CHAPTER FOUR
Shawn
I’m a fucking asshole.
No question about it. And a coward. A cowardly asshole. Chrissy was right. She had me pegged.
My fingers slip on the sliver of sandpaper and pain flares where my knuckles punch wood.
“Fuck!”
I pull my hand back and examine the torn flesh smeared with blood.
Serves me right.
I deserve it after what I did.
Same hand, too, I think miserably. Same one stained with Chrissy’s blood and release. A pink smear I hadn’t noticed until I went to touch her face like I wasn’t the fucker who took that from her.
I knew she had never been with anyone else. She has always been very clear she wanted me, and I fucking know virgins bleed sometimes. I know.
But it shouldn’t have been like that. She shouldn’t have lost her innocence with my hand over her mouth with her father in the next room. My best friend. She shouldn’t have been forced to keep quiet like some shameful secret.
Her first time should have been after a long day of spoiling her, taking her to dinner, running her a hot bath. It should have been done slow, with gentleness. More fucking foreplay. Get her on the edge, so overstimulated that she’s begging for release.
Not whatever the fuck I did.
“Fuck!”
The wooden cradle leg I’d been sanding flies across the room. It hits the wall with a resounding crack and clatters to the shop floor.
“Jesus, what did that thing do to you?”
Mark stepping into the backroom nearly sends me off my stool.
He must notice my jolt. He smirks like a true asshole.
“I called out. I guess you were distracted.”
Heart thumping, I push to my feet and shuffle over to where my unfinished piece lies on the floor. I scoop it up without looking at him.
“Just trying to finish this.” I mutter, moving back to my workbench. “What brings you?”
I see him amble closer.
“You missed cake,” he replies. “And you’re avoiding my messages.” He picks up a file. Weighs it in his hand. Sets it down. “Everything okay?”
I keep my head down, taking an insane amount of time screwing the leg into the vice.
“Just trying to finish this,” I repeat like an idiot.
“Yeah, you said.” He moves closer and I shift. “You upset about something?”
“Just—”
“Yeah, I get it. You’re trying to finish that thing.” He stops on the other side of my bench. “Did you and Chrissy have a fight?”
At the mention of her name, my stomach and heart twist. Both coil like a pair of angry snakes and I have to squeeze my fingers together to keep from pitching the leg again.
“I ask because she’s been acting ... un-Chrissy-ish as well and—”
Of course she is.
First, I attack her like some crazed animal. Then I took off without an explanation. I left her sitting there, blood between her thighs and ran.
“Fuck!” I snarl between my teeth and slam a fist into the table hard enough to rattle my tools.
“Shawn?”
I look away from my best friend’s searching gaze. What am I supposed to say?
“What happened?” he presses, rightfully.
“I’ll talk to her,” I lie.
I think I’m lying. I know I need to. I can’t avoid her forever and I know I need to make this right, but how? How am I supposed to tell him what I did without losing both of them?
“Well, you might have to wait until next week,” he mumbles, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “She’s gone away for a few days.”
My head comes up fast. “What? Where did she go?”
Mark shrugs and slumps a hip against the table. “Told you, she’s been acting unlike herself. Packed a bag and said she’s going to the Mayfield Hotel for a few days with some kid.”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. My spine stiffens even as I fight not to outwardly react.
“What kid?”
The irritation turning down the corners of Mark’s mouth tells me everything I need to know and yet, I wait for him to drive the nail into my coffin.
“Fuck if I know. Some little fuck from school. But I can’t say anything,” he grumbles, pulling his hands free to fold his arms over his chest. “She’s an adult.
She can go off with whomever she wants ...
I guess. Pisses me off though. The thought of her with some pimply faced punk in a hotel room alone for a whole weekend. ”
My blood is roaring between my ears. It’s a storm cloud of rage brewing behind my eyes, drenching everything in a haze of red.
“What fucking hotel?”