Chapter 29 #2
This was probably one of my strangest ideas for a date, but the concept had popped into my head a while ago—spurred by my own twisted anger after Mason held the same gun to my head—and now felt like the perfect time.
Also, he wouldn’t say no to me. The sole perk of him being a raging asshole who had no concept of boundaries was that I got to get revenge on him if I wanted to.
The three of us made our way over the large rocks down to the beach, the waves sweeping up high on the shore, kissing the dark sand with seafoam. The air smelled like terrible decisions. When I spun around to look at both Micah and Mason, my pulse sped up like crazy.
Fuck.
I’ve never been here with both of them before.
Nerves and uncertainty made me shaky. They could probably see all my idiotic daydreams on my face. Stained into my pink cheeks, bitten into my lips, glistening in my hopeful eyes.
Maybe one day.
I understood Mason was only tolerating this afternoon because he was still on thin fucking ice with me, and Micah…well, I’d forced this upon him.
I turned away and started walking away from them, my boots leaving impressions in the damp sand. But the further I got, the more anxious I felt, the more unsure of my decisions.
What am I doing? My emotions crashed and rushed together in my skull like the waves I was staring at, shame lingering below it all. Would this make Micah hate me for real? Was I going too far with this? Making them doubt their decision to even be with me at all?
Mason caught up with me after a second, but I couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“I changed my mind,” I mumbled, pushing past him back towards the rocks.
He caught my arm, stopping me. “No. Why?”
“It’s stupid and weird.”
“Who cares? I think it’s fun. And you do deserve to see me in some immense pain.”
“Are you sure it’s not dumb?”
“I’m sure.”
Micah approached, his gaze calming me somewhat. Not enough, though.
“Am I being annoying?” I asked him. “Are you angry? Do you think this is weird?”
He lifted his hands to cup my face, his gaze sincere but far away. “No. I would really like to see you shoot him. And it’s really not a big deal—he’ll be fine.”
Okay. Right.
No big deal. This is normal and fun.
Well, not normal, but still okay for me to do.
He essentially did it to me first.
A little smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Mason was grumbling some bullshit under his breath behind me. It seemed he only liked the plan when it wasn’t supported by his mortal enemy.
“Give me your gun,” I said as I spun around. Mason pulled it out of the waistband of his pants and handed it to me, the metal warm from where it’d been against his body. “Now go a little further away.”
He listened to me, tugging off his shirt as he walked up the beach, exposing the large scars framing his spine. Then he turned to face me, feet at shoulder-width and hands clasped behind him. The same giddiness from before flooded my veins.
No safety.
“Can you help me hold it?” I asked Micah, who stepped right up behind me, his body surrounding mine, hands layering over my own on the grip of the gun.
“Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll give you some ear protection.”
Mason was rolling his eyes at the sight of Micah helping me aim the gun straight at him, and I giggled a bit.
“Ready.”
The moment the word left my mouth, all my hearing disappeared, the world going quiet. I focused on my aim, trying to line up the front sight with the center of his bare chest. If I thought too much about it, I was going to freak myself out, so I tried not to.
I remembered him fucking me with a gun to my head, remembered the way I was begging him to stop, sobbing below him as he refused to listen to me.
That gun wasn’t loaded. He’d been trying to give me the most realistic version of my fantasy, which required fully convincing me I was about to die.
It was one of my most intense memories, conjuring up visceral sensations whenever I brought it into the front of my brain.
The gun is loaded now.
Aim for the heart.
These bullets were made of equal parts hate and love.
I put my finger on the trigger, inhaling slowly.
Then, I pulled.
Three times.
The world was suddenly loud again and Mason was shouting. “Oh, what the fuck?! Three?!”
He dramatically flopped onto his back. My bones were vibrating.
I stared up at Micah with wide eyes, seeking out his approval, or something.
“Good job. Next time do four.”
I grinned as he started walking over to where Mason was groaning on the sand.
“Take them out. Now,” he ordered, his voice agonized.
“I’m fucking going to once you stop rolling around,” Micah snapped.
Watching would make me lightheaded, so I turned to stare out at the waves, ignoring the sounds of Micah removing three bullets from Mason’s torso.
I wasn’t sure if I’d actually hit his heart or not, but I hoped so.
After only a minute, Micah walked down to the water to rinse all the blood and ichor off his hands, then returned to stand by my side.
“Did I hit his heart?” I questioned.
“Yeah. Twice.”
“Is he okay?”
“Am I okay?” Mason’s voice teased from right behind me. I spun around into his arms, staring up at his smiling face. “Yeah. I’m okay. You’re a hell of a shot, baby.”
“Or I’m just lucky.”
“Nah. Where are we going now?”
“The diner?” I glanced over at Micah for his permission. He nodded, but didn’t seem happy about it. His jaw was tense.
“Let’s go.”
We went back up the rocks to Micah’s truck, where Mason took a handful of napkins out of the glovebox to wipe extra blood off his torso before putting his clean shirt back on. Then Micah started to drive.
After a few minutes, he pulled into the parking lot of the same diner Mason and I had gone to on the first day we met, truck tires crunching over pebbles and cracks in the pavement. The sign glowed above the roof, green and red.
The three of us went inside together, then sat at a booth, forest green vinyl covering our seats. There were a few seconds where it looked like Mason and Micah were going to throw a fit over who got to sit next to me, but I made them sit next to each other. Problem solved.
They barely fit together in the booth sitting side by side, their shoulders pressed together every time either one of them moved.
Mason said something into Micah’s ear too low for me to hear, but I didn’t get a chance to complain about that before a waitress came over to take our order, which Mason placed for the table.
He got almost the same thing as before, but made the waffles a double stack this time.
The waffles came out not long afterwards, warm and fluffy and fragrant.
I unwrapped the foil around a small pad of butter and dropped it on top of the stack, then used my knife to smear it around while it melted into each individual square of the waffle.
I poured a generous amount of maple syrup on, the sweet liquid dripping over the sides and puddling on the plate.
My eyes flicked upwards, hooking on Micah’s over the stack of blueberry waffles. The yellow light above the table made him look softer, too. More tired, maybe. My heart ached.
My foot bumped into his under the table, but his expression wasn’t happy.
My guilt was coming back in full force, and I regretted forcing this interaction between him and Mason and myself. It would’ve been better to just spend the afternoon with him alone. I was hurting him. I was always hurting him and always regretting it too late.
He pulled his foot away when I tried to tap the toe of my boot against him again.
“Micah,” I said, drawing both his attention and Mason’s.
His eyes cut into me like angry knives. “What?”
“Don’t be angry.”
His expression shifted, no longer soft or tired. He was fucking pissed.
“Do you think this shit is cute, Dakota? I don’t want to be around him,” he snapped. “You knew this was going to make me angry, and you did it anyways. So don’t ask me to not be angry now.”
I cowered back on my side of the booth.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I thought you didn’t care.”
“Don’t lie to me. I’m not putting up with that shit anymore.”
“Okay!” I slammed my fork down, the metal rattling loudly on the table. I could feel people staring at me now, and my face started getting really hot. My eyes remained locked on Micah’s, my pulse beating too hard, too fast. I wanted to cry. “I did something wrong. I’m sorry.”
“Great.” He motioned for Mason to get out of the booth so he could stand up.
“Are you leaving?” I questioned, my voice small.
“Yeah. He can figure out how to get you home.”
“Okay.” My lower lip wobbled. What did Mason say to him?
Micah grabbed my head and leaned down, kissing my hairline. “I’ll see you later. Alone. Please don’t do this again.” He smoothed my hair, then left without a glance back.
The lump in my throat was growing, my throat tightening, until I could barely get enough air into my lungs.
“Hey,” Mason said, grabbing my wrist and tugging my hand across the table so he could hold it. “Fuck him. He’s just grumpy. You’re alright.”
“No, I’m not. What did you say to him?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did. I saw you. You wanted to ruin this.”
“It was ruined from the moment he saw me in the parking lot, baby. This isn’t going to work, and you know that. But that’s okay, because we have each other. Right?” He lifted his eyebrows. “Blueberry waffles?”
“I guess so.”
“Fuck Micah,” he said, prompting me to do the same.
“I don’t want to say that.” But the longer I sat here in his absence, the angrier I felt. Why was he so incapable of accommodating me? Why did he get to hold this distance over my head endlessly? Why did he get to throw a fit and ruin the afternoon? If he wanted to be pissed, I could be pissed too.
And what the fuck was going on with him and Mason? It wasn’t about Aamon. Aamon was dead. Was it just about me?
“Eat your waffles, then. We’re going back to the beach after this and I’m gonna fuck you there.”
I relented, picking my fork back up and stabbing a bite with the metal tines.
“Fine. This is a better plan anyway.”