Chapter 23
Creed
My head screams with pain, burrowing into my skull as if it’s been cracked and someone’s actively trying to open it with bare hands. I groan, squinting at my surroundings. My cheek’s hugging leather and my body’s folded into a fetal position.
Something hums steadily just beneath the high-pitched ringing in my ears.
I can’t tell whether it’s coming from inside or outside my skull.
My brows furrow, that small expression sending pin-prickling pain through my eyeballs.
Another wave slices through my side when I brace on one elbow.
My vision’s blurry, but my surroundings start making sense.
I’m in a car.
More precisely, the back seat of Hyde’s moving car.
“Fuck,” I heave, the word coming out hoarse.
My best friend’s at the wheel, fingers gouging into the leather so hard I’m afraid he’ll snap them. I catch his stone-cold face in the rear-view mirror before I spot my own reflection.
It’s been almost a year since I was last slumped in Hyde’s Grand Cherokee, face bruised, pain screaming along every nerve ending. The scent of blood, air freshener, and leather blurs the timelines between now and then.
I was in the same position that night...
Back then, streetlamps cut through the rain-streaked windows the same way they do now, casting shadows over my best friend’s pissed-off face.
Fuck, I must be concussed.
“What happened?” I ask.
Ghosting my fingers over my face, I take stock of my injuries like I’ve done many times before. I know the drill. Whenever I come to it at the back of Hyde’s car, it means one thing: I fucked up.
Tonight’s particularly bad. Split lip, a gash over my eyebrow that needs at least eight stitches. Twelve, maybe more for the back of my head. It’s still bleeding. I reach my nose and wince, inhaling sharply. My eyes water at the intense pounding between my eyes.
“That was me. Sorry,” Hyde supplies, his tone far from apologetic.
“You broke my nose?”
“By accident. You were a dead weight. I might’ve dropped you... and you might’ve caught the wheel arch with your face.”
I hope I fucking dented it.
My eyes narrow, head throbbing with the effort it takes to piece together this evening. The last thing I remember is switching from beer to whiskey.
I touch a sore spot an inch above my right ear, my fingers coming up red. That gash might be the reason my thoughts are so scattered.
“One of them smashed a bottle on your head,” Hyde explains, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.
That happened then, too.
“You probably have a concussion,” he adds.
“Try definitely.”
I glance out the window and avert my gaze immediately. The bright lights spilling onto the wet ground send a stabbing pain through my skull.
“Where are we going?” I ask, though I know the answer.
“Hospital.”
“I’m fine, Hyde. Take me back to Gravemont so I can sleep off this headache.”
Hyde scoffs. “Fine? You jumped three guys, Elias. All of them twice your size. You’re far from fucking fine. You have a concussion, you need stitches, your nose might never be straight again, and your ribs are broken. Jed said he had to grab a gun to stop them from killing you.”
My back hits the seat, bones aching from all the kicks I’ve taken.
Hyde turns left, and the hospital I frequent at least twice a month comes into view. He parks the car and gets out, opening the back door when I don’t move to follow.
“Either you come willingly or you’ll be fighting me next.”
I swallow the metallic taste coating my tongue.
My best friend knows damn well that he, Noah, and Dash are the only three men in the world I’d never take a shot at. Hyde, on the other hand, would rearrange my face for my own benefit without remorse.
Grunting and groaning, I exit the car, my right hand wrapped around my sore ribs. The pain’s fucking blinding, but I grit my teeth and follow Hyde on weak legs.
“What happened this time?” he asks, slowing his pace. “Jeremiah?”
“Yeah,” I admit.
My father doesn’t call often, but when he does, it’s always one of two things: threats or demands. This time it was a combination of the two and so much more. His words brought back a heap of memories I avoid revisiting because I know they’ll fucking floor me.
The can of worms opened the moment I disconnected the call.
I wish I’d let it go to voicemail, but the one time I did that, Jeremiah showed up on campus three hours later.
The aftermath of him tainting the one place where I felt truly free versus hearing him over the phone was ten times worse, so I’ve resigned myself to picking up his calls.
Instead of answering Hyde’s question, I stumble inside the building and grab his shoulder for support, my head swimming. Severe nausea hits me and, before I know it, I double over.
The contents of my stomach spill onto the bright floor.
“Fuck,” I grunt, shaking like I’ve been dipped in an ice bath as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“What the hell happened this time, Creed?” Hyde demands, hauling my arm over his shoulders. “You were doing so fucking well. Almost a year without pulling a stunt like this.”
I almost spill more than my guts and tell him it’s Millie’s fault, but a nurse appears with a wheelchair. Hyde explains what happened while the rooms morph before my eyes.
I’m in a trance for a while, floating in and out of consciousness. Or maybe it’s the drugs, because next time I come to it, I’m in a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown, my arms hooked to a bunch of IVs.
“One day you’ll get yourself killed,” Hyde spits out.
Worry drips from his words, so I don’t laugh. I’m not sure I have the strength. He sits by my bed, paler than pale, his fingers trembling as they clutch his phone.
“They patched you up, but you’re staying overnight,” he tells me, tapping the screen. “The concussion’s pretty bad.”
“I have a fight tomorrow,” I groan, pulling myself up.
“Not happening. Lay back down. You’re staying.”
Like hell it’s not happening.
Jasper’s not getting away with it that easily, but I’m too fucking sore and exhausted to argue with Hyde.
“Fine, I’ll stay,” I grunt. “But I’m getting out first thing in the morning. Go back to campus. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you look it. Tell me what happened.”
I wish I could. The guilt, the confusion, the fucking need for Millie... It’s all eating me alive, but the truth is out of the question. Hyde would either gut me or max out whatever drugs are hooked to my veins.
“Bad day,” I lie, shrugging it off.
“Jeremiah?”
“Jeremiah’s dead, Hyde.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re healed. It’s okay not to be okay all the time, but fuck, Elias... talk to me. Don’t go looking for cheap thrills. You know I’ll listen.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose, warding off the smell of antiseptic premating the air. What the fuck do I tell him? How do I explain this without losing him? He’d never forgive me for touching his sister and taking her innocence in the roughest way possible. He fucking shouldn’t forgive me.
I’m not good for her, but fuck... I wish I could be.
“You’re a selfish fucking asshole, you know that?
” Hyde says while the nurse disinfects my scraped knuckles.
“You only think about your own ass. You don’t give a shit about me, Noah, or Dash.
” The tone of his voice sends the nurse out the door.
“You don’t stop to think about how I feel every time Jed calls and I have to wonder if someone fucking killed you this time. ”
His phone rings. He glances at the screen and a small eleven crawls between his brows.
If it was Dash or Noah, he would’ve answered already.
Same goes for his parents. He hasn’t mentioned any girl that’s caught his eye, but.
.. maybe that’s because she’s his safe space?
Someone who doesn’t drain him dry or require constant fixing?
Something hot and bitter curls in my chest. The idea of Hyde choosing someone else over me, of his attention slipping away and me becoming a problem he’s had enough of makes my skin prickle.
He’s the best friend I’ve ever had. I’m far from good for him, I know that, but I can’t lose him. He’s my only constant.
The only one who gives a fucking shit about me.
“You need to get that?” I bite out, bitter and defensive. “Go ahead. It must be important.”
“It isn’t,” he assures, sending the call to voicemail. “You are, though. You and your fucking self-destruction. You need to stop sabotaging your own life, Creed. You can’t die and leave me.”
An apple-sized lump forms in my throat. I’m a trainwreck and I’ve no idea how to leave the tracks. I don’t deserve a friend like Hyde.
He’s been through some shit, too. He doesn’t talk about it, but I feel the neglect clinging to him. I feel it in the way he takes care of me, the way he stays, the way he gives me what no one ever gave him.
His ringtone plays again and he swears loudly, switching it off.
“Help me out here,” he continues. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Elias. You’re in the ring every other week and it’s still not enough?”
“It’s enough... mostly.” I swallow hard, throwing an arm over my eyes, my blood boiling when his phone keeps vibrating. “Just not today. Greta’s husband’s dead. Jeremiah wants me at the funeral.”
The anger lining Hyde’s features smooths into understanding. He knows I haven’t attended a funeral since my mother died. The mere memory of the day her life ended, and my nightmare began, fucks with my head.
“Fuck, alright. I get it,” he says, straightening his back. “I’m coming with you. I’m sure Dash and Noah will tag along, too.”
His phone rings again.
He shows me the screen, then answers, tapping the loudspeaker so I can listen in.
“I’ll take a wild guess that you’re babying Creed, Maxi Ward, am I right?” Dash’s voice fills the room, the grin that’s undoubtedly curling his lips bleeding into his tone. “I saw him peel out of the parking lot earlier. Will he live?”
“Unfortunately,” I say, propping my head against the pillows. “No broken bones this time.”