“The fuck,” I say, pissed. “What do you mean I took the easy route? That was hard as fuck.”
He looks at me like I’m a goof. “There has to be a way for you to get what you want.”
What I want?I want to fight … I think. I want to help Doc finish her whimsy list. I want to hold her for more than just another night. I want to go on more fucking road trips with her and laugh about stupid things and buy her shit and promise her there are no monsters in the darkness.
And show her I’m not one, either.
“You’ll regret this. And, when you do, remember that someone hurt you. But that someone wasn’t me. What you see isn’t regret. It’s disappointment.”
That is a punch right to the … everywhere. A buckling knockout blow.
I want to … try for more with her.Why did I walk away?
Feeling like everything I want is out of my control makes me want to rage. I know that isn’t the emotional response that will fix anything—it’ll just add to the destruction in the end. That’s why I’m at Alfie’s and not on a quest to find Andrew FuckingVan. But this helplessness with this situation is overwhelming.How did someone like him, a semi-talented punk with more money than brains or talent, touch not just my professional life—because, in this world, that’s sadly understandable–but my personal life, too?
Why does he get to win?
“I want Doc, and I want her brother to stay out of it.” I grit my teeth. “And I want that asshole to be put in his place. That’d be a cherry on top.”
“Then make that happen.” He clamps a hand on my shoulder and then heads for the door. “I believe in ya, Brooksy.”
“Yeah, fuck you, Hart.”
“Better chance of me getting fucked than you by the sound of it.”
I launch a boxing glove at him, but it hits the door about an inch from his head as he pushes it open. His laughter is carried on a breeze back to me.
I start to clean up the gym so it’s ready for the afternoon classes, but Hartley’s words keep playing through my head.“Then make that happen.”
“There’s no way to make it happen.” My world slows down, almost to a full stop. “Woah, wait a minute …”
My phone dings from my bag, and I dig through it with a renewed energy I didn’t expect. I finally pull it out from my shorts pocket.Unknown Caller.
“Hello,” I say, shoving everything back into my bag.
“How does it feel to be the most hated man in Nashville?”
I flinch. “What? Who is this?”
“This is Audrey’s friend Gianna.”
“Oh, no,” I groan. This girl is a headache on a good day—and today is not a good day. “Can we do this later?”
“No, you fuckhead, we cannot. My best friend is on a plane right now to Boston—alone. Scared. Because?—”
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” I scrub the top of my head with my fingernails. “She’s not going until tomorrow.”
“No. She went today because she didn’t want to stay here another night, and she didn’t want to go home alone.”
“Why is she scared?” I ask, my stomach somersaulting. “That’s news to me.”
“Did she tell you about Lewis Lemon?”Who the fuck is Lewis Lemon?And what parent thought naming their son Lewis with that surname was a solid idea?
“No.”
“You surely know the cut on her thigh.”
“I know every line on her body.”
