Page 19 of Thrown

Toby’s heart sank, and all the anger that he’d successfully shoved aside so that he could have fun rushed back on him.

It was always the same. Nothing would ever change. He could fight as hard as he could, looking like he might win for a few seconds, but the rich and privileged would always drag him down again. And they’d cheat to do it, offering him something he wanted only to yank it away again.

As soon as Robbie stepped back, Toby rolled to the side, then pushed himself to his hands and knees before standing. He hated the feeling of losing. Not just losing a silly game that no one really cared about. He hated knowing that the deck was stacked against him and he couldn’t win, no matter what he did.

“I’m done with this,” he said to no one in particular, marching back over the tracks to the corner where spare armor and weapons were kept. He fumbled with the buckles of his padding and helmet, anxious to get them off.

“Now you’re just being a sore loser,” Robbie said as he joined Toby in the back corner.

“You cheated,” Toby hurled at him. “Your kind always cheats.”

“My kind?” Robbie asked incredulously, yanking off his helmet. “What kind are you talking about? Artists?”

“You know what I mean,” Toby seethed at him.

“You’re the one who started playing to the crowd,” Robbie argued. “I was just following your lead. Or are you upset that someone else got the applause instead of you?”

Toby had just yanked his padding off, and he threw it to the ground in front of Robbie’s feet without a word. His helmet came off and was thrown down on top of it a moment later.

The problem was, Robbie was right. He’d started something, and when it didn’t go his way, he’d taken it personally. It was a bad habit he’d thought he’d overcome. That only made it worse, really. Robbie Hawthorne had gotten under his skin so badly that he’d dredged up everything about himself that he’d tried to push aside.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair, then turning to walk off.

Even that felt like a defeat. It was what he did when he lost. He turned around and walked away instead of fighting when it really mattered.

Only this time, he didn’t get a chance to storm off to lick his wounds.

“That was sensational,” Mr. Hawthorne said, heading toward them through the edge of the crowd. “You guys were fantastic.”

It wasn’t Mr. Hawthorne that had caught Toby’s attention, though. Standing on the edge of the crowd, as if they’d been there the whole time, watching the spectacle, were Keith and John.

Toby glanced back over his shoulder to Robbie, who stood panting and frustrated, watching Keith and John as well. So that’s what the kiss had been all about. Robbie hadn’t been trying to tempt him, he’d been playing it up for his wanker ex. Toby didn’t know whether to feel insulted or impressed by Robbie’s daring.

SEVEN

Things were gettingout of control. It was embarrassing. Robbie knew he was better than to stoop to tricks, like kissing Tillman in front of the crowd, to win. Worse still, he knew he’d done it not to win a silly fake jousting tournament, but because he’d spotted Keith and John at the back of the crowd, watching him.

It had been petty and small, and Tillman had been absolutely right to be angry. It was never okay to force that kind of intimacy on someone without making damn certain it was what they wanted. And it was a good thing his dad had come along when he had, because with Keith still on the periphery and his blood still pumping hard with the effects of the kiss, Robbie wasn’t certain what he would have done or what kind of trouble he would have caused.

Because that had been one hell of a kiss, despite all the reasons it’d happened.

The implications were too terrifying for Robbie to think about, so he threw all of his focus into his dad instead.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the entertainment,” he mumbled, uncertain what his dad must think of him just then.

But of course, there was nothing Robert Hawthorne loved more than a bit of spectacle, especially when his kids were involved.

“Look at the crowd you’ve drawn,” he said, reaching Robbie at last and thumping his back. “Everyone loved it. They were cheering along, booing and hissing the villain. You make an excellent villain, Toby,” he added with a wink.

Robbie expected Tillman to go off on his dad and give him just as much of an earful about classist societies and privilege, which seemed to be the particular bone he had to gnaw on where Robbie was concerned. Instead, Tillman actually smiled and looked pleased.

“Thanks, Mr. Hawthorne,” he said, actually taking the compliment. He stretched a little, like he was trying to impress someone, then said, “That was actually fun.”

Robbie clenched his fists for a moment. What the hell? He knew Tillman’s problem was with him and not necessarily his family, but what was with the whole preening for Dad as if….

A niggle formed in the back of Robbie’s head. As if his dad were Tillman’s father and he’d done something to make him proud.

There was so much to unpack there that Robbie didn’t know where to start. If he had any sense of pride or self-awareness, he needed to start with the part of himself that felt warm over the way Dad accepted Tillman so readily. Those feelings were definitely connected to the reasons he’d kissed Tillman, and it wasn’t because of Keith.

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