Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
The jealousy is almost more than I can handle. But I tamp it down, because I’ve created a huge mess already. Literally and figuratively. Lavender walks him to the door, and they whisper to each other before she finally closes it with a quiet click and turns to face me. She is seriously pissed, but also exceptionally calm.
She props her hands on her hips. “How many times have you been in my room?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Come Clean
Kodiak
Present day
I RUB THE back of my neck, searching for a way to explain my behavior. There really isn’t a good excuse without coming clean. All the way clean. And I’m so exhausted, so tired of fighting against this, of trying to make her hate me, of making myself miserable . . . “A couple.”
“So twice?” she presses.
This isn’t the Lavender I knew. She was shy and quiet and never, ever called me on my shit like she does now. Although usually I was coming to her rescue, not being an asshole, so the calling out wasn’t necessary. “Uhhh, I guess . . .” I swallow as she continues to stare. Not believing me. I think about the times I’ve sat outside her door just to be close. And the handful of times I picked the lock. “More like a few.”
Her right brow raises. She seems to decide the actual number isn’t important. Thankfully. “Why?”
“Huh?” It’s difficult not to focus on the items scattered across the floor—the ones I dumped there, thinking I’d make some kind of point. It’s not helping the thoughts running through my head, which are jumbling up like an off-kilter tray full of marbles.
“Why were you in here? It’s a fairly straightforward question, shouldn’t be too difficult for your genius brain to manage.”
“I just . . . I wanted to see . . .” I flounder, fighting the rising panic.
“See what?” She flails her hand toward her bed. “What I keep in my nightstand drawer? Did you check for a journal? Did you want to see if I was still pining for you? Were you looking for more ways to humiliate me? Coveting them like little grenades you planned to set off every time I needed a reminder of how much you hate me?”
She stalks closer, and I hold my breath, willing her to touch me—shove me, smack me, anything, but she doesn’t. Her ocean-blue eyes flash with ire. “Message fucking received, Kodiak. You delivered it perfectly two years ago, and I sure as hell haven’t forgotten how that felt. I don’t require any more goddamn reminders, though you seem like you’re quite fond of delivering them. I screwed up your life. I get it. I was a goddamn child, and I had no idea it was going to get as bad as it did, but I was not alone in those choices, so stop punishing me for something I didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of control over.”
“That wasn’t . . . I don’t . . . I’m not . . .” I pace the room, more to keep myself from acting on impulses I can’t allow. I accidentally kick a bottle of lube across the floor. It comes to a stop in front of Lavender. She bends to pick it up, flipping it between her fingers.
“Then what was this about?” She lobs the bottle at me. Normally she has piss-poor aim, but it hits me in the thigh, a few inches shy of my junk. I catch it before it can fall to the floor. I try not to think about what she uses this for, but the images are already popping like bubbles in my brain.
“I didn’t want you up here alone with him,” I admit.
“Why? You’ve made it clear you don’t want me. So why are you being such a cockblocking son of a bitch, other than to make me miserable?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “That’s not true.”
“Oh yes, it is! You’ve been a nightmare to deal with. Every time I turn around, there you are, making my life damn well impossible. Why can’t you leave me alone? Why do you feel the need to torment me so relentlessly?”
“Because I can’t have you!” I shout.
Her expression shifts to confusion. “Have you lost your goddamn mind? You don’t even want me, so why does that matter?” she shouts back. “Who the fuck are you? What the hell happened to you?”
I don’t understand how she can’t see what’s right in front of her. Why does she have to make me say it all? What happened to when we could just be together and know what the other person was feeling? “You! You happened!”
She throws her hands in the air. “I won’t apologize for the mistakes we made when we were kids!”
I’m done fighting this, and her. I can’t keep doing this or I’m going to lose my mind, and based on what I’ve done tonight, I think I’m already halfway there. I can’t think, I can’t focus . . . All these years of holding this in have eaten away at me, turning me into someone I don’t even recognize.