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If that wasn’t bad enough, she shook the foundation beneath my feet with the rage I saw in her face the first time she saw my bruises.
She was the first girl to care, the first one who didn’t believe I was at fault for them with the constant fighting. She kissed them instead of believing they were something to be proud of.
That’s when she had me in the palm of her hand.
“Damon didn’t fall for her,” I argue.
“You sure about that? Because from what I saw, he was just as in love with her as you. We’re only lucky she didn’t stick around long enough for the two of you to fight over her. Not with the rest of the crap you were going through.”
Guilt floods me in an instant. Rage rolling behind it because we did fight over her once.
Licking my tongue across my top teeth, I sigh.
“Then I guess demanding she spend the next six weeks being friends with us was a bad idea.”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
“Son of a bitch. Are you serious? It’s like you want to cause problems. Just walk away, Ezra. Stay away. Go fuck a hundred other women to fill your time, but avoid Emily. Not unless you want to get messed up again.”
It’s too late for that.
Pushing away from the wall, I take a couple steps toward the door before stopping in place.
I don’t turn my head to look at Shane.
“I’m doing this for Damon. If I don’t, he’ll end up chasing after her on his own. At least, this way, I can keep an eye on him.”
Laughing softly at that, Shane answers, “Yeah. Okay. You keep telling yourself that. And why would you want to keep an eye on him when it comes to her? Is it really for him? Or is it for you?” He pauses to let that sink in before saying, “I’m telling you now that this is a bad idea, but I guess you need to go through with it to figure that out.”
Again, he doesn’t add, but the word hangs there regardless.
As the third side to our fucked-up triangle, Shane knows us better than anyone. He had a front row seat for what happened in high school and for the fallout that occurred when we left for college.
None of that matters, though.
My mind is made up.
“I guess I do,” I grumble before walking out of the office to leave his warning behind.
Emily
“Dylan!”
For fuck’s sake, I swear my brother is trying to drive me crazy.
I’m already fifteen minutes late meeting Ivy and Ava, and Dylan’s ridiculously expensive car is blocking mine in.
After several failed attempts to back out without having to ask him to move it, I gave up and marched back into the house.
Imagine my surprise when I turn a corner and find my dad standing at the door to Dylan’s room, his expression angry, his brown eyes snapping my direction as soon as he hears my voice.
I think, in the twenty-seven years I’ve lived here, this is the first time I’ve seen my father in the children’s wing. He never came to visit or talk to me, and I try to ignore the pang of jealousy I feel with that realization.
Not that I should be jealous. Judging by the look on dad’s face, Dylan must have royally screwed up. Maybe it has something to do with the ten teenagers passed out in the common room from partying all night.
“And where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Flinching at the censure in my dad’s voice, I round my shoulders and straighten my posture.
