The defiant little shit squares her shoulders, chin tilted high. “Or what?” she spits back, lips curled in challenge.
That little spark right there lights the powder keg in my chest.
“You think this is a game?” My voice lowers, fury still boiling underneath, but I won’t yell in her face. My parents taught me better than that, even if right now I feel like I’m on the edge of losing control. “We had a nice night just last night. I had my tongue down your throat while you moaned. How the fuck did we go from that to you letting another man touch you?”
She just stands there. Silent. Then her eyes shimmer with tears, she tries to blink away, but can’t. Her voice cracks when she finally speaks. “Because you’re marrying my sister,” she whispers, her hand clenching at her chest like she’s physically trying to hold herself together. “Because you don’t belong to me. Because I refuse to be the kind of woman who betrays her family.”
Her words are brutal. Each one a blade I fully deserve.
“I already hate myself for wanting you. For feeling these… whatever the hell these feelings are.” She sniffles, then lifts her chin. “So yeah. I’m trying to get over you. If fucking someone else helps, then so be it, and you have no right… None whatsoever to act like a caveman, because I am not yours!”
Every word she just said hits like a punch straight to the ribs. The worst part? She’s right. About all of it. She’s not mine. And yeah, she doesn’t want to hurt her sister. I get it, even respect it. But she was also right when she called me acaveman. Because I want her in ways that make no sense and all the sense in the world. Consequences be fucking damned.
I stand there, watching her fall apart right in front of me. I should comfort her. Wrap her up and tell her she doesn’t have to carry this weight alone. That I’ll figure it out. Fix it.
But I can’t.
Not when her skin still smells like him.
Not when every inch of me is on fire with the image of another man’s hands where mine should’ve been.
So, I take a step back, my pulse pounding like a war drum.
I grab my jacket from the chair. Say nothing. Not even a goodbye.
And walk out.
“Okay, that’s it for today! Don’t forget to tag me in your looks, I love seeing how you make it your own. See you soon, babes!” I say before cutting the video and turning off the camera.
It’s been a few days since the disaster I caused by bringing Dylan here. And yes, I knew better. God, I knew better. But I did it anyway. Maybe I wanted to hurt Calvin the way I’ve been hurting. Or maybe I completely lost my damn mind. Either way, the damage is done, and now everyone’s hurt.
Dylan, sweet, undeserving Dylan, went back to Ohio that same night, still wearing the bruise Calvin gave him. It must hurt like hell, but he’s still calling to check on me, trying to make sure I’m okay. And that just makes it worse, because this mess is on me.
Calvin’s been gone for days, and I hate myself for it, but God, I miss him. His presence and quiet intensity.
The days crawl by, heavy and hollow. The long, restlessnights are worst, full of what-ifs and shame I can’t shake. I throw myself into making content for my channel, pretending everything is fine. I work on Abigail’s wedding dress on autopilot, but every stitch feels like another thread unraveling between Calvin and me.
When I’m not drowning in fabric and guilt, I bury myself at my parents’ house, hoping for distraction. Hoping to forget the way Calvin looked at me, like I broke something inside him. But no matter where I go or what I do, I can’t stop thinking about him.
Is he okay?
Where has he been?
Will he ever come back?
I hate to admit it, but… he had a point. Bringing Dylan into his space, after what happened between us the night before, was reckless as hell. Petty. It was a total bitch move.
Worse, it was calculated.
If I’m brutally honest with myself, a part of me wanted Calvin to find us. I wanted him to snap, to see. I guess I thought if it all exploded, then maybe we’d finally deal with the mess we’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.
But I didn’t expect to see something break in him.
And now, I’d give anything to rewind time and undo it. Not be so fucking careless with something, someone, I clearly care more about than I’m ready to admit.
I’m hunched over Abigail’s wedding dress, needle and thread in hand, when my phone buzzes. So does my iPad, and a FaceTime call pops up. I sigh when I see Abigail’s name. She’s called once or twice a day since she left, just to check in. Normally, I’m glad for it, but right now, she’s the last person I want to talk to. Still, I answer. If I don’t, she’ll just keep calling.
“Hi, Abby,” I say, plastering on the biggest smile I canmanage. She looks like she’s in her hotel room. I know she’s in L.A., but I still don’t know what she’s doing there. Every time I ask, she gives a vague answer, so I stopped.
