“Go to hell.”
I don’t bother hiding the despondency in my voice. Maybe once he has validation that he managed to hurt me again…he’ll go away for good.
Misery etches his expression for one fleeting second before he paints on a cocky smirk. “Trust me, Bible Thumper. If the bullshit you believe in turns out to be true, I’ve earned a first-class ticket there.”
Once again, I’m torn between wanting to rescue him from whatever his demons are…and wishing the ground beneath us would open up and swallow him whole.
“Goddamnit.” Closing my eyes, I draw in a shaky breath. “I just want you to leave me alone.”
Stop torturing me.
Stop invading my thoughts.
Stop looking at me like I’m your little toy you can use and abuse whenever the urge strikes.
Stop making me feel things for you I shouldn’t.
“Hurts when you can’t have something you want, doesn’t it?”
Not waiting for a response, he clutches my jaw. “Remember how much you hate me right now.” The grip on my chin tightens and he inclines his head. “Because the second you think I’m capable of changing, or there’s any good in me, I’ll prove you wrong and hurt you again…worse than before.”
This time I let the tears fall.
Not because I’m scared of his threats.
But because he’s giving me glimpses of how dark and tortured his soul is.
And no matter how hard I pray for him…I’ll never be able to help or save him.
He’s beyond it.
“Colton,” I whisper as the night sky opens up and cool rain begins to trickle.
His name is the one tiny bit of truth he gave me that night.
A piece of him no one else has.
Something passes in his gaze. “You would have been perfect for him.”
I have no idea who he’s talking about.
“Perfect for who?”
Ignoring my question, he leans his forehead against mine. “Ask me again what I want.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “What do you want, Colton?”
The pure agony that slashes across his face wraps around my heart and squeezes.
“Something I can never have…because I’ll destroy it.”
Chapter 7
Sawyer
I’m ten minutes late by the time I walk into Cluck You, and Mr. Gonzales is not happy.
I’m in the back tying my apron on when he approaches me.
“You late,” he states in broken English.
His dark furry eyebrows are pinched together, and his lips are so tight they’re turning white around the edges.
Oh, boy.
Considering I’ve been working here for almost two years and I’ve never been late before-—not to mention I’m covering for a coworker—you’d think he’d cut me a little slack.
However, now is not the time to bring that up, so I do the mature thing and offer up an apology followed by an explanation. “I know. I’m sorry. I was at the homecoming game and after it ended, I realized I forgot my textbook—”
He cuts me off with a long-winded sigh.
Oh, boy. Here we go.
“Desde que era un niño pequeño. Soñé con abrir un restaurante. Pasé todo mi tiempo perfeccionando el pollo perfecto.” He holds up his hands histrionically. “Trabajé sobre la estufa día tras día. Sufrió quemaduras de tercer grado. Algunos días mi piel se despegaba de mis dedos y lloraba mientras cocinaba. Solo para tener la oportunidad de hacer algo de mí mismo y mantener a mi familia. Y ahora llegas a mi restaurante diez minutos y veinticuatro segundos tarde.” He stomps his foot. “¿Estás tratando de destruirme? ¿Mi familia? ¿Mi pollo?”
Good Lord.
Long story short, my boss worked his butt off perfecting his chicken recipe—even suffering third-degree burns in the process. He came to America with a goal of opening a restaurant to provide for his family. However, according to him, my tardiness is putting his business, his family, and most importantly, his chicken in jeopardy.
While I respect his hard work and determination, the man sure has a flair for the dramatic.
I shake my head, hoping to put his fears to rest. “No—”
Before I can finish my second apology, Stone waltzes over to us. “Relax. Sawyer’s never late.”
Rumor has it Stone was hired as a dishwasher because Mr. Gonzales was a close friend of his dad’s and he wants him to stay out of trouble.
He’s only been here a short time—given he’s sixteen—but he works his ass off, and I have no complaints about the guy.
Well, except one.
He’s Tommy DaSilva’s younger brother.
Awkward.
I have to constantly remind myself that Tommy and Stone aren’t the same person and judging him for the terrible things his brother did to the Covington family would be wrong.
Visibly irritated, Mr. Gonzales waves a hand in my direction. “Ponte a trabajar.” He looks at Stone. “Both of you.”
I shoot Stone an appreciative smile before I get back to work.
It was busier than usual tonight, and by the time I have a second to breathe it’s after ten and my shift is over.
I don’t even attempt to stifle my yawns.
“Tired, huh?” Luis, the second waiter on shift tonight comments as we bring the last of the dishes to the back.
Not only is Luis a sweetheart, he’s in college studying to be an engineer, so he understands my pain when it comes to balancing school and work.
He also doesn’t come from money and works hard for everything he has.
“Exhausted,” I admit. “I have to turn in my admissions essay for Duke’s Heart in two weeks, and I still haven’t started it.”
He lets out a long whistle. “You shouldn’t put that off until last minute, ma.”
He’s right.
It might not be a big deal to most students, but when you’re poor and need a full ride more than your next heartbeat—it’s a huge deal.
Not to mention, turning it in before the deadline gives you an advantage and makes it appear like you took it seriously.
I walk over to the sink when I notice Stone’s up to his eyeballs with dishes and give him a hand.
“I was going to tackle it tomorrow, but I promised—” I catch myself before Dylan’s name slips out.
Stone knows she’s my best friend, but it makes things weird between us whenever I bring her up.
Not only is she dating Jace Covington, but Tommy was legit obsessed with her last year. The dumbass even went so far as to try to force her to have sex with him at a deserted marina.
Luckily, Dylan is stronger than she looks, and she kicked him in the balls before anything bad could happen.
“I agreed to tutor my friend’s cousin,” I settle on.
Luis stops what he’s doing. “Hope he’s paying you.”
“He’s not, but—”
Luis cringes. “There’s a reason they tell you to put your life vest on before assisting others. You have to focus on yourself, ma. You’re already burnt out. Stop adding more to the pile.”