AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Fuck you,” I muttered as I hitched the duffel bag onto my shoulder. “Oh, wait…I did that already.”
The hurt in her eyes ricocheted through my soul, forcing me to turn away.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
My jaw grew rigid, but I wouldn’t dare turn back. “Good.” I trudged down the hall, grabbed my helmet and keys and threw open the door. “The feeling’s mutual.”
I took one step outside before my chest constricted.What the fuck am I doing?As I turned back to the girl I’d wanted since I was sixteen, a bouquet of daisies exploded against my chest. As the petals plummeted to my feet, so did my heart. A girl like Daisy Harris could never be mine. She was too fucking beautiful. Too fucking perfect. And when she slammed the door in my face, it only proved what I had always thought. She was too fucking smart.
DAISY
EIGHT HOURS EARLIER
“What are you doing in my bedroom?”
Ethan’s voice pulled me from my rage-fueled explosion onto the canvas in front of me. His bedroom was more of an art studio than a place of rest. You could barely see his bed amongst the sea of easels.
I wiped my nose, smearing blue paint across my tear-streaked cheek. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re wasting my paint.”
The familiar fizz of a beer opening floated closer, but my attention didn’t veer from my attempt to slay my feelings with a paintbrush. “Well, you owe me for all the cookies you steal.”
“You bake too much.” He swallowed a mouthful. “I’m doing you a service.”
Ignoring his usual tease, I dipped the brush into the red paint and whipped it over the white space.
“Hey!” Ethan grasped my arm and eased it down. “My room is going to look like a murder scene if you keep that up.”
I pulled away with a huff. “Better your room than Vance’s office.”
“Did you guys have a fight or something?”
“No.” I glared at the canvas until my eyes burned. “We broke up.”
“You what?” He fell back a step, half-laughing. “Bullshit.”
I turned to the boy who’d troubled my heart for ten years and sighed. He looked so damn hot with the ocean dripping from his shaggy, dark hair that I almost forgot Vance entirely. Ethan had that effect on me.
His eyes darkened at the sight of my bloodshot eyes. “You’re serious?”
My infuriating desire dissipated at the memory of my evening. “He… I…” I spun back to the painting, attempting to repress the relentless replay of Vance’s betrayal. “I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”
Ethan observed the butchered canvas. “It must’ve been bad.”
My shoulders dropped as I stared up at my abstract piece of shit. “How do you do it?”
He stepped closer. “Do what?”
I grasped my heart. “Get what’s inside…”—I pointed at the canvas—“onto there.”
He ran his fingers through his hair before scratching his head. “Like my emotions?”
“Yes,” I whined. “You must have them. Your work is so beautiful and heartfelt, yet you remain so confidently nonchalant about…”—I shrugged—“everything, really.”
“I’m notconfidently nonchalantup here, Daise.” Ethan tapped his temple. “You know that.”
“I know…” I grimaced, knowing the emotional battles he fought daily since childhood. “I’m sorry.”
