Chapter 9
9
BECK
“ A re you fucking kidding me?” I muttered, staring out my windshield and wondering if I was hallucinating.
I had to be. Because why would Gavin Forster be buck-ass naked on the side of the road?
I slowed to a stop at the curb, my heart pounding as I watched him flounder in two holly bushes like a fish out of water. Even in the dim twilight I could see the scrapes from the prickly leaves all over his body.
It was a wonder I even recognized him at all, because he looked so fucking different from the last time I’d seen him.
He’d lost a lot of muscle. A lot. He still had quite a bit of definition from a lifetime of hard training, but he was much smaller than he’d been two years ago. But even without all that muscle, he was still a big guy.
The tattoos that crawled up his left arm were new. When the fuck had he gotten those? He used to talk about someday getting a tattoo when we were kids, but this…this was just another way he’d changed.
His hair had gotten longer—it was just a shaggy brown mess in need of a cut or a brush. He used to always keep it short, so it was strange seeing him like that. I could almost convince myself it wasn’t Gavin in front of me, just some random guy that looked like him.
But I knew it was Gavin. That annoying fucking pull in my soul was tugging hard, like there was a thread connecting us. I’d cut that shit if I could, drop all that dead weight. Maybe then I could actually be happy.
Gavin was trying to push himself out of one of the bushes, sloppily swatting and flailing around. His ass was jiggling as he moved, glutes flexing as he attempted to free himself. It was paler than the rest of him. Firm but meaty.
I felt my face heating and reminded myself what an utter piece of shit he was.
And he was obviously a drunk piece of shit.
“Fuck me,” I muttered, putting the car in park and turning it off.
I didn’t want to help him. I really didn’t. I didn’t care what happened to him anymore. He wasn’t the person he used to be, and just because he was my best friend when we were younger didn’t mean I had any obligation to come to his rescue right now.
Gavin was mean.
He was hateful.
Ignorant.
Nasty.
Cruel.
I shouldn’t help him.
I shouldn’t.
He didn’t deserve to be helped.
But I couldn’t live with myself if I just left him here and something awful happened to him. What if he walked into the road and a car hit him? What if he wandered to the overpass a few streets over and fell? What if someone took advantage of the state he was in and…
Fuck. I was having major flashbacks to when I found him in the snow two years ago. But he hadn’t been fucking naked then.
I pulled the keys out of the ignition and shoved them in my pocket as I opened my door. It was twilight now, the sky getting darker with every second that passed.
“Gavin!” I called as I approached him. He paused, then started struggling twice as hard. “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered. When I was close enough, just a few feet away, I stopped.
Stared.
My heart jumped in my chest as an icy sensation crept from the top of my skull to the base of my spine in a slow, undulating wave.
Gavin’s entire back was covered in scars. Raised white lines that slashed in haphazard patterns. The bulk of them stretched across his shoulder blades, overlapping each other, then spread out on his lower back. The sheer amount of them made my next breath get caught in my throat, a tightness banding around my chest and squeezing.
Where the fuck did those come from? What the fuck had happened to him? And when? Who had done that?
My throat felt too thick as I swallowed.
Stared.
Were those scars the reason he’d always worn a shirt under his singlet?
I stared some more as my stomach roiled, my mind racing and trying to pinpoint when, exactly, he’d gotten scars like that.
Does it even matter?
No. It really fucking didn’t. It didn’t change anything.
I ripped my gaze from his back and got my shit together, bending down to grab his calves and yank him out of the bushes. He gave a hoarse shout and kicked at me, making a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a feral animal.
He was a feral fucking animal.
I slapped his legs away as he twisted around, out of the bushes now and giving me a full frontal view of everything he was working with.
“Christ, you dumb fuck ,” I growled as I stared at the innumerable scratches that were beading with blood. Every inch of his body was covered in red—including his dick. “Are you trying to go back to jail? Is that it? Why the fuck aren’t you at home? What are you doing out here?”
“Oh, look,” he slurred, sounding like his tongue was ten sizes too big for his mouth. He was a lot drunker than I’d originally thought—probably blackout drunk. He lifted a slow hand and pointed at me as I stood over him. “It’s—is—the golden boy.” It sounded like goalunn bowee with the way he was talking.
His eyes were half-lidded and glassy with how fucked up he was, and there was fresh bruising around the left one. Purple and red crept across his brow line and down toward his cheekbone, the beginnings of an ugly, inky smudge right beneath his eye. He looked absolutely wrecked in more ways than one.
He could see me, sure. Was interacting with me. But nobody was home upstairs, and Gavin probably wouldn’t remember this when he sobered up.
There was another bruise across his ribcage, a long, thick line of red that made my stomach churn. It looked like a nasty injury. Just what the fuck had he been doing?
A more likely thought passed through my mind—that someone had hurt him, someone had done that to him—but I shoved it away because it didn’t matter. Whatever fight he’d gotten into, he’d probably started, anyway.
“Get up,” I snapped.
Instead of getting up, he kicked his bare foot into my shin. I grabbed that foot and started dragging him toward my car, done with this. He tried kicking me with his other foot, growling like the animal he was, making a whole hell of a lot of noise, and one glance around the darkening street showed me it was deserted. People could be watching this ridiculous display from their windows, though.
I hoped not.
I opened the passenger door, let go of his foot, and said, “Get in. I’m taking you home.”
“Fuck you, Beck. Fuck. You.” He started to push himself up off the ground, swaying and grunting.
“You need to get the fuck off the street before you get arrested again. Is that what you fucking want?” I wrapped my hand around his upper arm in a tight grip, trying to help him up.
He let me.
And then, when he was on his feet, he took a wild swing at me. I dodged it easily, ducking my head and stepping to the side. The momentum of the miss had him careening forward until his forehead smashed into the glass window on the door to the backseat. The hollow thud echoed in my ears as Gavin bounced off the car and fell back.
I caught him by the shoulders before his head could crack open on the pavement. He was dead weight in my arms, and when his head lolled to the side, his eyes were closed, his mouth slack.
He was out cold.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
Even though he’d lost a significant amount of muscle, he was still heavy as fuck, and even though I was pretty fucking strong, getting him into the car was no easy feat.
Once he was in, I tilted the seat back a little so he wasn’t slumping forward, buckled his seat belt, and slammed the door. By the time I was back behind the wheel, I had no fucking clue what to do with him and I felt like a fucking idiot for stopping to help him in the first place. What was I even thinking?
I didn’t know where he lived.
Where he worked.
If he worked.
Who his friends were.
If he even had any friends.
Didn’t know a goddamn thing about him. Not anymore.
I glanced over at him, at the shaggy hair hanging over his eyes, his open mouth, those red lines covering his body.
With a sigh, I reached into the back for my gym bag and dug through it until I found a pair of shorts. If I got pulled over by the cops, we were both going to jail.
Five minutes later, I’d gotten the shorts on him. They were a little loose, so I’d cinched the drawstring tight enough that they’d stay on.
Then I headed home, because I didn’t know where else to take him. Anya wasn’t there right now, had texted me earlier to let me know she’d be at a friend’s house until pretty late. I was glad I didn’t have to explain anything to her.
Gavin didn’t rouse at all for the entire car ride, and I started getting a little concerned. I could see he was breathing; his chest was rising and falling with his deep, even breaths. But there was a bump on his forehead where he’d hit the car, and I wasn’t sure how bad the injury was. It didn’t look too bad, not compared to the bruising around his eye, but I wasn’t a fucking doctor.
I thought it might be the alcohol that was keeping him out this long.
Just when I was pulling into the driveway, he started to groan. I put the car in park, turned it off, and looked over at him. I could see his eyes moving rapidly behind his lids, his dark brows drawn tight.
“No,” he murmured. “No, no, no, no.” His voice was small. He sounded young. Weak. Afraid.
It pissed me off because he was none of those things.
I put my hand on his shoulder and shook him. “Gavin.”
He gasped, and the sharp intensity of it made my heart jolt. His eyes flew open, still glassy, still bright with his drunkenness. They darted around until they found mine, landing there. Settling. His lashes fluttered, like he was about to pass out again, but fuck me, I wasn’t carrying him inside.
I shook him again. “Stay awake, damn it.”
He opened his eyes again, lifting his hand to swat feebly at the one I had on his shoulder.
Maybe I could just take him home now that he was semi-conscious. “Gavin. Where do you live?”
He kept his eyes on mine and said nothing, so fucked up that I knew this was a moot conversation. But I still needed to try.
“Where do you live , Gavin? Where is your apartment? Or your house? Or your condo? Or your basement? Or your tent? Where the fuck do you live?”
His mouth moved, opening and closing a few times, and the muscles in his throat rippled as he swallowed. He mumbled something, a single word I couldn’t make out.
“What? Where? With your dad? Are you staying with him?”
Fuck, I should’ve just taken him there. But last I heard, his dad had basically disowned him after he’d gone to jail. Maybe he hadn’t, though. Eric Forster had always been a little too controlling of Gavin and I couldn’t see him cutting ties completely. But what did I know?
Gavin’s entire body trembled—just once—and I heard his whispered words clear as day. “No. Not him.”
Frustration began eating at me, my patience waning. “Then fucking where !”
Gavin was finally able to bring his hand up to mine, and his index finger hooked over my thumb, a tight grip that he kept even when his arm went slack a moment later.
It felt like there were worms writhing under my skin.
“Becky,” he whispered, the sound rough and broken.
My heart felt like it had been pierced with a thousand flaming swords, and a rush of anguish crawled up my throat, burning like bile.
I hadn’t heard that nickname since I was fourteen years old. And hearing it from his lips now, after everything he’d done, was the cruelest thing.
I snatched my hand away, opened my door, and stumbled out of the car. My body was thrumming with something thick and hot, an electric sensation that felt like adrenaline, and I wanted to scream.
I took a deep breath.
Held it.
Let it out slowly.
I could do this. I’d let him stay for one night, let him sober the fuck up, and then kick him out in the morning. Then I could live with myself, and I’d never have to see him again.
I rounded the hood and ripped his door open, reaching over to unbuckle his seatbelt, ignoring the sharp stink of the alcohol on his breath and sweating from his pores. When I drew back, he was staring up at me.
“Get out. Come on. I just need you to make it twenty steps, then you can sleep all you fucking want.”
I could let him get in my bed, pass out, and settle my mind. I’d just sleep on the couch tonight.
Or, no…I couldn’t do that, could I? Because this asshole was drunk as fuck and I needed to make sure he didn’t asphyxiate on his own vomit.
God-fucking-dammit.
I grabbed his arm and pulled. “Let’s go, princess. Up.”
He was struggling to keep his eyes open, so why I thought he could even walk into the house was beyond me.
Just wishful thinking that had no place near Gavin Forster.
“Fuck this,” I said, leaning down and pushing my shoulder into his stomach while looping his arm over my neck. I took hold of his thigh and started lifting him out of the car over my shoulder, and oh my fucking god, he was a fucking elephant. I hadn’t picked him up in years, and Christ, I’d forgotten how heavy he was.
He grunted when I shifted him a little, winding my arm tighter around his thigh and moving my grip on his wrist up to just above his elbow. I kicked the door shut with my foot and started up the walkway toward the house. I’d get my gym bag in the morning.
Before I was even up the porch steps, the front door flew open, and there stood Anya and her friend…fuck. I forgot her name.
And, double fuck, Anya was home and now witnessing the shit show my evening had turned into.
“Whoa,” she said, brown eyes wide. “What the…what happened to him? Who is that? Is he dead? Oh my god, Beck, did you kill him? Are you trying to hide the body? I know I’m your ride or die, but I feel like having limits is kind of healthy.”
“Anya,” I grated out, struggling to breathe under the weight of this asshole. I could feel his soft cock on my neck. “Just hold the door open for me, okay?”
“Fine, but he’s not dead, right?”
“No!”
“Is this like a new workout regimen or something?”
“Anya,” I panted, crossing the threshold. “Get the door to my room.”
Anya bounded down the hall and disappeared. My room was on the main level—thank fuck—and Anya had the master bedroom upstairs, on the opposite side of the house from mine. It used to be her dad’s room.
Anya came bouncing back to me with endless energy and an enormous smile, as if everything was just swell.
“Why aren’t you at your friend’s house?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. Her oven’s broken right now, so we biked back here to make our cupcakes,” she said.
I just grunted in response. As I rounded the corner, Anya and her friend watching from a distance, Gavin came alive like he’d been struck by lightning.
He shouted nonsense words in my ear, and the surprise of him moving at all made me let go of his arm. He pushed up on my shoulder and started throwing sloppy punches into my back, the little prick. I heard Anya and her friend gasp behind me, and fuck me, I’d messed up bringing him here.
A surge of anger gave me the energy to throw Gavin off me, and he slammed down onto his back so hard the floor shook and the pictures on the walls rattled.
I was sure he’d be feeling that in the morning, and I didn’t give a single fuck.
“Anya,” I said, breathing hard. “Take your friend and go to your room. Lock your door. Don’t come out until I get you. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, her voice saturated with uncertainty. “But—will you be okay?”
I glanced over my shoulder at her and said, “I’ll be fine. I can handle him.”
She nodded once, then grabbed her friend’s hand and dashed away.
Gavin was moaning on the ground, his head rolling left to right, then back again.
Then he rolled onto his side and threw up.
The linen closet was right behind me, so I grabbed a towel and started mopping it up as best I could. I’d use a cleaning solution after I’d gotten him subdued—because I was handcuffing this motherfucker to my headboard now.
I left the towel there and stepped over Gavin, who was still on his side, moaning. I picked up his ankle and started dragging him the rest of the way.
He was in and out of consciousness, and getting him on the bed was a chore, but he didn’t move once I had him there. I grabbed my handcuffs—a dumbass gag gift from Roman—from my underwear drawer and threaded them through one of the metal bars, then secured both his wrists. His head lolled to the side. He was out again.
Hopefully until morning.
I turned him onto his side in case he got sick again.
Exhaustion made my legs buckle, and I fell heavily into the armchair in the corner of my room.
I felt like I was in a dream. Or a nightmare. Why the fuck did I think it would be a good idea to bring him here? What the fuck was wrong with me? I should just take him to the fucking hospital, leave him in the ER and wash my hands of him. Or take him to his dad’s house.
I should.
I rubbed my hand down my face. If I had left work just twenty minutes earlier…would I have even seen him? What the ever-loving fuck was he doing in those bushes? Why didn’t he have any clothes on? And where did he get those fucking bruises? Those scars?
Why did I care ? I should’ve just kept on driving. Maybe he deserved to be arrested again, but fuck, it was too late now.
With a weary sigh, I pushed out of the chair and headed upstairs, knocking softly on Anya’s door.
“It’s me,” I said. “Everything’s all good.”
The lock clicked and the door swung open. Anya barreled into me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her face into my chest. I put a hand on her back and cradled her head. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him here, I just didn’t…I didn’t know what else to do.”
Anya squeezed me once, hard, then pulled back to look up at me. “Who is he? What’s wrong with him?”
I brushed the hair out of her face, sliding it behind her ear. “He used to be on the wrestling team with me. He drank too much and needs to sleep it off. I’m taking him home in the morning, okay? But you’ll be fine. I…” Christ, I never lied to Anya, but I was tempted to now. I didn’t, though. “I handcuffed him to my bed. So you don’t have to worry about him.”
Her eyebrows flew way up. “What? Where did you even get handcuffs?” She turned to look over her shoulder and I noticed her friend sitting on the bed, eyeing me warily. “Are you hearing this, Sara?”
Sara . That was her name.
Sara took her phone out and started doing something on it. “I don’t want any part of whatever weird shit this is. I swear, every time I come over here, it’s always something.”
Anya rolled her eyes and mouthed drama queen at me.
I rolled my eyes back.
“I can see you both, you know,” Sara said, not even looking up from her phone.
“We made cupcakes if you want one. Or two. They’re on the counter,” Anya said.
“I think I do, thanks.” I bent down and kissed her head. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs.”
“‘Kay. Love you, B.”
“Love you, A.”
When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard squealing, and then laughter. I took a left toward the kitchen, because I thought I deserved a fucking cupcake before going on watch duty.
Maybe two.