Sucker Punched (32 page)

“Hey,” she says in a hushed voice. “I can’t really talk right now. Can I call you back in a minute?”

What the hell is she doing that she can’t talk to me?

Frowning, I listen to the noise on her end. There’s a lot of it. She’s definitely someplace public.

I open my mouth to say something when I hear someone talking to her. Someone male.

“Is that Hayden?” I ask carefully, my hand tightening on the phone.

“Yeah,” she says, sounding disappointed that I figured it out. “I, um, asked him to meet me for coffee.”

Right. Of course she did. She’s his girlfriend. It makes sense that they’d be on a date.

My teeth clench as my mood plummets to a dangerous level. “Did you tell him about last night? Huh? Did you tell him that I fucked his girlfriend fifty ways to Sunday? Did you tell him that he’ll be getting my sloppy seconds tonight?”

“Blake—”

The pleading tone of her voice sets me off and I throw the phone across the room, absently hearing it smash into the wall.

I can’t believe she’s still with him. I can’t believe last night meant
nothing
to her. I can’t fucking believe she’d forsake me now when I need her the most.

“
Fuck!
” The scream rips through me, raw and painful, as I pick up a kitchen chair and smash it on the ground, over and over, until I’m out of breath and out of my mind.

I can’t feel my face. I can’t feel much of anything, which is good. I’ll take numbness over heartache any goddamn day of the week.

Lifting my glass, I signal Frank for another one. I think I see him scowl as he pours more whiskey, but his face ain’t exactly in focus right now so I can’t be sure.

“Twice in one month? If I didn’t know better, I’d say the old Blake’s back.” Tori leans against the bar, giving me an easy, carefree smile.

I miss easy and carefree. I don’t know why I had to go and complicate things with my
feelings
, of all things. Those sons of bitches never did anybody any good. 

“The old me never should’ve left,” I say, running my finger along the rim of the glass. “I had it right all along. But you know what they say. ‘The grass is always greener’ and blah, blah, blah. It’s all bullshit.”

“I take it there’s trouble in paradise.”

I lift the glass, preparing to take a sip. “Does it look like I’m in fuckin’ paradise?”

“No, it looks like you’re in hell. Ease up,” she says, taking my drink from me and setting it down. “You’re probably flammable at this point.” 

I pull my lighter out of my pocket and hold it up. “Put me out of my misery?” 

Tori bites her lip, leaning closer. “I can do that, if that’s what you really want.”

Maybe it’s a testament to how drunk I am, but her lips are starting to look downright tasty. They’re pink and shiny, and the way she’s biting her bottom lip right now makes me want to sink my teeth into it while I sink something else inside her. I lean in like I’m on autopilot, until her mouth is inches from mine.

“I don’t know what I want anymore. I just know I don’t want to feel like this.” I never knew a broken heart could feel this bad. I want to put myself through a wood chipper just to make it stop. Why anyone would willingly do this to themselves is beyond me. 

“You should be with someone who wants to be with you.” She takes my lighter and sticks it back in my pocket, her fingers lingering near my crotch. Leaning in, her lips brush mine as she starts stroking my dick. “Stick your fingers in my panties right now, and you’ll feel how much I want you.”

I groan as all the blood rushes to my cock. 

Flicking her tongue out, she licks my lip and leans back, smirking. “Looks like you want me too, big guy.”

I don’t. But I’ll do anything to make this god-awful fucking feeling go away, even if it’s only for the night. 

Blake never responded to any of my texts. He’s not answering my calls.

I wish I could shake this feeling that something’s not right, but the anxiety’s sitting with me about as well as a bunch of bugs crawling along my skin. I’ve got this weird, prickly feeling of unease and as much as I want to believe I’m overreacting, I still hold my breath as I turn onto our street.

It’s silly. Me breathing has nothing to do with anything, and yet I’m waiting with baited breath as I drive down our street, anxious to see his car outside the house.

The air deflates out of me when I see the empty driveway and dark windows.

Where
is
he?

I park in front of the house and grab my phone from the passenger seat. I call him again, and again it goes straight to voicemail, just like it has the last twenty times I’ve called.

After hanging up, I start to text him. I press send and stare at my screen for a solid minute, waiting for a text bubble to appear. Anything to let me know he read what I just sent him. But all I get is radio silence in return, just like the last ten texts I’ve sent. 

So I get out of my car, go inside, and do the only thing I can. I wait.

My fingers fumble with the blanket as I shiver and try to pull it over me. It’s stuck on something so I pull harder, but it’s still not budging.

“Motherfucker,” I mumble into my pillow, half-asleep and now cranky that my blanket’s being a bitch. I yank with all my might, and that’s when I realize I’m lying on top of it instead of under it.

I sit up, groggy and confused as to why I fell asleep fully dressed on my still-made bed. The light from the bathroom spills into my room, and when I spot my phone on the bed next to me, it all comes rushing back.

I must’ve fallen asleep waiting for Blake. Shit, what time is it? How long have I been out?

My heart’s in my throat as I grab my phone. Panic sets in when I see it’s after two in the morning and I have no missed calls from Blake. No texts, either.

Did he come home? Did I just miss it since I was sleeping?

Oh, God, what if he was in some kind of accident? 

I’m in full-blown panic mode as I climb out of bed and head toward the hall. If he’s not in his room, I’m calling Declan, or the police, or—

Hushed noises drift up from downstairs. Frowning, I step into the hall, my feet silent on the carpet.

It sounds like it’s coming from the living room. I take another step toward the stairs, but a low, feminine moan stops me in my tracks.

That better be the fucking TV.

My heart feels like it’s trying to crawl out my throat as I stand here and listen to the unmistakable sounds of sex. The pictures on the wall turn blurry as I cover my mouth and shake my head, refusing to accept what’s clear as day.

No. No, no, no. He wouldn’t do that to me again. Not after last night. Not after we. . . After
he
—

The last vestiges of hope disintegrate when Blake’s soft groans drift up the staircase. My eyes squeeze shut as I remember them washing over my skin and whispering in my ear. They made me feel special and loved and
beautiful
.

Every single one of them was a fucking lie.

A choked sob escapes me as I sink to the floor, muffling my cries with my hand. I fall apart as quietly as I can, my body shaking from the violent force of trying to keep everything contained.

I can’t see past the tears and I can’t feel anything other than gut-wrenching heartache. The pain is so raw it feels like a living thing, trapped inside my chest like a cage. It claws and scratches me as it tries to escape, and I stupidly press a hand to my heart, like that can stop the hemorrhaging inside me. 

It doesn’t, of course.

Sitting on the floor, my heart shattered into a million and one pieces, I force myself to listen to every grunt, every moan. I need to memorize how this feels. Sear the pain and all its jagged edges into my psyche, because I never want to forget this. I never want to forget what it feels like to love someone and how much it fucking sucks, because I never want it to happen again.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on me as grief morphs into anger. Fuck this and fuck them. I’m not going to sit by and just let them finish. 

Fuck. That. 

I’m going down there, and I’m going to unleash a
world
of hurt on those motherfuckers. I’ll be goddamned if I’m the only one left broken after this.

Hot tears spill down my cheeks as I haul my ass up and head for the stairs. Their noises get louder with each step I descend, and when I finally see them on the couch—in the same spot he fucked me in barely twenty-four hours ago—it’s like a punch to the gut. My breath is knocked out of me as I watch some dark-haired, half-naked skank riding Blake. 

Seeing is a million times worse than hearing. I’ll never be able to get this image out of my head. Not for as long as I live.

They blur as angry tears well. My throat’s so tight. I can’t even fucking breathe past the hurt and betrayal swimming inside me. When he grips her hips and closes his eyes in ecstasy, I fucking lose it.

“You asshole!” I shriek, grabbing the girl by her hair and yanking backward. I rip her off him, Blake cursing as she screams.

They never noticed me coming down the stairs. They didn’t even know I was in the goddamn room until two seconds ago, and that pisses me off even more.

She scratches my arm, trying to get me to release my death grip from her scalp. I pull her hair harder, reveling in her cries as I drag her across the living room and toward the front door. Throwing it open, I shove her outside, barefoot and topless, with her skirt bunched up around her waist. She stumbles and falls onto the front porch as I slam the door in her face, locking it. 

She pounds on the door as I walk back to deal with Blake, who’s busy shouting obscenities at me from the living room. He’s standing next to the couch now, pulling his jeans up over his hips, his movements clumsy, his words slurred. When I catch sight of the condom he’s still wearing, I fucking lose it all over again. 

“Motherfucking
piece of shit
!” I pick up the first thing I see—a decorative bowl on the bookshelf beside me—and chuck it at him. 

My aim is shit on a good day, so it’s no surprise it misses him and shatters against the wall. That doesn’t stop me from throwing everything else within reach.

A heavy hardback book hits him and he scowls. “What the fuck, Macy? You have
no right
to get pissed about who I bring home. If I want to fuck the whole state of Massachusetts, it’s none of your goddamn business anymore!”

He smells like a distillery. Jesus, I can smell him from here.

“None of my business? You fucking asked me to be with you, Blake! You
made
it my business.” He picks up a couch cushion to use as a shield when I hurl another book at him. A choked sob escapes me. “Did you even read any of my texts tonight?”

His jaw clenches as he picks up his phone from the end table and tosses it to me. “You try reading anything on that screen.”

The glass is cracked.
Shattered
, actually. It looks like someone took a sledgehammer to it.

“I might’ve thrown it against the wall after I hung up on you.” He looks down, frowning. “I was so fuckin’ pissed, Macy. I poured my heart out to you and then you went back to him like it was nothing. Like what we had last night was
nothing
.”