Chapter 32 #3
Noah grabs my forearm, stopping me from reaching into my back pocket. “So what? You’ll go to Jed’s now, get drunk, start a fight, and prove him right?”
I cock an eyebrow, yanking my hand out of his grasp and fish out a pack of cigarettes, popping one between my lips.
Jed’s bar is the last place I want to be tonight.
I mean, sure, Hyde’s fucking right about me, but that doesn’t mean he can manipulate Millie so he can feel better about his guilty conscience.
She makes her own choices.
Right now, she wants me and I’m not rolling the fuck over just because my best friend thinks I’m not worthy.
I’m not, but that’s beside the point and it’s not like she’ll want me forever, anyway.
“Hyde wants you to end up with Millie,” I start, filling my lungs with smoke.
“Fuck what Hyde thinks,” he cuts in before I finish my thought. “It’s Millie’s choice that matters. She wants you, and you want her. You deserve good things. No matter what you think, you’re not a bad person. You’ve just been taught to believe that.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Stop, just fucking stop self-sabotaging,” he insists, dropping his cigarette into a puddle, nostrils flared. “You’re acting like you’ll die if you give in and try, Creed.”
I look at him, pondering his words, eyes on the up-and-coming bruise shadowing his cheek. If he’d stop interrupting me, I’d tell him I’m not backing out, but now he’s derailed that train of thought because what the hell?
Shouldn’t he be happy he’s got Hyde’s blessing?
“What are you saying, Noah?” I ask.
“I’m saying I’m out.”
He doesn’t give me time to fully process that bomb, clasping my shoulder and squeezing hard.
“I’m saying you’re crazy about that girl, so don’t fuck it up. No drinking, no bar fights, no hospitals, and don’t tell Hyde yet. You want him to know you can take care of his sister? First show him you can take care of yourself.”
My jaw’s shut tight but my chest is tighter.
Whatever that feeling spreading inside me is, it makes the back of my throat itch.
“Now come on,” he adds. “Let’s grab a beer.”
He heads for the door, leaving me to follow while my head is in riot mode, emotions and thoughts piling on and on.
Hyde, Dash, and Noah became my family over our freshman year, but I met Hyde first. It was Hyde who looked past my violence first. I’ve always considered my bond with him a level above my connection with Noah and Dash, but it looks like I underestimated the value Noah places on our friendship.
He just did something no one—not even Hyde—ever done... he believed in me.
Hyde may pick me up and put me back together, but he doesn’t trust me not to fall apart... and Noah, knowing my volatile nature, voluntarily stepped back, leaving Millie in my hands.
It’s the equivalent of giving me something priceless, delicate, easily breakable, and trusting I won’t drop it.
I swallow whatever the fuck’s stuck in my throat just as Noah knocks on Dash’s door. It swings open within seconds, “Undressed” by sombr spilling into the hallway alongside the smell of beer and something he burned in the microwave earlier.
“There you are,” he says, eyes widening a fraction on my swollen, split lip before flicking to Noah.
And back.
And again.
He whistles quietly. “You guys good?”
Noah steps past him without a word, fetching a water bottle from the fridge. He presses it against his cheek.
“No wonder you’re fucking undefeated,” he mutters.
I smirk while Hyde’s ears perk up. He’s sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, a half-empty beer dangling from his fingers. He lowers it slowly, opening one—still bloodshot—eye that lands on me, then straightens up, his head swiveling to check on Noah.
“What the hell happened to you two?” he asks.
Noah shrugs, accepting a beer bottle from Dash as he saunters over and collapses into the couch. “My fist slipped.”
Dash snorts, offering me a beer but I shake my head. One or two would calm my nerves, but Noah’s right. If I want my best friend’s blessing over Millie, I need to keep my shit together.
“And you?” Hyde asks, a vein pulsing at his temple.
“What he said.”
“Yeah?” His brow furrows, nostrils flaring as he stares between us. “Whose fist slipped first, huh? And why?”
My mind scrambles for a Millie-free explanation, but Noah beats me to the punch.
“My fist was first and Zara’s the reason.”
“Zara?” Hyde spits out, white-knuckling his beer bottle. “You nailed Creed because he had his hand up Zara Harrington’s skirt? Since fucking when are you into her?”
“I’m not into her.” Noah drawls. “I’m just not into him treating women like toys.”
I’m not sure if this is supposed to help or bury me, but I have no defense, and it’s not like I can explain the reality of the situation.
Hyde mulls it over, then side-eyes me, clearly not convinced. “And you? Why did your fist slip?”
“He threw a punch.” I shrug. “I threw one back.”
“You deserved it. He didn’t.”
“Maybe if he’d given me that speech before splitting my lip, I would’ve held back, but the heart-to-heart happened after.”
“Right, you hit first, ask later,” he mutters.
Even though he’s said these words enough times before, they hit differently now. He takes a pull from his bottle, draining the contents, eyes on Noah.
“You sure you’re not into Zara?”
“I’m sure.”
That simple admission makes Hyde’s shoulders relax. At the same time, a rusty blade slices into my heart. He’s relieved. He’s relieved Noah’s attention is still on Millie.
My throat locks up, my mind pulling forth every hit Jeremiah ever landed on my body. Every time I was locked away in my room for hours, unwanted, discarded, a nuisance. Every time I begged for his approval, only to watch his lip curl in disgust.
I’m that unworthy little boy again.
A fresh sense of betrayal floods over me, nearly knocking the breath out of my lungs, and if this is how Hyde felt last year, then I understand why he’s never forgiven me.
Because I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him for this.