14. Matty
Chapter fourteen
B reakfast goes about as well as you’d expect.
Valerie and her friends decided to cut out for Phoenix early, dragging Tyson with them and leaving me behind with what was left of my broken band of friends. We must have been quite the sight—trudging somberly into the restaurant looking half-dead, all of us hungover except for Taylor and Huck. What should’ve been a celebratory trip had spiraled into something bitter and raw, the tension between us thick enough to choke on.
I sip my orange juice, the acidity burning my dry throat, but it’s not enough to distract me from the urge to glare daggers at Devon across the table. Try as I might, I can’t stop the heat building behind my eyes or the way my jaw clenches every time he so much as breathes.
Not only is the image of his pierced dick now branded into my brain, but so are the words inked permanently onto his ass.
Xed was here .
My best friend’s name is forever on his body. I don’t like it, and I don’t like the thought of them together, but as Xed so kindly stated this morning, it’s none of my business. Who he’s with is none of my business. I can’t control that.
Who I let around my daughter, though …
“Xed, hang on.” I catch his arm just as he’s about to climb into the car with Salem and Christian, ignoring the scowl he throws my way. “Ride with me? We need to catch up.”
He hesitates, deliberating long enough that my chest tightens. For a split second, I’m sure he’s going to refuse, but relief washes over me when he yanks the door open and slides into the passenger seat of the Benz.
His mohawk brushes the roof as he settles in, spiked high and longer than I’ve ever seen it. “How long of a drive is this?” he asks roughly, his tone clipped.
“Three hours.” I glance at the GPS as I merge onto the road.
“Fuckin’ great,” he mutters, crossing his arms and pressing himself into the door like he can’t stand to be near me.
That’s how our trip starts. Xed angled away from me, radiating irritation while I half-heartedly sing along to the Fearless album by Taylor Swift, trying to chip away at the wall he’s built between us. Halfway through " Love Story ," he punches the mute button, drowning us in silence.
“Since when do you listen to this shit?” he mutters, rubbing his temples.
“Since Hannah and Val started playing it on repeat. It’s not bad, honestly.”
“Hannah likes pop music now?” His glare could burn holes in the windshield.
I shift uncomfortably, gripping the wheel tighter. “Valerie isn’t much of a rock n’ roll fan. Says it gives her migraines.”
Xed scoffs, his gaze snapping back to the window, and the chasm between us feels impossibly wide.
Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I square my shoulders. “Look, Xed, I wanted to talk to you about Devon. ”
His gold-flecked eyes swing toward me. “What about him?”
Here we go.
“I don’t know him. Never met him until yesterday, and I don’t feel comfortable allowing him around Hannah.”
“What the fuck are you trying to say?” he spits, his tone harsh enough to make me flinch.
“My parents’ house is small. There aren’t many rooms. Some of us will have to share, and I’m not letting a stranger sleep under the same roof as my daughter.”
Xed leans forward, his face red with barely restrained anger. “Devon’s not a stranger, Matthew. He’s Logan’s uncle. I’ve known him for over a year—"
“And I haven’t,” I cut him off, my voice firm. “He’s not staying with us. End of story.”
“Fine.” Digging into his jacket, Xed pulls out his phone. “Pull over. I’ll have him take me back to Vegas on his bike.”
“What? No, Xed—"
“If he’s not welcome, then neither am I.”
I tighten my grip on the wheel, inhaling sharply through my nose to keep my temper in check. “Don’t do this. Please. Hannah hasn’t seen you in months and wants to spend time with you. My parents want to see you.”
So do I.
His scowl deepens, his head tipping back against the seat. Several tense seconds tick by before he speaks. “Where is he supposed to stay?”
Honestly, I couldn’t care less. But Devon matters to Xed, and because of that, I have to pretend I care .
“I’ll set him up with a room somewhere,” I offer, even though I’m already in the hole because of this wedding and Val treating me like her personal ATM.
“No.” Xed shakes his head, typing something on his phone. “I’ll do it. You’ve already spent enough on us as it is.”
My brows knit together, and I glance at him sideways. “Hotels in Havasu are pricey, especially in the summer. I don’t mind.”
“I said I’ll do it, Matty.” His glare cuts off any argument forming on my tongue.
I want to ask how he can afford it, but I bite my lip, unwilling to cross that line. Instead, I try a different route.
“So… how are you? How’s work? It’s been forever since we talked.”
Xed stares straight ahead, his body stiff. “Fine. Everything’s fine.”
Liar .
“Yeah? Still at Rebel Threads?”
“You know I am.”
I nod, checking my mirrors as I switch lanes. “Taylor told me the owners agreed to sell their merch. That’s pretty cool.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re a supervisor now. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He finally glances at me, his expression cold. “I told Jenna. Figured she’d pass it along.”
She didn’t. I heard it from Arya this morning.
“You know,” I start slowly, my chest tightening, “there was a time when we told each other everything. I feel like I hardly know you anymore.”
He huffs a humorless laugh. “That tends to happen when you choose your ex over your best friend.”
“Dammit, Xed, I chose Hannah . My daughter. You’re not a parent. I don’t expect you to understand—"
“Oh, fuck you!” He leans forward, pointing a finger at me, his anger palpable. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Who taught Hannah to talk? Who was there for her first words, her first steps? Sure as fuck wasn’t Valerie.”
“I know you helped out a lot after she was born, and I’m forever grateful—"
“Helped?” His voice rises, cutting me off. “She called me Dada until she was two, and then you got weird about it and made her call me uncle, Matthew. Jesus.”
Shoving earbuds into his ears, he curls in on himself, turning away. “I don’t know why I even came to this thing. It was a mistake.”
“Xed, can we just talk about this?”
But he doesn’t respond. The music blasting from his earbuds drowns out my voice, and all I can do is grip the wheel tighter and turn up my own music, trying to fill the unbearable silence between us.
Every fiber of my being aches to reach out, to pull him in and squeeze, never let go again. But I can’t. He drew his boundaries, and I drew mine. Crossing those lines is what put us in this situation in the first place. So all I can do is listen to my music and try to be happy, try to forget the way he used to breathe my name in his sleep, the way he tastes. The way my body fit him like a glove.
And most of all, forget about the way he makes me feel.