Page 7 of The Revenge Agenda

My thoughts are flying. Zipping through my head is every moment with Ian, every word, every I love you, every shared vulnerability whispered in the dark. And sure, most of those vulnerabilities were mine, but he shared too, and now I have no clue whether the things he told me were real or a lie.

I guess it makes sense now why he called me Hunter that one time.

Pain shatters through my chest.

I’m lost, confused about what even is happening and how my perfect relationship could be ripped away so easily. But the bitterness is creeping in too. The reminder that his forgetfulness was just like me, that his scatteredness, his quirks, the reason he couldn’t get a promotion …

“It’s like we’re made for each other, Rush. No one understands me like you do.”

That. Fucker. I bet he doesn’t have ADHD at all. I bet that’s why he’s always chronically on time for everything. I mean, the guy makes a plan for the day, and he … does it! No issues. No detours. No fun breaks. His socks are always matching and in the same place, for fuck’s sake.

I should have seen right through him from the start.

I’d been so swept up in having someone who finally understood, on an actual level, not an oh, I saw a video about that level.

With a grunt, I curl forward, pressing my palm to my eye socket to try and hold back the tears. He doesn’t deserve them, and maybe they’re not even completely for him, but it hurts. The way my heart’s burning shouldn’t be normal, and hey, maybe I’ll take a page out of my roommate Xander’s book and be having a heart attack instead.

I laugh morbidly at the thought of being rushed to the hospital and having him turn up at my bed apologizing. It’s embarrassing how much I want that. How much I need to see him. Talk to him. Ask him why.

The coat sitting on top of mine slips a little, and I tug it back up again. Which only makes me feel worse. It’s a fucking nice coat. Soft. Warmer than mine. Makes sense since Hunter was hotter than me too. Taller. Bigger muscles. Squarer jaw.

He made me feel like a dumb kid.

And a horrible person. I’ll never forget the torn-up look on his face.

Engaged?

The stupid tears hit again, and I wish this was one of those times I could quickly forget everything, but the sickly feeling infecting me is making it hard to move on. I feel like my whole chest has been opened up and I can’t put it back together again.

The driver pulls up out the front of my house. “You okay?” he asks.

I nod numbly and stagger out of the car. I’m trying to pull it together, trying to mask the way I’m unraveling, but that ship has long since sailed because the second I step through the front door and spot my best friend and roommate Madden, I lose it.

I’m sobbing like I haven’t in a long time.

“Whoa, Rush …” Madden closes the distance between us and pulls me into a hug. His bare shoulder is warm from the heat, and I bury my face into it, letting myself fall apart.

He holds me together until I’m done.

“Not that I don’t love this impromptu snuggle session, but being dick out is usually my thing.” As a nudist or naturalist or whatever the hell he wants to call it, he’s right. He pulls back so he can study my face. “What happened?”

I’m torn on which thread to pick at first.

He lied. Cheated. On me? With me? Made me feel wonderful and then horrible. Called me names. Threw me out on the street. Made me face his fiancé. Freeze. No phone. No bag. No shoes.

I hiccup a sob. “He has a Hunter.”

“A …” Madden shakes his head and then shouts, “Bertha, assemble!”

I jump. “Excuse me?”

“Trying something new.”

“Interesting. Maybe try not to scare the shit out of me next time.”

“What the truck was that?” Seven growls, thundering down the stairs.

“Rush needs us.”

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