He bared his teeth, the fury in his face nearly masking the hurt my words had inflicted. “Yeah, well, you can’t get off unless it’s with a thug, so whatever. I may be a thug, but what does that make you?”
The sound of Drew’s matte black Audi coming up the drive was like the splash of a life preserver after I’d been in the water long enough to start swallowing some. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see him pull up, then turned back to Hendrix, already walking backward. “You’re the one who told me I need to stop fucking losers. So just stay away from me.”
He turned around and smacked the remnants of our lunch off the table.
Breathing hard, I turned and jogged down the hill. When I pulled the handle of the back door on Hendrix’s Tesla, I thanked my lucky stars it was unlocked, grabbed my bag, and rushed over to Drew’s car.
“Drive. Go. Now,” I demanded. Not that Hendrix was calling after me or trying to catch up. I ignored the pang of disappointment that brought and reminded myself I’d just ensured he wouldn’t. I usually loved it when people called me a bitch—more often than not it was just their way of saying I was being too assertive as a woman, speaking my mind too loudly, refusing to take their shit.
But in this moment, I knew I’d been a bitch to him, in all the worst ways.
Drew glanced in my direction. “You all right?”
“I’m fine. Can you drive me back to school? I left my car there.”
“Sure.” He pulled onto the main road. “What’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing.” Not anymore. Not ever. I’d made sure of it.
“Didn’t look like nothing. You need me to get the guys together and take care of it? Just say the word.”
I sighed and forced a smile. “You’re sweet to offer to inflict violence on my behalf, but it’s not necessary. I promise. I’ve hurt him way worse than he could ever hurt me.”
I hadn’t meant to say that last part, but it was true. Drew kept silent, but I could feel more questions on the tip of his tongue.
“Drew, can you please not tell anyone about this? I’ve handled the situation, and no one needs to know. I promise.”
“If you’re sure.” He sighed.
“I’m positive. Hey, what were you calling me about?”
Drew and I texted, but we rarely called each other. He must’ve wanted to talk about something important.
“It can wait. Looks like you’ve had a hard enough day.” He squeezed my knee and returned his hand to the gearshift.
I sighed and looked out the window at Devilbend flying by. Was Hendrix right? Would I end up in a life that felt as if it were flying past as I watched from the other side of the window?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hendrix
My feet pounded against the treadmill as sweat poured down my face. My lungs were screaming, my heart thundering so hard it felt as though it might give out.
I gritted my teeth and kept pushing.
After Donna got into Drew’s car and left, I’d driven straight to the gym, every inch of my body itching to just do something. It was better than punching a tree in the park, better than driving to Davey’s and getting absolutely wasted, better than finding some unsuspecting dude in a back alleyway and beating the shit out of him. I couldn’t punish anyone else to get this feeling out, so I’d punish my own body.
The person I really wanted to punish was her.
That wasn’t true, not really. Yes, I was angry, furious, but I was hurt more than anything. I’d spilled my guts to her, told her the deepest, darkest moment of my life, and she . . . she just . . .
I grunted and swung my heavy arms a little harder, pumping my legs.
I’d told her about Austin because I wanted her to understand how fast and how horribly bad shit could turn when you were searching for an escape. No, she wasn’t getting into fights with randoms as I had been, but she was spiraling in her own way—exactly as I had been. The only difference really was that she preferred to fuck dangerous guys and not fight them. Why couldn’t she see that?
But maybe that was my mistake—I’d told her because I wanted her to change her behavior. I’d told her as a way to get her to do what I wanted her to do.
No, that wasn’t entirely true either. I didn’t think I’d be capable of saying all the things I’d said to Donna if I didn’t want her to know them. Not because it would be a wake-up call for her, but because I wanted her to know me—every deep, dark, horrific part of my soul. I wanted her to know me. And still want me.
But she didn’t. She’d run from me like the monster I was.
Maybe I was going about this whole thing the wrong way. Maybe she needed to hit her rock bottom, just as I had, in order to recognize that something needed to change. But how was I supposed to just sit back and watch her get hurt, possibly killed? Especially now that I’d gone and grown fucking feelings for her, like a moron.
“Hey, bro!” Turner appeared in front of the treadmill, his smile more a grimace. I frowned, wishing he’d go away, wishing everyone would just go the fuck away, but he reached over and hit the Stop button.
“Dude!” I panted, bracing myself on the guard rails. “I was . . . still . . . going.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t let you get hurt, so . . . how about you take a break and we talk about what’s bothering you?” He crossed his arms, and the biceps bulged out. He was a fit guy when we met, but he’d gained definition over the weeks we’d worked out together.
“I’m not gonna . . . get hurt . . . I just need . . . to keep running,” I ground out, beyond frustrated with how hard I was breathing. My legs were starting to shake a little now that I’d been forced to stop. Useless meat stumps . . .
“I can’t let you keep going, man.” Turner frowned, looking more worried by the second.
“Why?”
He sighed. “It’s my job to make sure people don’t hurt themselves. You’re sweating so much it’s dripping on the treadmill, which is fucking disgusting”—he made a face—“but also a slip hazard. Not to mention you’re so out of breath you can hardly talk, and the only reason you’re still upright is because of that death grip on the handrail.”
I glared at him, still working to catch my breath.
When I said nothing, Turner raised his eyebrows and pointed to the changing rooms. “Go shower. I’ll wipe this down for you and get you a Gatorade so you don’t pass out.”
I kept glaring at him as I hobbled off the machine. There was no point arguing; he wasn’t going to let me move on to weights.
After I stood under the shower for a long time with my hands propped against the tiles, my lungs and heart returned to normal function. I put my school uniform back on and walked out of the shower cubicle.
Turner was sitting on a bench with his back against the lockers, tapping away at his phone. He looked up when I came out and held out a bottle of blue liquid.
I flopped down next to him and had a long drink.
“What’s going on with you?” he asked. “You looked like you wanted to murder someone out there.”
My spine immediately stiffened, and I stared at him with wide eyes.