It takes a few solid hits, but once the slate cracks, it begins to fly off in brittle chips.
Footsteps thunder up the steps to the main floor, and I know my time is running out.
But god, this feels fucking great. With every thwack of the bat, the former versions of myself slip further away. The guy who had to catfish his way into Clover’s heart because he was too chickenshit to do it for himself. The guy who slept his way through freshman year just to feel something. The guy who is starved for affection. The one who didn’t deserve Clover and is only as good as what he can offer her.
Those versions fall apart like pieces of slate until all that’s left standing is a slightly drunk guy who is wildly in love and would do anything to keep the girl. Whether that means divorcing her so we can start from scratch or picking up right where we left off and doing everything in my power to make this work. Couples therapy. Cheesy date nights. Matching shirts like Sandra and Greta. Whatever it takes. If I have to live in that deteriorating dorm building for the rest of my life just so I can keep Clover, I will.
The bat crashes through Tate’s name and then his body count when I hear footsteps trampling back downstairs.
“What the fuck?” Tate shouts.
I spin around on my heel and prop the bat on my shoulder. I am ready for a fight.
The only problem is that so are the five other guys standing opposite me.
I’ve been in a handful of brief tussles and come out the winner, but these odds feel like a death wish. And yet I am willing to pay the toll for the opportunity to destroy the legendary scoreboard.
Swinging my bat down and using it as a cane as I strut over to Tate, I wonder if I’ll lose any teeth tonight.
“Allow me to get things started,” I tell him as I draw my fist back and let it smack into his jaw. The sound of skin hitting skin is barbaric and juvenile but only makes me hungry for more.
The first few hits I land are solid, and I even manage to brandish the bat and connect the metal with someone’s gut before it’s yanked away and thrown out of play.
My mouth is warm and metallic and full of blood. Someone gets me in the ear, and I feel like I’m underwater. I stomp on a few feet and let my fists swing recklessly. It’s not like I’m likely to hit someone on my side. After all, it’s me versus everyone.
I’m laughably proud of myself for staying on my feet as long as I do, but once my vision begins to blur and my knees hit the ground, I know I’m fucked.
I’m on my back and trying to curl in on myself as the punches and kicks continue to land, when things start to go dark.
The last thing I remember is bright lights turning on and a familiar voice screaming my name followed by a series of threats and curses.
CHAPTER 34
Clover
The automatic doors are too slow as I step past a few half-sober students waiting on rides. My erratic pulse and the blood rushing in my ears push me toward the check-in desk.
“I’m here to see my husband,” I say, breath ragged, to the worn-down-looking woman behind the counter.
“Clover!”
I whip around at the sound of my name and Julian is rushing toward me from the waiting area. His jaw is bruised and the tux he is wearing for whatever reason is rumpled.
“They sent me out here to wait while they took him for a CT scan. They were being really weird about having me back there, so I told them to call you.” His eyes narrow with meaning. “His wife.”
I nod quickly and turn back to the woman behind the desk.
“Name?” she asks dryly.
“Bennett Graves.”
She sighs through her nose and scrolls on her computer. “Have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”
Julian leads me to the only two free seats, next to a guy who apparently superglued sunglasses to his face.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask Julian. “The only thing the hospital said when they called was that he’d been in an altercation and that he appeared to have a concussion.”
He shakes his head, and for a moment, I’m scared he’s going to feed me some sort of bullshit, but then he starts talking. “It was like six on one.”
