Chapter 26
Millie
It’s well past midnight when Abby stumbles into our room, more than a slight buzz on, cheeks flushed, eyes glossy. She’s in jeans, a warm sweater, and a jacket, a much better choice for fight night than her previous ensemble.
After Noah left me in the library, I sat there, battling my head, wondering whether I should head into the theatre basement or not. Creed’s been avoiding me all day and then with the Noah kiss fiasco, I decided it’d be better to sit this one out.
“You should’ve come,” Abby says, dropping her bag on the floor before shimmying out of her jacket. “It was brutal.”
I quickly throw on my robe, hiding the love bites and bruises before she gives me another pitying look. She doesn’t even notice, yanking her sweater over her head.
She casts a quick glance at my desk, where my small portable speaker is playing “Obsessed” by Jutes. Abby’s not a fan of my playlists. Our music tastes don’t align in the slightest. She’s a country girl through and through.
Her boots come off next, and then she unbuttons her jeans, performing a little dance while pushing them down her long legs.
“Was it fun?” I ask.
“That’s one way to put it.” She chuckles, rummaging through her closet in nothing but her lacy pink lingerie. “One guy, I think he’s a sophomore, started crying and ran away.”
She pulls out a tight little dress and tosses it onto the mattress, then digs around for makeup. “Wanna know who was up against Creed?”
I shake my head, perfectly aware she’ll tell me anyway. The music changes to “Hopeless” by Always Never and the goosebumps that erupt down my arms next could be from the song or from Abby saying, “Jasper Collins.”
My eyes whip to her. “Jasper?”
She nods, grinning, and my pulse thrums faster, memories resurfacing. Creed’s mouth on mine, the way his body fucked me into the mat while I begged for more without saying a word.
I shake the images away.
Dash has been begging me to come watch Creed fight all afternoon and didn’t think to mention Jasper? Why would Creed challenge him? It’s not like he hurt me... My eyebrows scrunch, then hit my hairline as realization hits.
Hyde.
I recall what Noah said my first evening at Gravemont when Hyde threatened to bust their jaws if they touched me.
“We all know you’d get Creed to throw the punches. Can’t injure those surgeon-in-the-making hands.”
The overprotective, vengeful idiot must’ve asked Creed to beat Jasper up for cornering me in the cafeteria.
“Who won?” I ask, too curious for my own good.
“Are you kidding?” Abby laughs, quick and bright as she swipes mascara over her lashes. “Creed annihilated him. I don’t think Jasper got a single shot in. It was sad to watch.”
Relief hits first, followed by annoyance. Hyde shouldn’t have used Creed like that. Nothing happened. Jasper didn’t deserve to be turned into a punching bag because I panicked.
I’m the broken one in this equation.
“You’re not angry?” I ask Abby. “I thought you were friends with Jasper.”
“Fuck buddies,” she corrects, redoing her high ponytail. “But that’s over. It was fun once, but Jasper always wants Mateo to join in, and I don’t really like anal.”
“Jesus, too much information.”
Abby just shrugs.
I fling my legs over the edge of my bed but pause, unsure where to go. I should apologize to Creed for Hyde’s interference, but I can’t without speaking to him and I doubt words will leave my lips after everything that happened between us.
My throat will lock up, or worse... I’ll do something stupid that’ll only confirm his certainty that I’m messed up.
I grab a cardigan and fling it over my shoulders.
“Where are you going?” Abby asks, switching her earrings.
“Hyde’s.”
“He’s not back yet.” She slips into her five-inch blood-red stilettos. “There’s an afterparty downstairs. I saw your brother making out with a smoking hot redhead.”
“Again, too much information,” I mutter. “Noah?”
“Downstairs, too. And Creed. And Dash.” She cringes.
I sit back down, texting my brother.
Me: Don’t use Creed like that again.
Hyde: Like what?
Me: Don’t tell him who to fight. Jasper didn’t do anything wrong.
Minutes pass. He reads the message and the dots start dancing, but nothing more. I toss the phone onto my bed, irritation simmering in my chest. He’s probably drunk and distracted, entirely unaware he’ll get an earful tomorrow.
Abby finishes her makeup and spins in front of the mirror. “Why don’t you get dressed and come with me?”
“Um, no, not my scene.”
She studies me for a beat, then stuffs her lip gloss into her clutch. “Don’t wait up. I’m staying with Thomas tonight.”
“Thomas? Same one you said was too clingy?”
She blushes nice and pink. “I changed my mind. Casual sex is fun but Thomas... he never stopped pursuing me even after we fucked. He’s different than the other guys here. He cares about me so I’m giving this whole relationship thing a shot.”
I smile. “Good for you.”
“Yeah... about that.” She drops her hands, nervously toying with her rings. “I was thinking. Thomas has a friend who’s been asking about you. He’s a real good guy. Calm, polite, and careful, not like...” her voice trails off.
Not like the guy who bruised me.
“How about I set you two up?”
My face falls immediately. She’s trying to push me into the arms of some random but safe guy. I should be grateful, I think. She’s obviously worried, but instead of grateful, I’m annoyed.
“No, thanks,” I clip. “I’m not interested.”
She pinches her lips, staring at me for a moment before offering a tight nod. With a spring in her step, she leaves, closing the door behind her. I grind my teeth and grab my book, needing a distraction. It’s late, but sleep’s the last thing on my mind.
I barely get through two pages before there’s a knock.
Maybe I can give Hyde a piece of my mind sooner than expected. I yank the door open and freeze when, instead of Hyde, I find Creed standing out in the hallway.
He’s in a pair of low-slung sweats, a black tee clinging to his frame, knuckles scraped raw, lip split, a dark bruise shadowing his cheekbone.
I expect words, but his gaze drags down my frame and my cheeks flame on cue. My heart thuds faster, a lick of desire goosebumping the curve of my neck.
Creed continues his perusal, eyes lingering on the lacy hem of my robe cutting off mid-thighs, then up again, devouring the curve of my waist and the modest swell of my breasts.
“Hyde showed me your text,” he finally says. “He didn’t ask me to challenge Jasper, Millie.”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, dark eyes jumping between mine before flicking to my lips and back up like he’s forcing himself to hold my gaze.
“It was my idea,” he adds, stepping into my personal space, his hand rising to tuck a loose strand of hair over my ear. “Because you cried and I wanted to fucking kill him for it.”
The split on his lip reopens, a single, crimson bead of blood trailing down his chin and lower.
I step back, pulling the door wider, and gesture for him to enter. He hesitates a second, glancing up and down the corridor before stepping inside. The room fills with the scent of his cologne, his skin, and the sharp metallic tang of blood.
“Back to silence?” he asks, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
I don’t answer, crouching to pull a first aid kit from my closet.
Creed stands in the middle of the room, taking in Abby’s cozy, cluttered space, a tiny frown forming when his eyes swing to my side of the room.
It’s bare and empty, just two notebooks and a bunch of ballpoint pens littering the desk.
I wrap my finger around Creed’s upper arm, ushering him toward my bed. If he didn’t want to move, he wouldn’t, but he lets me guide him. He sits, knees spread wide, shoulders hunched. He’s so big my bed looks child-sized.
There’s no way we’d both fit.
I shake my head, dislodging the thought before it grows teeth. Before I start imagining him pinning me down on my small mattress, his panting breath in my ear, his cock—
Nope. Not going there.
Taking a seat on the floor, between his knees, I open the first aid kit, setting it close.
Creed’s eyes darken as he peers down at me. He looked just like that when my boobs spilled out of my sports bra, bouncing in his face.
“You like torturing me, baby?” he asks, pinching my chin so I’ll look at him. “Because you’re doing a wonderful job of it. Every minute with you feels like penance.”
The feeling’s mutual. Being with him is bittersweet. My stomach twists, my thighs press together, my blood races with desire, but there’s doubt there too.
Taking his free hand, I start disinfecting his torn knuckles.
“Do you know what it felt like?” he asks, tracing my jaw with his fingers, eyes locked on my mouth. “Waiting so fucking long for you to speak just to hear I hate you...?”
That’s not technically true. I said his name before that. Well, I whispered it, so maybe it doesn’t count.
I want to tell him I didn’t mean it. That I don’t hate him, but I’m not sure that’d be true.
A part of me can’t stop thinking about him, can’t stop wanting him.
Another part stays curled tight, confused and anxious about how easily he dismantles my defenses.
I’m scared of the roughness I crave from him and I’m angry that he unknowingly fixes pieces of me without trying.
I lift my eyes to his face, his expression a volatile mix. Lust threaded with rage, and desperation riding beneath the surface.
“Same way I felt...” I say quietly, gently dabbing the antiseptic over his pinky, “...when you told me I’m messed up.”
His eyes harden and jaw tightens, but he doesn’t apologize. He’s not trying to backtrack or twist the words so they’re easier to swallow. He looks at me like the mess is expected and he doesn’t mind, and my head spins because the lack of remorse feels so fucking good.
God, I really am messed up.