Page 93 of Whistle

He doesn’t want me either. Thrown away again.

The pleasant humming beneath my skin from earlier was gone, having turned into what felt a lot like the aftershocks of being tased. This time when I laid my hand on my chest, it wasn’t to verify my heart was still there. It was because I wished I could rip it out and throw it aside.

“You made an ass out of yourself, Rush,” Emmett declared, and I wished I could shrink to nothing. The sound of car keys jingling filled the room. “Go get his bags from my car so he can change. Then get to practice. I expect Olympic-level swimming out of you this a.m.”

Rush took the keys and went out the front door.

“Dad,” Landry said.

“It’s fine, ladybug.”

“But I?—”

“I said it’s fine,” he repeated, firmer this time but softened by his kiss on the top of her head. “Though, I do question your taste in men.”

“Dad,” she groaned.

A couple bags hit the floor by my feet. Blindly, I grabbed the duffle and hurried back up the stairs to change.

Rush called my name behind me, but I kept going.

In the bathroom, I leaned against the closed door, sucking in gulping breaths. Tears stung my eyes, and the tip of my nose burned. This bathroom smelled like him. I smelled like him.

Ripping off the shirt I’d been so happy to wear just minutes ago, I gave a frustrated yell and balled it up in my fist. On impulse, I rushed across the room and shoved it into the toilet. A sob caught in my throat as I watched the fabric soak up the water in the bowl.

After a moment, I slammed the lid, the sound thundering through the room, and quickly jammed my hand into my bag. A couple pairs of delicates fell onto the floor as I rifled through the clothes, and seeing them was like a punch to the gut.

I threw them in the toilet too.

Only then did I dress, choosing to go commando in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. After jamming my feet into a pair of black-and-white-checkered Vans, I grabbed my bag and fled downstairs to the front door.

The second I stepped off the bottom step, a firm hand collared the back of my neck. I spun, using the momentum to swing my bag, slamming it into Emmett.

He cursed and bent forward, his hand dislodged from my neck.

I rushed forward, but he caught me again, this time locking his arms around me from behind. Another sob caught in my throat as I thought about how different this embrace had been when I’d just crawled out of his bed.

“Let go,” I ground out, violence turning my voice deep.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

I laughed. “If you knew what I was thinking, you’d know not to touch me.”

“Please listen.”

“I think I’ve heard enough.”

“I did what I had to do,” he said, a grim finality in his tone.

It sliced through me. The pain was so sharp that I went slack in his arms. “Yeah, you had to say all that shit last night and then act like I was gum on the bottom of your shoe this morning.”

“I didn’t act like that,” he snapped.

“You don’t get to tell me how I feel!” I raged, ripping out of his arms. I wrenched away so hard that the bag slapped into my leg and knocked me sideways.

I landed in a heap on the floor, my palm stinging from taking the brunt of the fall.

Emmett cursed and reached for me.

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