Page 138 of When Hearts Collide

“Shit, Ryland. Why are you doing this to yourself?” Ethan murmurs, eyeing the sores on my hands as we walk toward the locker room. “Come on, it’s the press. They’re ridiculous. That’s nothing new. We’ll weather this. We’re the Andersons. A little tarnish on our name won’t hurt us. It’s not your fault.”

Loathing. Hatred. Guilt. Anger. Worry.

And pain. So much fucking pain.

The storm never ends.

“I’m a fuck-up. If it weren’t for me, everything would go along fine. Our reputation, our legacy…everything is now at risk because of my selfishness. I don’t deserve you guys or the family and grandfather is probably rolling in his grave.”

“Bullshit!” Rex retorts, “That’s fucking bullshit right there. I get it, I really do. The pressures of being part of this family is enough to drive anyone crazy sometimes. Maintaining the stiff upper lip and upholding our family name. You’ve tried your best, but you’re human too. Everyone is allowed some mistakes.”

He points to himself. “I’m the family fuck-up, and you can’t take that title away from me, B.”

With that parting comment, he pushes me into a shower stall and turns the water into the temperature of the Arctic. “Now get your ass cleaned up and come back out. We’re taking you somewhere.”

Half an hour later, Ethan pushes me into the backseat of his SUV and even tries to fasten my seatbelt for me. The damn guy acts like he’s a suburban dad when he’s the youngest male of our family. Rex gets into the front passenger seat as Ethan starts the car and exits the underground parking garage.

“Where are you guys taking me?” I place my forehead on the cool window, watching the golds and reds of streetlights and taillights streak past me.

“Floyd Bennett Field. There’s a race tonight and Maxwell and the other guys are meeting us there,” Ethan responds.

“You sure you want me behind a wheel tonight?” I snort.

“For Christ’s sake, you aren’t going to drive. Not over my dead body,” Rex retorts, his eyes meeting mine when he twists over in his seat and glares at me. “We at least have to get you out of the building, B. Small steps. I hate to see you like this.”

I don’t respond. I just stare into the night and watch the wind swaying the trees, my eyes eventually closing as I drift off into an uneasy sleep where I’m running in the endless fields, the breeze caressing my face, a sweet voice laughing in front of me, a flutter of long brown strands in my peripheral vision.

“Wake up, we’re here.”

Rex shakes me in what feels like a few minutes later, but I know time must have elapsed as I hear the loud cheers from the crowds gathered at the abandoned airfield outside.

The smell of burned rubber is acrid as flashy cars swivel onto the large stretch of land then screech to a stop at the end of the airstrip.

Girls in short leather skirts and even skimpier tops, like it’s the middle of summer as opposed to the beginning of spring, wave around flags as people rush toward the drivers getting out of their cars.

I can smell the excitement, the fear, the adrenaline in the air, but I can’t feel an iota of…anything.

Following my brothers toward the vehicles, I ignore the hollers of the crowd, who no doubt recognize me even though I look like a caveman with my facial hair and T-shirt and jeans attire.

Maxwell’s familiar silhouette steps out of the winning car and is met with shrieks and cheers. He’s walking in our direction with the swagger of someone who has just won the street race we organize quarterly for other rich people who have no care for their lives. There’s a sharpness in his eyes as they sweep through the crowd and land on the three of us.

A muscle twitches in his jaw, and he quickens his strides. I see the black-haired, tall silhouette of Steven and the unmistakable blond hair from Charles right behind him.

He reaches me a few seconds later.

“Good. You came out.” Maxwell cracks his knuckles.

Smack.

His fist flies to my face, knocking the air out of my lungs, and my vision swirls.

“Maxwell!” Steven gasps in horror and he leaps forward to hold back my twin, who looks like he wants to follow that punch with another hook.

“Your painting hand!” Ethan’s eyes widen in shock as Maxwell shakes out his right hand, which he’s usually careful with because the man loves his art.

“What the fuck, dude? You said to bring him out so he can get some fresh air, not to beat the shit out of him,” Rex yells.

The sharp pain spirals from my jaw to the rest of my body, and I heave in mouthfuls of oxygen. The black dots clear from my eyes. I wipe my mouth and find my hand streaked with blood from a cut on my lip.

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