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“Back off,” I shout, then wince, leaning against the railing and shaking my head at him. “Please, man, just… I’m okay.”
He knows I’m not, but he lets me go.
I shuffle up the rest of the stairs, slipping into my room and staring at the bed. Less than an hour ago, Mikayla was lying on that thing, her legs spread open, begging me to come in. And I hesitated.
It’s fucking good that I did.
She didn’t mean it anyway.
But it had felt like it.
“Shit.” I plunk down on the edge of the bed and drag my hands through my hair.
It had felt so real.
CHAPTER39
MIKAYLA
I pound on the door with my fist, not letting up until it swings open.
Liam eyes me up. He looks confused and then a little suspicious. I have no idea what Ethan told him, and I can’t help squirming as I stand there under the yellow glow of the porch light.
“I need to talk to Ethan.” I step up to slip past him, but he blocks my way.
“He’s not in a good space right now.”
“I know that.” I raise my eyebrows. “I’m the reason why. Please, I need to make this right.”
He stays put, crossing his thick arms.
“Padre, please. I screwed up, and I have to apologize and tell him the truth.”
He obviously doesn’t know what went down between Ethan and me because he’s fighting confusion.
“I’m not leaving,” I warn him. “I will sleep on your doorstep if I have to.”
That does the trick. He lets out a heavy sigh and finally shifts so I can get past him. The house is busy but not chaotic. It’s getting late, so some of the guys have probably turned in for the night or are in their rooms studying.
I bury my hands in my hoodie pockets and throw Liam a questioning look. “He in his room?”
Liam nods, still obviously uneasy about letting me in.
I give him an edgy smile, trying to reassure him, but I don’t think it works. My legs are practically shaking as I climb the stairs and pause outside Ethan’s door.
If I knock, he probably won’t let me in. I hurt him. I can’t get that look on his face out of my head. I have to make him understand that I didn’t want to do the initiation. I’d already decided not to follow through with it and was trying to come up with ways around it. Surely he’ll get that.
Sucking in a breath, I knock once and open the door before he can even ask who it is.
He’s sitting at his desk in sweats and a T-shirt, his feet bare and beautiful. He’s hunched over a textbook, his laptop buzzing. The second he spots me, he slams it shut and throws me a heated glare.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“You don’t want to talk, remember? You hate that shit. And I’m fucking done.” He shoots out of his chair, walking past me to the door I just closed.
Wrenching it open, he points into the hallway, silently telling me to get out.
