Page 101 of Quake

Damien takes the opportunity to shove me in the chest, but I grab his hands, wrenching them off me, and throw a punch that clips his jaw, the crunch of bone reverberating under my knuckles.That’s gonna leave a mark.

His eyes blaze as they meet mine.

“Enlighten me, Damien. Not only did you take my best friend from me, but you tried to fuckingreplacehim too. What’s next?What more do you want?” I shout, my voice growing louder with every word.

“You’re fucking crazier than I’d thought,” he spits, blood-tinged saliva pooling out of his mouth. “He’s the one who played me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I scoff, shifting my position to angle myself in front of Lark. She doesn’t think I notice her moving subtly closer to me, but she’s wrong.I notice everything about her.

His face drops, hands falling slack to his sides. “He never texted me back,” he breathes out. “And then he died.”

It hits me then.He really didn’t know.

Remorse dawns on Damien’s face, his split lower lip hanging as he stares at me, glassy-eyed.

I realize what’s happening a second too late. He collapses to the ground, a sob wracking his body, and guilt floods all of my senses.

Shit.

“I told you to walk away, didn’t I?” I hear Alex’s snarky voice invade my thoughts once more.

Reporters start to crowd our space, and panic seizes my lungs. I drop to my knees beside him, lowering my mouth to his ear as I say, “I’m not sure what the fuck is going on, but you don’t want to do this here. Get the hell up.” I practically plead for him not to involve my family in yet another scandal. His limp body makes no effort to move.

I groan, annoyance whispering through me as I make a split-second decision to actuallyhelpthis douchebag.

“That’s more like it,” Alex snarks from the recesses of my mind.Oh, you fucking shut it. Even from wherever the hell you wound up, you still manage to be a royal pain in my ass.

I tug Damien up, my arms supporting his weight from under his armpits as I drag him across the field toward the locker rooms.

The glare I shoot the guys at our entry is more than enough to send them all running out of the locker room to give us some privacy.

Once I let him go, he slouches down onto the bench, his shoulders slumped forward. I crouch down in front of him, snapping my fingers in his face, and he shows no sign that he notices.

“Hey, you’ve gotta tell me what the hell is going on,” I demand, feeling clueless.

His brown eyes slowly make their ascent to meet mine, but instead of being fueled with his normal bad attitude and snark, they’re filled with sadness.

“I…” He chokes on another sob. “I did this,” he finishes.

“Did what?” I ask, confused, but quickly remember the words I’d just recently spoken to him out of anger and spite.

“I’m the reason he’s dead,” he says. His head hangs limply against his chest, his body shaking with the effort it takes him to suck in enough air to keep himself afloat.

“Listen,” I say, doing my absolute best to sound comforting and not like a massive prick. “You had nothing to do with his death. I just…” I grip the hair at the nape of my neck in frustration. “I said those things out of anger. It doesn’t make them true, but I’m really gonna need you to fill me in here. I barely even know you, and the only interactions we’ve had have been filled with nothing but homophobic slurs and lies. Alex was my best friend, but I wasn’t his lover. And even if I were, what the hell does it matter to you?” I ask, unable to hide how much his words have bothered me over the last few months.

“I know you weren’t,” he says, his voice so small it’s barely a whisper. “Because I was.”

It takes my mind several seconds to catch up, and when it finally does, my world comes crashing down around me in waves of frustration and understanding. “You and Alex.” I breathe, and he nods his head to confirm it.

“That’s why he was so adamant about picking you up,” I say, more for myself than for him. “Why didn’t he ever tell me?” I ask, not sure that I really want the answer.

“Because I begged him not to tell you. Hehatedhiding it from you, but I can’t come out. I can’t have people knowing I’m gay,” he explains. “People are bad enough as it is, but in the world of men’s sports? It carries a stigma far heavier than I’m able to bear.I just couldn’t handle it. I don’t want to put a target on my back, and when I texted Alex, he said you guys would come get me but that he was done hiding our relationship and that we’d have to, at a minimum, tell you.I thought I was ready.” He whispers that last sentence. Silent tears drain down his cheeks now. “He said he’d text me when he was on his way, but the text never came, so I thought he’d changed his mind about being with me,” he cries, sucking in a breath.

“I don’t know how I never realized it before,” he sobs, his emotions ebbing and flowing with each passing moment. “I’m the reason he’s gone.”

“No,” I tell him firmly, my hands gripping his shoulders. “I was the one driving that car, and evenIwasn’t responsible for his death. For the longest time, I blamed myself. And then I blamed you,” I admit, but quickly explain as his tortured expression meets mine. “But we could have gone for a drive for any number of reasons that night. And it wasn’t my fault because while I was driving, I wasn’t the one who was drunk. I wasn’t the one who lost control of my vehicle. Theonlyperson at fault here is the man who made the decision to drink and drive that night, and he’s paying for it by rotting in prison for the rest of his life.”

“Such a small price to pay for the loss of someone so special,” Damien says so quietly that I almost miss it.

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