I have to rip him apart before I can put him back together again.
“He dated Alexis when we were in high school,” I say softly. “That’s how I met him. After the party, Alexis was suspicious that something happened. He wasn’t very discreet about it, and she accused me of hooking up with her boyfriend. That’s why she hates me. That’s why she started the forum.”
“Ivy,” he murmurs.
“After that night,” I continue, “I tried to tell my mom what happened, but the moment I mentioned that I snuck out to a party, she didn’t want to hear anything more. So I…I drank a bottle of whiskey to mask the pain and ended up in the hospital. And I never spoke a word about it again. Not until I told you a vague version of events that day in your room.”
His hands find my face, fingers weaving through my hair as his thumbs brush across my cheeks, and he presses his forehead against mine. I hear the strain in his voice as he holds back tears. “No.”
I grip his wrists. “Yes.”
“I want to kill him,” he says, and I hear the sincerity in it.
“You can’t.”
He nods. “I can. I will. Ivy…”
