Page 153 of Interference

Simon didn’t budge. “You can’t kick me out of my own house.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go, Simon!” Anthony shouted. “This is my home. You have an apartment. One of us needs to leave, and where the hell am I supposed to go?”

Simon’s eyes flicked toward me, and I could hear the “why don’t you guys go to his place? Ooh, right…” coming a mile away.

Before he could say it, though, Anthony growled, “When they trade my ass, because God knows they will, then this place”—he gestured around—“is all yours. You win, okay? But until then, you moved out. You wanted space. You didn’t want to live here with me.” He pointed sharply at the door. “So get the fuck out.”

“You can’t just kick me—”

“I am, Simon. I’m asking you to do exactly what you wanted to do when you got that apartment. Get the hell out. Leave us the hell alone. And after I’m traded, it’s all yours.” He pointed again at the door. “But get. Out.”

They stared at each other for a long, tense moment. I held my breath, wondering which way this was going to go.

I silently begged Simon to leave. Anthony needed him gone, and selfish or not, so did I. My PTSD triggers weren’t related to people screaming at me or threatening me, but fight-or-flight absolutely stomped all over those psychological landmines. The combat-traumatized part of my brain couldn’t tell the difference between “this asshole might take a swing at me” and “bullets are about to start flying.”

Get out, fucker, I wanted to plead as I watched Simon stare Anthony down. I prayed Anthony had the backbone to hold his ground, and I prayed like hell he didn’t need to.

Simon stepped closer to Anthony, and I held my breath.

“You wanted to go public,” he said through his teeth. “So now we’ve gone public.”

“I wanted to tell the team so we didn’t get fucked,” Anthony hissed back.

“Uh-huh. And then you could flaunt your bum of a boyfriend everywhere to humiliate me. Is that it?”

Anthony blinked. “I’m not trying to flaunt anything! I just want to move on with my life and stop pretending we’re a goddamned couple.”

“Yeah. Okay. So you coincidentally decide you can’t deal with it around the time you’re shacking up with him.” He gestured sharply at me.

Anthony exhaled. “For fuck’s sake. Look.” He squared his shoulders and locked eyes with Simon again, but when he spoke, he just sounded tired. “You’ve outed our breakup, painted me as a cheater, and fucked my reputation. You’ve thrown my goddamned career off the rails just for spite.” He spread his arms. “Are you done? Or is there still something you want to ruin for me?”

Simon glared at him, lips pulled tight and nostrils flaring. I tensed, ready for them to be off and screaming at each other again.

Thank God, though, Simon snarled something at Anthony… and then left.

The slamming door made me jump out of my skin, but the relief that washed over me made my knees unsteady. I sat on the couch and let Lily lean against me as I caught my breath. I was shaking as the adrenaline drained away, and she was shaking a little too.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I murmured to her as I stroked her short coat. “I’m so sorry.”

Her tail wagged and she licked my face. God, I did not deserve this dog. I was glad I’d put Simon in his fucking place, even if it meant hitting some of my mental tripwires, but I hated that it had come at Lily’s expense.

Anthony sank onto the couch beside me and rested his hand between my shoulders. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” I turned to him. “What about you?”

He dropped his gaze. “I’m… It’s been a rough morning.”

“Did he really tell the tabloids?”

Wincing, Anthony nodded. “Yeah. Tandy had it posted before I’d even sat down with the club, so…”

My heart sank. “So you didn’t have a chance to tell them the way you wanted to.”

Eyes still down, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“It’s not your fault.” He rubbed my back gently. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Especially because I had no idea he was going to come here and…”

---