Page 124 of That's Too Pucking Bad

Without another word, I step toward him. My hands shake as I reach for his pants, my mind racing. This isn’t how I thought this night would go. But as I undress him, I can’t stop myself. Something’s wrong. He’s hurting. And it’s not seeming to be good.

And right now, I need to know what it is.

I stare down at him, my hands shaking as I press against his bruised ribs. Zane winces, his breath catching in his throat. I don’t know what I’m looking at. It’s like he’s been in a goddamn war. His chest is covered in dark purple marks— bruises that look like they’re more than just surface-level. His ribs— one of them might even be broken. The way he winces when I press harder makes my stomach churn.

“What the hell happened to you?” I snap, but there’s only concern in my tone. I can’t focus on the anger right now. Not with him in front of me like this, barely holding it together.

“I tore my adductor. Maybe broke a rib.” His voice is low, strained, but not in a way I’m used to hearing from him. This is different. This is...pain.

I swallow hard, trying not to let the panic take over. “Jesus, Zane. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just shifts a little, like he’s trying to push me off, but he’s too hurt to do anything about it. His eyes flicker up to mine, and I catch a crack in the cold mask he’s always worn. He doesn’t speak, but the look in his eyes is enough. There’s guilt there. Maybe shame.

“You can’t keep doing this,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “You’re killing yourself. You—”

“I have to.” His voice cracks, and I hate the desperation in it. “This is... this is all I’m good for.”

I shake my head, pressing harder against his ribs. He winces again, but his eyes don’t leave mine.

“Stop,” I snap, my chest tight with anger that’s quickly turning into fear. “You’re not some... some fucking machine.You’re not a fucking toy to be broken, Zane. You don’t have to do this.”

I take his face in my hands, and for a second, he looks at me like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to breathe.

“Look at me.” I don’t know where the words are coming from, but they feel important. “You’re more than this. You’resmart, you’reattentive, you work your ass off for what you want. And you’re relentless as hell when you set your mind to something. I don’t give a shit if you’re not somefairy-taleprince. You are everything to me.”

His eyes narrow, and I see the doubt there. “You don’t want someone like me, Remy. You don’t want a broken person.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “You’re not broken, you’re just a little misshapen, but I fucking love every jagged piece of you.”

He stares at me like I’m insane, but there’s this moment, this weird, fragile moment, where I think he might believe me.

“I love you,” I say, almost in a whisper, but I mean it with everything I have.

His face softens. “Remy…”

“I love you,” I repeat, even though I’m starting to feel like I’m about to drown in it.

And before I know it, his lips are on mine. It’s not gentle. It’s not slow. It’s desperate, a little broken, like we’re trying to piece ourselves together with the only thing that’s ever made sense between us— thismesswe’ve created.

He pulls back after a second. “I hate these fucking parties.”

I can’t help but laugh, even though there are tears in my eyes. “Then let’s go home.”

He looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t, like he’s too tired, too...doneto even try. Slowly, he starts dressing, each movement slower than the last. My stomach flips every time I catch a glimpse of the bruises, the battered skin that tells a story I don’t even want to hear.

But he’s not going to tell me. I know that now. I’m going to have to piece it together myself. And I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that, but I can’t sit here and watch him break.

I help him with his shirt. His body shudders under my touch, but it’s not from what I expect. He’s not just hurt— he’sexhausted. Something is wrong with him, and I’m not going to let him ignore it.

“Zane, you need to rest. You’re...” I can’t even find the words. He’s destroyed. But he doesn’t need me to tell him that. He already knows.

“Let’s just go home,” he says again, but this time, it sounds like a question. He doesn’t look at me, like he’s afraid if he does, he’ll fall apart completely.

I take his hand, and the way he grips mine makes me feel like he might snap. I want to tell him it’s going to be okay, but I can’t promise him that. Not when everything between us is so fucking broken.

We leave the party in silence. The noise of it— the music, the people, the laughter— is far behind us now. It’s just the two of us, walking side by side, but it feels like we’re miles apart.

When we reach the car, I glance at him one last time, my chest tight with everything unsaid.

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