“Tell them to come to the BEG house. That he’s there right now, okay?” I’m already walking backward as I talk, but I’m not headed toward the Arts Building. I’m rushing my ass to Greek row.
I know missing my meeting will almost definitely take my play out of the running for the grant, but I don’t give a fuck about plays or production grants or sticking it to my old man right now. Not when the fucker who assaulted Liz is the very same “brother” I asked to keep an eye on Beth tonight.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Beth
“Yeah,” Steven slurs again to Brody, “right on fuckin’ time.”
They both approach the corner I’m trapped in like a pathetic fucking rabbit, their steps slow—and Steven’s sloppy—like they’re stalking prey. I don’t know if they planned this—or how—or if it’s just a tragic twist of fate that put me alone in a basement with two scumbags at a frat party. Terror combines with the alcohol I’ve had tonight, making it hard to focus, as does the blur of tears.
“Leave me alone!” I say far more weakly than I intend. I swipe at my eyes, determined to fight, and refusing to give either of them yet another edge—even if it is a hopeless cause.
My eyes dart between the two of them, but Steven is closer, and he takes full advantage the moment my gaze swings to Brody.
He’s back on me in a blink, and I shove frantically at his weight, begging and crying, cursing my own powerlessness.
And then suddenly I’m free.
It takes me a moment to catch my breath, to get my bearings, and then finally I register that Brody’s hit Steven—that they’re fighting, and that Brody is most definitely winning. My mind can’t make sense of it—two men with more in common than they even realize going at it like lions fighting over a kill. And I’m the kill.
But they’re between me and the only path to the exit, and I can do nothing but flatten myself against the wall, frozen in terror as the room echoes with angry grunts and muttered expletives. Brody is fearsome, possessed with a violence I wouldn’t have believed him capable of during the short time we were friends, but seeing it now, he looks every bit the monster he’s been accused of being.
The door overhead bursts open again, and for a horrible second I worry I’m so desperate that I’ve started seeing things.
But he’s real, and I cry out with relief as David emerges. He’s backlit from the bright room above, but just his posture—the familiar shape of him—gives him away, and he doesn’t waste a single moment before he races down the stairs.
But David’s sudden appearance momentarily distracts Brody, and Steven takes full advantage, decking him hard in the jaw. I just want out of here, but David rushes straight for the action, and all I can do is desperately scream for them all to fucking stop.
But they don’t, and to my utter astonishment, I realize David isn’t even fighting Brody. Instead, he helps him up, and hits Steven—hard enough to knock him out with a single punch.
Everything stops.
The action. The shouting. My breathing. Finally David looks at me—at the tear in my shirt I didn’t even notice until now, at my disheveled hair—and his face crumbles to pieces. His piercing hazel eyes drown in an inexplicable mixture of devastation and regret, and undoubtedly unearned guilt.
Even though Brody is standing right there and the danger isn’t over, even though I still don’t understand what’s happening, I run straight to David, needing the magical comfort of his arms more than ever.
David presses his forehead to mine, taking my face in his hands. He doesn’t speak, but his gaze says more than words ever could, and, as if he can’t help himself, his lips seek out mine.
He kisses me so softly, so sweetly, with such impossible tenderness, that I’m barely aware of yet another person joining the fray.
That is, until my brother’s voice rips me from my daze.
“What the fuck?” Sammy roars, his eyes darting frantically around the scene in front of him, as if trying to make sense of puzzle pieces that just don’t fit together. Or trying to, anyway, because he can’t seem to get past the sight of me in David’s arms, his mouth too close to mine, and before I can even speak, David pushes me behind him on instinct, as if he means to protect me from my own brother.
He stares at Sammy, unsure of what to do.
And then he says something I never thought I’d hear. “I was going to tell you this weekend, Cap. Beth and me…” he grits out a tense breath. “We’re…together.”
My brother’s eyes go wide with indignant disbelief. “You’re together?” He’s barely able to get out the word as he steps toward us.
David simply nods.
Sammy’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenched in a quiet fury I’ve never before seen directed at his oldest friend. “You’re fucking my baby sister?” he growls.
I want to defend David—to tell Sammy he never did anything I didn’t want, to remind my brother I’m not a fucking baby anymore—but I can’t force out a single word.
David squares his stance, as if offended by my brother’s crude assessment. “It’s not fucking like that.”
