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Don’t punch your best friend.
Don’t punch your best friend.
As much as I want to, it would show exactly how I feel. Maybe my father still does control me. He still owns me from the grave, no matter how hard I try to escape him.
Reilly’s eyes are full of regret when he finally looks at me.
Good. Traitor.
“I’ll drive,” he murmurs, moving to go around to the driver’s side.
Fuck it. Before I can stop, my fist is moving on its own accord, landing square on my best friend’s jaw. He stumbles back, looking at me in shock, before his gray eyes fill with understanding. Nodding his head, he doesn’t retaliate.
“I guess I deserve that.” He rubs his now red jaw as I shake out my aching hand. My entire body is still vibrating with anger. The punch only gave me a slight sense of satisfaction, not as much as I was hoping for.
Instead of responding, I move past him and hop into the passenger seat of his white Jeep Wrangler, wishing I was anywhere but in a car with him right now. If we didn’t have to go to Mom’s, I’d go downstairs to the gym and beat the shit out of a bag. Just until these unknown feelings melt away and I can get back to my usual cold-hearted asshole self.
But my loud mouth told Mom we’d come help her hang her new porch swing. She could hire someone to do this for her, but she uses projects like this to see Reilly and me. I think she’s lonely now that Dad’s gone, even if he was a complete dick.
Reilly reverses out of the garage, and doesn’t speak until he puts it in drive, taking off down the driveway. “Just say it. Get it out. I can feel the anger radiating off you.”
Maybe I should punch him again. Not sure I’m really in the talking mood today. I look over and catch the pleading look in his eyes. “I told you she’s off limits. I thought you were my best friend, my brother. I can’t believe you did that.”
The hurt shows on his face. “Nix…”
“I fucking told you to stay away from her.” I raise my voice, causing his hands to tighten around the leather steering wheel.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not. You think saying sorry is going to make it better? You think it will take back what you did? What you both did.”
He briefly glances at me. “I’m sorry that you’re hurt. But I’m not sorry for sleeping with her.”
“I’m not fucking hurt. She means nothing to me. I’m just pissed that you went behind my back after I told you to leave her alone.”
Reilly glances at me with a sympathetic look—like he knows that’s not the truth at all. Like he can see the lie as plain as day. “I’ve gotta tell you something, man.”
How can this get any worse?
“Well, fucking spit it out,” I snarl.
“You remember that girl I slept with, who I couldn’t stop talking about? The one who called me like a month ago?”
How could I forget? She’s all he talked about for months. “Yeah. What about her?” I have a feeling I know where this is going, but I don’t want to believe it until it comes out of his mouth.
“That girl... is Tara. I never knew her name, and I never met her before you signed the contract. I didn’t realize who she was until the engagement party.”
It all makes sense now. That’s why she acted fucking weird that night after I introduced them.
“So what’d you do? Fuck her at our engagement party? A great way to say congratulations to me, by the way.” I just want him to rip off the bandaid so I can move past this. Maybe I’m being petty right now, but that’s what Tara’s doing to me. She has me acting like someone I don’t recognize.
“No, Nix. We didn’t, I promise. I needed to talk to her, so I took her into your office. We talked, and it got a little heated, but we didn’t have sex that night.”
“What the fuck does ‘a little heated’ even mean?”
I don’t know why I’m so mad that he touched her. I’m supposed to hate that she’s tarnishing him, not the other way around.
I’m so fucked.
