Fighting Fate (Fighting #7) Page 8

  Girls.

  It’s not uncommon for girls to show up here. After all, Clifford doesn’t live here alone, and John’s a decent-looking guy, for a stoner. Knowing that doesn’t keep jealousy from waging war in my chest.

  John comes into the kitchen, where I’m pulling out all the tacos and accompanying hot sauces. Clifford is on his heels, trailed by two girls. My stomach turns when I realize it’s the two girls who were talking about him at his party. What the fuck are they doing here? I stand back as they all huddle around the kitchen counter and fish out food for themselves.

  John takes a bite of a taco and moans. “God, I love you, Elle.”

  Clifford grabs pizza, and even though he doesn’t offer the girls food, he doesn’t stop them from taking slices for themselves.

  He bites and nods toward me. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Did you get this from Stubby’s?” The pretty blonde takes a bite.

  “No, I got it from—”

  “That place is always so crowded on the weekend,” her equally beautiful blond friend says.

  “Come on. Watch me kick John’s ass on this next mission.” Clifford snags another piece of pizza and heads back into the living room.

  The girls do the same.

  “Kick my ass, yeah, right.” John grabs a taco and goes after them.

  It isn’t until they’re all back in the living room that I look down and notice all the food is gone and I’m standing there alone like some fucking servant while they go entertain their dates.

  Shame washes over me in a dizzying wave. I can’t believe after all I offer him, after everything I’ve done to make him happy, he’d treat me like some slut whose sole purpose is to keep him sexed up and fed.

  If it walks like a slut and talks like a slut…

  My eyes burn and I grab my keys and purse. This is stupid, and the last thing I need to top off this humiliation is to cry in front of them.

  I move to leave and remember my backpack is in Clifford’s room. I have to walk through the living room to get it, but chances are those pieces of shit are too involved in their game to notice me anyway.

  I stomp through the living room, and other than a quick shout that I’m blocking the screen, they don’t seem to notice me. I shove a few books in my backpack, zip it up, throw it on, and then storm back out through the front door. Tears sting my eyes as I shut the door behind me to the sound of them laughing at the game and not a single mention of my leaving.

  Thirst for booze to numb the humiliation flares in my throat, and I hope we have a bottle of something at home because risking a hangover tomorrow is better than feeling this.

  I climb into my car, fire up the engine…

  And wait.

  Scowling at the front door, I don’t move, delaying my escape to see if Clifford comes for me.

  Time passes; the door remains closed.

  Nothing.

  I slam on the gas and head home, beating myself up for being so stupid.

  My mom has always said, when someone shows you what they think about you, believe them. It’s not what a person says that matters; it’s what they show. And although Clifford always says he cares about me, his actions certainly don’t show it.

  Numbly, I drive to my complex, and when I don’t hear Clifford’s muscle car pull up behind me, my self-hatred intensifies.

  I walk to my apartment in a blur of tears and head straight for the freezer. Pulling out a bottle of cherry vodka, I screw off the cap and tilt it to my lips.

  “Whoa…rough night?” Mindy’s tucked under a blanket on the couch in the dark with the only source of light the flickering of the television.

  I cringe as the liquid paints my throat in fire and then morphs to numbness. “I’ve had better.”

  She sits up and clicks off the remote, plunging her into total darkness before she turns on the lamp at her side. “You wanna talk about it?”

  I throw back another swig of vodka. “Let’s see. Do I want to talk about what an idiot I am? How I manage to lay myself down to be a doormat for men who could give a flying fuck about me? No. Not really.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. It’s all part of the learning process.”

  If only that were true, but something tells me I’ll always be this girl—the one who falls backwards for anyone who offers to use his dick on me.

  Oh wow, the vodka is kicking in.

  I cross to the living room and drop into the overstuffed chair. The icy bottle hangs from my fingers, and I offer it to Mindy.

  She takes it and throws back a healthy chug before handing it back. I take another shot.

  “Ax, this is what college is for. You get out there, screw whoever you want, however you want, and then when the time comes to settle down, you’ll know it. You’ll walk into a committed relationship with the knowledge that you thoroughly played the field and exhausted all your curiosities.” She sits back with a proud grin.

  “It’s not that easy for me. I get…attached.”

  “Yeah, that happens,” she says sadly.

  “The worst part is I’m so sick of being walked on, and yet I continue to put myself through it. I’m lying to myself about what I have with these guys, glorifying it or something, when it’s really so simple. I give. They take.” I toss back another gulp and start to feel a little better, still pathetic, but at least the burn of humiliation has now been tempered with a warm belly full of booze.

  A heavy pounding on our door breaks our reverie.

  Mindy’s eyes widen on me as she calls, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Clifford!”

  I groan and Mindy grins. “I’ll leave you two alone. Just”—she leans in—“remember what I said. Explore all avenues and take it for what it’s worth. Experience. That’s it.”

  Detach. Okay. I can do that.

  She crosses to her bedroom and Clifford pounds again. “I know you’re in there, Elle. I saw your car downstairs.”

  I wobble to my feet and open the door. “What are you doing here?”

  His gaze slides to the bottle in my hand and he grins. “One-woman party, huh?”

  I don’t answer him, but continue to glare.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Why did you leave?”

  My jaw practically hits the fucking floor.

  He holds up a hand. “I didn’t invite those girls over, I swear. They just showed up and John invited them to stay.”

  “They ate my dinner.”

  He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that was fucked up. I should’ve said something. I’m sorry. I get so caught up in those games. I just…” His eyes meet mine and I see genuine remorse there. “Can I make this up to you?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Come on, babe. I drove all the way over here…”

  Five miles.

  “…apologizing…”

  Eh…weak apology.

  “…and you left before I got to ask you something important.”

  I blink up at him. “What?”

  He steps close so that his feet are now over the threshold and he’s standing toe-to-toe with me. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about us, and”—he slides a hand into my hair, cupping my jaw—“I want to take you out.”

  “Out, like…now?”

  His lips tilt in a tiny half smile, and my heart softens a little. “No, out as in on a date—for Valentine’s Day.”

  My breath catches in my throat and makes his smile widen. He doesn’t realize my shock isn’t because he offered to take me out; it’s because I hate Valentine’s Day.

  I swore the night Stewart Moorehead ruined it for me I’d never acknowledge the damn day again. That I’d spend it doing boring shit that would be a big ole fuck you in the face of Cupid.

  But maybe Mindy’s right.

  What’s the harm in letting him take me out? If nothing else, it’ll be a little reimbursement for all the meals I’ve bought him and his friends. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even have f
un and finally be able to replace the horrid memory of that day with something positive.

  Something normal.

  “So.…? Will you go out with me on Valentine’s Day?”

  I shrug casually. “I guess so.”

  His eyes narrow. “Well, shit, don’t get too excited.”

  “It’s a bullshit holiday.”

  “I won’t argue that, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have fun, right?”

  I nod into his hand.

  “Good, now are you gonna let me in so I can take you to bed and return the favor you gave me earlier today?”

  That’s how it is with us. An orgasm for an orgasm. Although if I were keeping score, I’d say he’s leading on the receiving end, but whatever.

  Rather than answer him verbally I just turn and head for my room.

  Detach and have fun.

  Learn what you like.

  Maybe I’ve been approaching this all wrong to begin with.

  Never too late to change. Starting now.

  Eight

  Killian

  My eyes blur with fatigue as I read about women’s rights written by an 18th century feminist for my World Lit class. It’s close to midnight, and I’m considering calling it a night when my cell chimes with a new text.

  I pull my glasses off, rub my eyes, and then pop them back on to read it.

  Hey. Are you up?

  Yes.

  Got a second to talk?

  Sure.

  I palm my phone, and when it chimes, I hit “accept” and press it to my ear. “Ax, what’s up? Everything okay?”

  “Fine, yeah.” She’s whispering. “What’re you doing?”

  Pushing up from the table, I take a few steps to my bed and flop on it. “Getting ready to hit the sack. You?”

  “Same.”

  Silence builds between us.

  “You sure everything’s okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s just…” She sighs heavy and deep. “I wanted to talk to you about Valentine’s Day.”

  My heart sinks into my stomach. “What about it?”

  “I thought, I don’t know, we always spend it doing nothing and, well…”

  Doing nothing? As if our time together, even doing mundane things, is nothing to her?

  “Clifford made plans for us this year, so…”

  Fucking fantastic. First, that prick gets her lips and her body, and now he’s taking our day. I grind my teeth. “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  No. “Yeah, he’s your… You guys are seeing each other, so I’d expect you to spend it together.”

  “Okay, I mean as long as you’re okay with it.”

  “I’ll never be okay with you seeing him, Ax.” I grip my phone tighter. “As far as I’m concerned, he’ll never be good enough for you.”

  “You say that about every guy I date.”

  “It’s true. You deserve so much more.”

  “Like who?” she whispers.

  My breath catches in my throat. She’s asking. I could just say it. I could say, “Like me.” I open my mouth, but the words stick in my throat. “Not sure anyone out there is good enough.” Not even me, but that doesn’t keep me from hoping.

  “Oh.”

  I pinch closed my eyes and wish I could knee myself in the balls for being such a pussy.

  “Okay, Kill. I should get some sleep. See you tomorrow.”

  “G’night.”

  She hangs up, and I sit staring at the wall with the phone still pressed to my ear.

  It’s time you start seeing things that are right in front of your face.

  Ryder’s words flood my mind, and I wonder if he’s right. I’ve been living in a fantasy world with Axelle for so long I’ve convinced myself of things that may not exist.

  How much longer will I go on like this? She’ll get married, have kids, and I’ll be sitting here on my ass, having passed up all my opportunities at happiness. Then I’ll get the privilege of watching her live happily while I drown miserably in my own regret.

  Nine

  Killian

  No sooner does the door from my last class close behind me than I hear someone call my name. I turn to see Brynn wave and speed-walk toward me.

  She’s a tiny thing, can’t be more than five-foot-two, which puts me a whole foot taller. Her pale green shirt sets off her red hair and hangs loose over a pair of tight jeans. Without sunglasses, I can see her eyes are almost the same color as her shirt.

  “Sorry to bug you.” Looking up at me, she squints into the sun. “Do you have a sec?”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  She chews her lip and her eyes shift off mine. “You haven’t called.”

  I’m an ass. “Right, uh, about that—”

  “It’s okay. It’s just… I started thinking about the way we kinda roped you into the whole triple-date thing, and I wanted you to know that if you don’t want to do this you’re totally off the hook.” Her bright eyes peer up at me, and if I’m not mistaken, I see hope reflected there.

  “That’s alright, I’m, um…” This is good. I need to just do it. It’s only one date. “I’m happy to go.”

  Her eyebrows pop. “Really?”

  I chuckle at her shock. “Well, yeah, of course.”

  She exhales and grins. “Okay, great. So I guess I’ll just wait for your call?”

  “I’ll call you tonight, if that’s okay.”

  “Yes, that’s fine.”

  I point over my shoulder at no one. “I’ll talk to Ryder and Theo, figure out what the plan is first.”

  She nods vigorously.

  “Hey, Kill.” Axelle comes up next to me, grinning. “You ready?”

  Brynn’s excitement drains from her face. A flash of irritation fires within me, and it’s aimed at Axelle, which makes no sense.

  Axelle’s eyes move between Brynn and me. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt?” She sounds genuinely apologetic.

  I clear my throat. “Brynn, this is my friend Axelle.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Brynn says politely with a hint of relief in her voice.

  “Nice to meet you too.” Axelle swings her gaze to mine. “I can grab a table if you guys aren’t finished.”

  Brynn steps back. “Oh, no—”

  “That’d be great.” I step closer to Brynn. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Axelle’s eyes flash with hurt, but she shakes it off and aims a polite smile at the girl. “It was nice to meet you, Brynn.” She doesn’t even look at me and heads toward the café.

  Brynn rolls her lips between her teeth, and rather than continue to stand in the awkward silence, I push through it.

  “So it’s decided. I’ll talk to the guys and call you tonight, only”—I rub the back of my neck—“could I get your number one more time?”

  She lifts a speculative brow. “You lost it.”

  More like I never took it. “I did.” I take my phone from my pocket and pull up my contacts. “Here.” She enters all her info, and when she’s done, I fire off a quick text to her. “And now you have mine.”

  “Okay, so, I look forward to your call.”

  “Right, yeah.” Before I can think too hard about it, I reach over, hook her behind the neck, and pull her to my chest for a hug. God, the top of her head comes to my nipple, and as good as her female curves feel against me, she doesn’t have the same fit I have with Axelle.

  I drop my hand and step away. “Talk to you tonight.”

  Her cheeks flush pink and she takes off to class. I turn to watch her melt into the crowd, my gaze tracking her tiny hips and tight little body, and feeling not even a hint of the zip I feel just being near Axelle.

  I turn away, grinning at what a hopeless wreck I am, and catch Axelle staring right at me from across the quad, her jaw clenched.

  Yeah, how does it feel, sweetheart?

  And although I shouldn’t, I feel absolutely sick to my stomach.

  ~*~

  Axelle

  Oh, no, here
he comes. Act cool, unaffected, nonchalant—dammit, who is that girl?

  As long as I’ve known Killian, I’ve never seen him act that friendly with another girl before. And that girl, Brynn, is just as adorable as her sweet little name.

  I clear my throat and take a bite of my sandwich just as he makes it to our table and drops into the seat across from me. He’s wearing a yellow T-shirt that brings out the gold flecks in his eyes. I force my gaze away to avoid getting lost in them and read the words The Book Was Better scrolled across his broad masculine chest. I consider telling him he needs to start buying bigger clothes when—why is he smirking?

  “Why aren’t you eating?” Girl problems rob you of your appetite?

  “I ate a protein bar in class.” His phone chimes, and when he reads it, he grins before texting back and tucking it back into his pocket. “I keep meaning to ask you if you ever heard back from your dad.”

  From one uncomfortable thought to the next. Thanks, Kill.

  “No, not yet.” I pick at the crust on my sandwich, my stomach rejecting the little I’ve already eaten. “It’s cool. He has a new girlfriend, and she has kids, so I’m sure he’s busy with them.”

  All humor dissolves from his expression. “How long has it been?”

  I have no interest in sharing with Killian how pathetic it is that my own biological dad, who made huge attempts to contact me, has now decided, after getting to know me a little bit, that he want’s nothing to do with me, so I lie. “Not long.” Three months.

  “Hmm.” He squints out at the clusters of college students, but doesn’t seem to be actually looking at anything.

  Time for a subject change. “Have you talked to your mom recently?” It’s a shitty thing to do, flipping the subject from my absent parent to his. Last time he accepted a call from his mom, that I’m aware of, was over the summer, and when he got off the phone, he seemed smaller. She’s always been horrible for his self-esteem, telling him he’s not good enough, which is part of the reason I think he tries so hard to be the best at everything: the endless search for her approval that will most likely never come.