Page 90 of Before I Loved You

Everything. Is. Fucking. Red.

“I’m going to kill him,” I say, sounding calm when it’s the last thing I feel.

Glen grabs my arm and pulls me on the bench beside him. “Listen, we don’t know for sure what kind of video it is.”

I glare at him.

“Okay, maybe it is that kind of video.” He scrunches his face and reaches into his bag for a sports drink. “You know, shit like this makes me queasy. I can’t deal with this stress.” He guzzles his drink as he rubs his stomach. “I doubt either of us could get into his computer anyway. It’s more secure than the President’s.”

“He practically sleeps with it,” I note. “Doesn’t let it out of his sight.” I massage my aching temple. “Why didn’t she fucking ask me to do this for her? I’m the one who taught you how to do this shit.”

“Maybe she’s embarrassed and doesn’t want you seeing what’s on the video.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“And like hell, I’ll be letting you see what’s on the video,” I state, tucking the phone under my arm.

He chuckles.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I know. I know. I laugh when I’m nervous.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Have you ever mentioned to her that you can do this kind of stuff? That you’re a badass when it comes to computers.”

I shake my head. “No. The one time she saw my computer in my room, she freaked out and—”

Everything around me freezes.

She didn’t freak out about my computer.

She freaked out about the tiny camera sitting on top of my computer.

She freaked out because she was worried I filmed her when I would never do something like that.

But someone else might.

Someone like Greyson.

My knuckles ache as I grip the edge of the metal bench. An unfamiliar animalistic roar escapes from my lips as I fight with everything inside me not to go out on that court right now and murder Greyson.

Standing abruptly, I punch the closest thing next to me: a metal locker, splitting the skin on a couple of my knuckles. A few droplets of blood spiral a path down the back of my hand and then onto the floor.

“Shit, man.” Glen pulls my arm back. “You’ll break a finger and be out for the rest of the season. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t care!” My chest heaves as I slam both fists against the wall, panic engulfing me. The pounding of my heart beats erratically beneath my rib cage. My throat goes dry as I gasp for air. “I can’t fucking breathe!”

“Paul, take a deep breath.” He steps away, giving me space. “Talk to me, man.”

I drop my head, closing my eyes.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

“It was him,” I say in a cracked whisper.

“What was?”

“Greyson. He fucking filmed her without her knowing. I know it was him. I’m going to kill him, Glen. I’m going to make him pay for what he did to my girl.”

“Okay, but how about you take a seat first.” Glen guides me back on the bench and hands me a bottle of water. “Listen”—he places his hand on my shoulder—“you’re coming up with a scenario in your head when you don’t know that’s what actually happened.”

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