Ruin My Life (Mangled Masterpieces #1)

12. Win

12

Win

Six Years Ago

B lack jeans. Black hoodie. Black boots.

A standard “Win” outfit. The collection in my closet is a mix of black pieces so I never stress over what goes together.

The pile of discarded clothes at my feet tells a different story.

We’re going to a movie. I don’t need to dress up. But I also don't want to imply the occasion isn't worth the effort. Maybe I should wear the new sweater Mom snuck in last night. I hastily strip off my hoodie and tug the knit over my head. After fiddling for ten more minutes, I debate changing back into the hoodie.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m making this into something bigger than it is. It’s Remy’s birthday, not a date— even if I swear something has changed between us. Logically, I know I'm only seeing what I want to. But after reading his text the minute he passed his driver’s test, I'm not so sure.

Remy: Guess who’s picking you up tonight, Pooh? This guy! :)

Whether intentionally flirty or not, his message made up for what happened at school after he left early to go to the DMV. My buddy Grant noticed the second Remy wasn’t glued to my side and ambushed me before I could escape into the library. The back of my neck still aches from where his meaty hand clamped around it. At least my hair hides the developing bruises.

I shudder at the memory of his brutal hold as he dragged me into the restroom. Thank fuck a guy was pissing at the urinal. Grant had released me with a hissed, “ You lucked out, little bitch.”

A knot lodges in the back of my throat. His pathetic bullying hadn't warranted much fear at first (I've gotten used to nasty words and rough hands) but my gut tells me it's only the beginning.

My phone pings impatiently. I ruffle my hair, then shove my wallet in my back pocket as I grab the envelope with Remy’s name on it.

Your driver has arrived!

Don’t keep the birthday boy waiting ;)

A flirty text and a winky face?

My cheeks burn. My dick twitches. My heart explodes .

I stumble on the landing, grabbing the banister before I crash headfirst down the stairs. I can see my headstone now: Here lies Win Rhodes, dead two months before his sixteenth birthday from an emoji.

Somehow, I manage to get my shit together and leave the house, jogging to the headlights glaring in the driveway. Out of breath and sweating despite the chilly ocean breeze, I reach the car—

Andrea waves from the passenger seat.

Of course, he picked her up first. She’s probably the one who sent the texts.

I force a grin and climb into the back of the lifted sky-blue Jeep. The pleasant new car scent can't compete with one whiff of Remy’s cologne. I’m fucking high off it. He twists in the driver's seat.

New headstone: Win Rhodes passes away from Remy’s beautiful smile.

I can't feel my mouth moving as I say, “I thought you were getting your mom’s old car.”

Giddy excitement twinkles in his hazel eyes. “They fucking tricked me! I named her Jeanie.”

I snort. “Jeanie the Jeep?”

The rearview mirror reflects Andrea’s dramatic eye roll. “Jeanie sounds like a helicopter mom.”

I shrug. “It’s cute.”

“Thank you!” Remy exclaims, pointing at Andrea. “See, he agrees with me.”

She gives him a sassy grin. “Honey, if you told Win the sky is green, he’d agree with you.”

She's not wrong. Though, Remy’s annoyed pout deserves a frame.

It dissipates the minute he reverses and blasts the pop song he’s obsessed with. I don’t get a chance to complain before he replays it immediately. Hazel eyes flit to mine in the rearview mirror. He smirks. “Buck up, Pooh Bear. My birthday: my music. ”

Andrea howls in laughter and instantly starts calling me Pooh Bear. I’m about to strangle the birthday boy.

We survive Remy’s jerky driving and wander into the theater. He cuts in front of me with Andrea before I can buy his ticket. She grasps his bicep, rising on tip-toe to whisper in his ear while I grind my molars.

She’s always touchy with him. This isn’t new. They’ve known each other forever.

The mantra of reassurances doesn’t do shit against the tidal wave of jealousy crashing over me.

I hand the cashier behind the glass the credit card Mom gave me, eyes glued to Remy and Andrea as they step aside, giggling about something I missed.

“Sorry you’re stuck as third wheel, man.”

My head snaps back to the guy handing me the movie ticket. Words escape me. Taking the perforated stub, I walk on numb legs toward Remy and Andrea.

Third wheel ?

Her head is thrown back on a laugh and his eyes squint in amusement. They ramble in a disjointed combination of inside jokes while I’m forgotten on the sidelines, choking to death on the hope I foolishly allowed myself to have. It's safer for him to be with her anyway. That's what I want, right? For him to be safe and happy?

“Win, hurry up!” Remy calls, his eyes so fucking bright it hurts. The knife sinks in deeper as Andrea loops her arm through his, grinning up at him.

Following them into the theater, my fingers graze the edge of the envelope in my pocket.

Fucking fool .

I sink into a state of indifference, going through the motions as the night progresses. I don’t remember the movie. I don’t tag along for a beer at Remy’s. I don’t say anything until they drop me off.

“Happy Birthday,” I murmur and shut the door, leaving that stupid envelope in the backseat.