Chapter 1 #2
You made me want to do a hell of a lot more than beat you.
My gaze snaps away from his flushed cheeks at the unwelcome thought.
What the fuck?
I always knew Luc was hot, the kind of hot that made your mouth go dry and your pulse tick up, but I filed it away as trivial. Background noise. Just something to clock, not act on, because he was Luc-fucking-Delacroix. He is loud, cocky, and surrounded by women like they were just another sport.
And definitely straight.
That banter between us, the smirks, the sharp words, the eye contact that always lasted a second too long.
I figured it was just a byproduct of our rivalry, something to keep us hungry.
And it was, but maybe it was also me, flaring like a live wire around him, and throwing jabs to see what he’d throw back, not because I hated him, but because I wanted his attention.
And he gave it to me.
Over and over, he reacted. He looked.
Until last year.
“You’re a fucking asshole, and a coward. And a—” He cuts himself off, but the next word still comes out as a bloody bullet. “Rapist? Really, Mason?”
It doesn’t matter how many times I hear that word, whether it’s whispered, yelled, or spat in my direction, it always lands as a punch to the ribs.
Luc’s breathing is harsh beside me. “You look like a fucking Greek god,” he spits. “You could have anyone, but you go and take what’s not offered? Are you insane?”
“I’m not a fucking rapist!” The words rip from me, raw but crystal-clear.
Luc’s anger burns out, and he sighs like the idea of me being innocent is more tiring than the alternative.
“Everybody else says you are.”
“Yeah?” My hands curl into fists in my lap, nails biting deep into my palms like maybe if I bleed for it, it’ll be enough, and the pain will be penance for something I didn’t even do.
“Well, it’s not my fucking problem if you’d rather believe everybody else than me.
Just because there are rumors doesn’t make them true.
Do you really think your precious Petit would hang out with me if he believed I was a rapist? ”
This just proves that I could scream until my throat tears open, and it still wouldn’t make a difference, not unless someone wants to believe me.
And Luc?
Luc never wanted to.
His brow furrows like he’s considering it. “Then where are those rumors coming from?”
The fight leaves me then, too, and I just give him the truth, voice flat. “I have no idea why she said it. Crews thinks maybe Raine wanted me gone. I don’t know. I’ve stopped pretending to understand any of it.”
“She was your girlfriend,” Luc counters, like that proves something.
“Exactly,” I bite out, anger boiling over again that quickly. “As if I’d force myself on my own girlfriend! I wouldn’t do that to anyone, but especially not to someone I thought I was in love with.”
My breath is just as ragged as Luc’s is now, and I try to calm down and find the thread of reason, but it’s gone. There’s no reasoning with him. Maybe there never was. But it seems some part of me wants to be heard, so I keep going.
“I needed you just as much as you needed me to bring my best game, maybe more, but I would have never believed something like that about you without talking to you first. Without asking.”
That’s the part that’s been killing me.
He never asked me whether the rumors were true. He just started hating me like everyone else.
And I never thought he was like anyone else until then.
Luc scans my face, but then he turns away again, fixing his eyes back on the road.
We drive the last stretch in tense silence, and my stomach clenches when we pull into the parking lot.
Our clothes drip and shoes squelch as we jog to the hospital doors.
As soon as we’re inside, Luc steps up to the reception desk and launches into rapid-fire French.
I don’t understand shit, only catching him saying Allen Crews, and my stomach twists all over again.
The receptionist frowns down at the papers in front of her, lips moving around words I don’t understand, then finally says, “Oui, Crews,” followed by more in French that might as well be static.
Bambi.
Something is stirring in my ribs again, the feeling close to that of butterflies being drowned in worry, and I should probably figure out what the hell that means, but not now. Not yet.
Not until I know he’s okay.
Luc turns to me. “Petit’s already here. She said we should go to the waiting room.”
That’s not good enough.
I shoulder past Luc to the receptionist. “How is he?”
She glances up, brows furrowing before she answers in broken English. “I cannot tell you. Please wait with family.”
Luc doesn’t give me a chance to lose my shit. “Come on,” he mutters, grabbing my arm and steering me away. “I know my way around here.”
“You’ve been here before?”
Luc shrugs and releases my arm as we walk. “I was a regular guest here all my childhood.”
“Falling off your bike?”
He grins. “Bikes, trees, houses.”
“Houses?”
Luc just winks, and goddammit, my heart stutters like the idiot it is.
We round a corner, and Luc stops outside a waiting room, eyebrows shooting up at the raised voices coming from within.