Page 106 of The Pact

I’m still boiling as I pull up to the house. Cassie’s even eclipsed my anger with Damian. The conversation plays on a loop in my head. Was I too defensive? Did she have a point? I ask myself these questions, although the more I do, the more I feel she’s in the wrong. She’s been critical of my relationship with the guys from the start.

Her brief acceptance was probably fake.

It was her that urged me to go on a date with Cole, only to have a negative opinion when I wanted it to be more than casual. She was the one who put it into my head that the guys were all into me. Granted, she was right on that one. But once I confirmed it to her, she wasn’t supportive.

I couldn’t even come clean to her about Gavin—knowing that somehow it would turn into another criticism or a directive that I should follow to solve the problem.

This is our first argument in a decade, mostly because I avoided any confrontations with her. Like I’ve done with everyone my whole life. That’s my fault.

I passively stood up to my parents when they withheld paying for college after I wouldn’t pursue a degree they approved of. I applied for scholarships and paid for my degree. However, they were in the dark until pretty much my first day of classes, when I casually mentioned it to them.

Again, I passively stood up for myself when I left Gavin while he was out with friends. Even during our relationship, I’d try to tell him when I was unhappy, but he’d steamroll me or get angry. He’d always make it about his feelings and I’d let him off the hook.

Passive isn’t doing shit for me, so now I’m going to be loud and fucking clear.

I cut the engine and head inside.

Cole made a key for me and while it feels strange to call this place home, even temporarily, it feels right—even if Damian is a jackass, who I’d rather not see for a while.

Heading downstairs, I plan to lock myself in my room for the evening and take my anger out a bottle of wine while I listen to some of Wesley’s screaming music. That seems to make him feel better.

Opening my door, the first thing that catches my eye is a vase that wasn’t there when I left. Blooms of yellow, pink, red, and orange crowd together in the clear glass.

A hand wraps around my waist and pulls me close. I glance up to see Sutton’s amber eyes staring at the flowers. When he looks down at me, he leans in and kisses me. He pulls away, although I’m wanting more. Something about his presence always comforts me. I need it right now.

“Those are from Wesley. He found them on his hike today,” Sutton whispers in my ear. His warm breath sending a shiver down my body.

I stare at the vibrant colors and something about the small gesture reinforces the words I spoke to Cass. These men care for me. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt me—they show me that every day.

I let those thoughts go, not wanting the anger to rise again. Instead, I think about how beautiful it would be to photograph the flowers where he found them. I wonder if they were growing along a trail or if he found them growing wild in a field. He’ll have to take me before summer is over, I think to myself.

Sutton brushes my hair off of my shoulder and plants a kiss on it. “He’s in the theater room.” He’s telling me this because he wants me to go to him. Not all men are the same. What man would send me into his brother’s arms? I don’t have an answer on how jealousy isn’t even on the radar between these four.

I’m just thankful that I get to bask in their affection.

Turning, I rise up on my tiptoes and give Sutton a kiss. I hang my satchel on the doorknob. The need to lock myself away has vanished. All I want now is to find Wesley.

The theater room is lit only by the massive screen. Wesley’s huddled under a blanket in the center of the sofa. He doesn’t notice me.

I walk around the edge of the couch and his head turns, finding me. He tracks my movement as I come to sit next to him.

There’s something dark in his eyes when he watches me like that, like a predator stalking his prey. It’s a startling contrast to the other things he does, the flowers and the lunch he dropped off at the studio. He can be the biggest sweetheart, but the other side to him, the one I have yet to fully uncover, feels utterly animalistic. Like he might devour me.

I wouldn’t stop him—I’d let him have every last piece of me.

Suddenly, there’s a shift. He must sense the remnants of my fiery energy. Wesley’s eyes soften and he lifts the blanket so I can nestle into him. His arm rests over my back, pulling me close so there’s no space between us.

“Thank you for the flowers,” I whisper in the dark. It’s only us, however, the lack of lights and the movie playing make it feel strange to talk louder. “It’s been the best part of my day.”

His arm squeezes briefly around me. “I heard about the break in. Everything good with Cassie?”

I tense at her name. He feels it. “No. Well, yes, and no.” I’m not sure where to start or if I want to. “She didn’t take the news well and started throwing out some crazy accusations—so, no, on that front. But I stood up to her. For so long, I accepted whatever she had to say. Today, I spoke up—so, yes, in that sense.”

Wesley stares down at me. “I’m proud of you.” Those words make my stomach flip. Why do I crave the praise? Probably something along the lines of childhood trauma. I smile up at him. “Those eyes are going to be the death of me.” His eyes get big momentarily, almost as if he didn’t mean for it to come out.

I pull Wesley’s face down to mine, kissing him lightly. Although every time our lips meet, there’s this need deep inside to crawl into his lap and claw off his clothes. I think back to the fourth of July and what Damian said about the scratches I gave him being souvenirs. It makes me wonder if Wesley likes that, being marked up.

I’ll have to test the theory.

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