Page 130 of A Little Complicated

“Hit. Me,” I growl, pressing my forehead to his as I silently beg and plead for him to let me carry the weight, the burden, the pain I inflicted by kissing Ophelia last night and so many others before it. By grabbing her hips and spurring her on. By letting her rub herself against my cock until she came on top of me, moaning my name—not his—as she did.

“Why?” Archer spits. “So I can make you feel better for touching her? For touching what’s mine?”

Mine.

The word curdles in my stomach, ripping a snarl from my throat and causing my guilt to transform into full-blown rage. “Careful, Archer.”

“About what? About telling you the truth and calling out your bullshit?”

“She isn’t yours.”

“Bullshit,” he spits. “She’s always been—”

I shove at his chest, and he stumbles back, hitting the door trim. Regaining his balance, he charges at me. His shoulder slams into my gut, and the air whooshes from my lungs, knocking the wind out of me in an instant. But I like the burn. I crave it. Digging my fingers into his shirt, I try wrenching him away from me, but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, we tumble to the ground. He straddles my waist and hits me in the jaw. My head swings to the side, and I swear I taste blood as he lands another punch. And another. And another. But I savor these too. The pain. The reminder I’m alive. The reminder I have something worth fighting for. Ignoring the black dots marring my vision, I let him land one more punch, then block his fists with my forearms as I shift beneath him, shoving him off me and cocking my arm back. My expression twists with fury as my knuckles skate across his cheek and crunch against his nose. Blood pours down his face.

Shit, the fucker’s broken. I know it.

The crimson liquid snaps some sense into me, and I let him go, climbing off him and resting my back against the wall as my chest heaves.

He wipes beneath his nose with the back of his hand, assessing the damage with a hostile laugh. “You fucking broke my nose.”

“You deserve it.”

His brows lift. “Ideserve it?”

“Yeah.”

“You hooked up with my girlfriend,” he reminds me.

“Ex-girlfriend.”

“So it was only the one time, huh?" he challenges.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So there were other times,” he assumes.

“I’m not gonna talk bullshit timelines with you,” I growl. “And I’m sorry about what happened. I really am. But she isn’t yours.”

“Fuck that.”

“She isn’t,” I repeat through clenched teeth.

“Is that how you justify it, brother? Because we broke up, she was, what? Fair game?” He shakes his head, letting the blood drip off his chin and onto his shirt without giving a shit about the inevitable stains like he normally would.

“Tell me this,” I add. “Are you pissed she moved on withme, or are you pissed she moved on at all?”

“You think I didn’t see how she looks at you?” he questions. “You think I didn’t notice the way she stared? I figured, hey. Look at the bright side. My girlfriend must be attracted to me physically since she can’t stop staring at my twin. That’s gotta count for something, right? But she wouldn’tdoanything. It’s Ophelia. The girl doesn’t have a thoughtless bone in her body, and I’m her best friend. She wouldn’t do that to me. And my brother? My fuckingtwin? There’s no way he’d stab me in the back by touching her.” Another scoff slips out of him as he pushes to his feet. “Guess the joke’s on me.”

He closes his bedroom door, leaving me alone in the hallway with nothing but my guilt as company.

Fuck.

42

OPHELIA

I’ve been lying in bed for hours, unable to move without bawling my eyes out. Then again, even when I’m not moving, I’m still a sobbing mess.

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