“You’re fucking wrong, though,” I bite out, voice cracking in the same pattern as my heart. “I didn’t get why my mother hated me so much, still don’t, but this I get. Destruction’s coming for you, Trav, for Dash, forus.”
I choke on that last word.Us.Because we are still us, right?
C’mon. Look at me, Trav. Look. At. Me.
“S-Say you’ll forget it—forget about Robin—and I’ll tell my brother about everything. You and me. That I’m only quitting hockey to appease him. Also, I won’t quit hockey.” Yeah, I’m begging. Does he need me on my knees? I’ll get on my knees.
He’s silent, jaw locked.
“Don’t do this!” The words rip out of me, raw and desperate. They echo from the terrified place I never go anymore. It’s a hopeless place. A place I go when something’s already slipped through my fingers.
Trav doesn’t flinch. He still can’t look at me.
“Choose us, Trav. Me and you. C’mon. Choose. Us.”
He finally looks up, and hope blooms warm across my chest. But there’s tension where his smile should be. His features don’t move at all, the tenderness I’ve grown used to vanished as if it were never there to begin with.
And if he does this, it’ll never be there again.
“I have to,” he bites out, forcing himself to keep his gaze locked with mine.
He wants to hide, because it’s all etched into the steel lines of his face. He’s not choosing vengeance over me. He’s choosing it because he thinks that’s all he’s good for. Trav protects what he loves—it’s what he knows, his default mode. But Dash wouldnever want this. He thinks doing this makes Dash safe? It doesn’t. Maybe from Robin, but not from losing the future that means everything to him.
“I gotta get outta here,” I choke out before storming out the door. Anger’s all that’s protecting me, so I let it rage through me. Without it, I’d run back to him like a fool, begging for something he’s never gonna give me.
Iam fucking pissed. I’m so mad that I haven’t gone in for any of my shifts, which is shitty, I know, but I’d rather that than fight with Trav anymore. I hate fighting with him, even more than I hate what he’s planning on doing. And let’s not forget about the fact that I’m barely holding my shit together. Yeah, no. I’m not leaving the house. Not until I can figure out what to do about it.
He hasn’t called. No texts either. He’s probably with his new bestie, Maxwell.
And I have zero experience with this shit. It’s one thing to get over your man making a massive purchase you asked him not to, but this is murder—murder! I guess … I guess what I have to do is find a way to be okay with it. No one’ll miss Robin. He deserves it for what he’s done.
But should Trav be playing God like that? Deciding who lives and dies?
I don’t believe in God. Well, maybe a “higher power”, but not God. Maybe that means he can decide?
No. No one should get to decide that.
Or are there exceptions?
Ugh. I don’t fucking know.
Dash—currently the happiest fucker on the planet and not plagued by any moral dilemmas—nudges my knee with his bare foot. His disgusting bare foot because he never wears socks or shoes and likes to gallivant around outside. You’d think his new husband would have put a stop to that, but nooooo. Stacey lets him do whatever the fuck he wants.
I grab his foot and squeeze it. Hard. He kicks me.
“Ow, you fucker,” he says.
“So? You gonna get your husband to kick the shit out of me?” Maybe that’s the answer to my problems. I could use a good fight to work out my mood. I’ve got the same itch I get when I’m on the ice getting whacked in the shins. I need to punch something.
“No. Why you in such a shit mood?”
“Because.”
He smiles. I don’t like the way he’s smiling. “Because you and Dad had a fight?”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you know about that?”
He heaves a sigh. “Stace and I were making out near Dad’s office, we overheard.”
