Chapter 18
The Retaliation
Nate
Robyn’s in front of me.
Her head’s down, one hand tugging at the hem of her skirt, smoothing the fabric down her thighs. Her hair’s messy in a way that isn’t her—pieces coming loose from the ponytail, cheeks flushed.
My body goes still—I’m with fucking Tessa. The sound of the bar dulls, muffled under the rush of blood in my ears.
“Robyn?”
Then a tall beefy guy, with a mop of blond hair on his head, steps out. From the same door. He places his hand on the small of her back and leans in to whisper in her ear. He looks unsettled too—shirt untucked, mouth swollen.
She freezes, fingers still on her skirt, eyes flicking up and drawn to mine. Her breath catches and the color drains from her face.
The guy’s hand drops, casual, but he doesn’t square up. He’s unashamed, not hiding anything. They don’t need to because I already know.
It hits low in my gut first, but the pain morphs into anger and rapidly spreads—hot, acidic. I’ve been racking my head about how to get her back for weeks, and she’s been running into someone else’s arms and dick. She doesn’t even need me for this.
I glance between them, my mouth twisting before the words even form. “Guess you really meant it when you said you wouldn’t wait,” I say, the words coming out rougher than I meant them to. “Didn’t think you’d move on in a bar bathroom. Real classy, Robyn. To each their own, I guess.”
Her eyes meet mine for half a beat before darting away. Her mouth pulls tight, then twists, and she doesn’t try to speak again.
I laugh, but it’s short and sharp, no humor in it. “Don’t worry,” I add, stepping aside, “I’ll get out of your way. This was my cue to move on myself.” And before I even think, blinded by jealousy and rage, I wrap my arm around Tessa’s waist.
I shoulder past her, the smell of her orange blossom shampoo hitting me, then I look back over my shoulder and see Robyn’s utter devastation.
What the fuck did I just do? I hurt her, she breaks up with me, she tells me she isn’t going to wait.
She’s done nothing wrong. Then I hurt her even more.
I’m more like my father than I ever thought possible …
And yet, I can’t hold myself still. I move past her into the other room, with Tessa under my arm.
As soon as I turn the corner, I yank my arm off Tessa and step a good three feet away from her. Hand buried in my hair, I tug at the strands. She stands by the wall, wide-eyed. All my anger at Robyn dissipates and all that’s left is hollow, boiling self-hatred.
Then Tessa opens her fucking mouth. “Wow,” she says. “Just so you remember, that’s the girl you’re pining about. A sl—”
I slam my hand on a table, and her mouth hangs open. Good.
“Don’t you dare say one more fucking thing about Robyn,” I hiss, my voice low and dangerous. “She had every right to do what she did. No matter how sick it makes me.”
Tessa doesn’t need to understand that this is on me, but it is, with a certainty that tightens every nerve in me.