Page 80 of When Hearts Collide

She waves us over. “Come in, girls. Don’t be wimps. This place is safe, trust me.”

Belle clutches my hand tightly as I drag her inside the building with me, finding Grace and Taylor standing there, dressed in camo clothing, like they’re about to storm into a war zone.

“What are we doing here?”

The place is equally creepy inside, the cement walls decorated with more graffiti, the florescent lighting flickering on and off. The randomness of this location momentarily distracts me from my emotions over Ryland.

Grace waves her hand around. “A few friends in our old neighborhood told us about this place. It’s all the rage online these days.”

“Ha. Rage. I see what you did there,” Taylor snickers.

Grace grins. “This is a rage room, or rage building, to be more exact. We pay a small fee to rent a room filled with crap and you can throw things, damage anything, and just vent out your frustrations in a safe and healthy manner. Better than bottling them up inside.”

I gape. “This was what you meant when you said you had my back earlier? I wanted to talk, not inflict violence.”

Tay links her arm with mine and leads me to a door. “It was more my idea. I think ice cream and crying are fine and all that, but sometimes throwing a flat screen against the wall really hits the spot. I think this is one of those times. That fucker. We can vent and then discuss options.”

My mind reels from everything as we enter the room, which is dimly lit by a single florescent lamp and resembles an indoor scrap yard. The cement walls here are also streaked with paint, hastily scribbled curse words and other artwork. Broken furniture such as a slashed sofa, a small wooden table missing a leg, and other fragile items like vases and bowls litter the room.

Grace hands us each a plastic suit, which can be a costume out of an apocalyptic movie, and a pair of goggles. “Suit up!”

Five minutes later, we’re decked out in safety gear, and I look at Taylor. “Now what?”

“Pick up anything, throw it at the wall! Pretend it’s Ryland.”

I gnaw on my lip and pick up a small ceramic cup. My fingers tremble, but my feet stay rooted.

“Like this!”

Smash.

Glass shatters against the wall as Taylor hurls a vase at a shadowed corner, all the while yelling, “Fuck you, older brother, for hurting my best friend. I can hate you and love you at the same time!”

“Yes!” More crashing and smashing as Grace’s eyes take on a feral glint.

She grabs a golf club from somewhere and whacks at a sad-looking table. “And Steven, I love you, but you hurt my fucking heart when you disappeared, leaving me to worry sick about you. Thank God you came to your senses, but I still have residual anger!”

My eyes widen and I gape at the Peyton sisters, who are busy flinging all types of crap at the walls, wreaking havoc and destruction in the tiny room.

Then, next to me, Belle lets out a growl and chucks an old toaster to the floor. “And I hate arranged marriages. It’s archaic, it’s barbaric, it’s fucking ridiculous. I hate it. I. Hate. It!”

Our heads swivel toward our elegant friend, finding her face red with fury, her sleek black hair swinging wildly in the air as she stomps on some broken glass, her chest huffing and puffing from exertion.

“What arranged marriage?” Grace asks, the golf club still in her hands.

Belle freezes like a deer in the headlights and blows out a breath. “Damn, that felt good. And today is not about me, it’s about Millie, but long story short, my parents are looking for suitors for me. It’s the freakin’ twenty-first century and I’m an independent woman, but they won’t listen. I don’t need a man in my life. I can have a fulfilling career, have babies, save the animals, and do it all on my own. I don’t want to talk about it.”

I walk up to her and give her a tight hug. “We’re here for you too.”

She nods and cocks her brow at me. “Millie, you’ve been holding onto that mug like it’s your newborn baby. Let it out. The rage. The hurt. It feels really good.”

I stare at the mug in my hand and think about Ryland—his sinful eyes, his growly voice, the way he plunders my mouth like he can’t get enough, then how he’s acting like an utter asshole and pushing me away, ignoring what we have between us, how he says the damnedest things just to scare me off, and…

How he’s going to fuck another woman to get over me.

Tears spring into my eyes and my chest clenches. My pulse kicks rapidly in my ears, my skin feeling hot and feverish. I hurl the mug against the wall, the loud shatter satisfying to my ears.

“You asshole! You think I’m just going to give up?”

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