Page 89 of That's Too Pucking Bad

“I’ve got a game Saturday,” he says after a beat, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Against Notre Dame.”

“That’s a big one, right?”

“Yeah.” He smirks. “I want you there.”

I nod, setting the flowers on the table. “Okay.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping my cheek. His touch is possessive, grounding. “Talk to me, Remy.”

I close my eyes, leaning into his palm. “Colin was here,” I whisper.

His hand drops, his entire body tensing. “What?”

I take a step back, wrapping my arms around myself. “Trevor, I mean. Colin’s brother. He… he saw us at the store and—”

“And what?” His voice is sharp now, the softness gone.

“He was so upset. I don’t know if Colin didn’t tell him about the breakup, but that doesn’t make sense because they’re close. He asked if I was sleeping with you,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

“And?”

“And I didn’t deny it.”

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists. “So what’s the problem?”

I look away, my chest tightening.I’m a liar, a cheater, a bad person. No, a horrible fucking person. A little slut. I didn’t just hurt Colin, I hurt others I didn’t intend to.

I inhale, “He was… angry. Hurt. I don’t know. It just—”

“Remy.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, low and firm. “I don’t give a damn what he thinks. Or what anyone fucking thinks. I care about you. About us. But you need to make a choice.”

My heart races at the sound of that. “What?”

“Me or him,” he says, his eyes burning into mine. “Because I’m not going to share you. Not with him. Not with anyone.”

I stare at him, my mind spinning. This isn’t fair. “Zane.”

“Choose,” he demands, stepping closer.

“I choose you,” I say quickly, the words tumbling out before I can think.

He exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly. But then his eyes narrow again. “Then you’re done with him. With all of them. I mean it, Remy. No texts, no calls, nothing.”

I nod, swallowing hard. I can’t just shut off my emotions, but what else am I supposed to say? That I feel like shit? I stare into Zane’s determined eyes. He’s serious, so I mutter, “Okay.”

He studies me for a long moment, then pulls me into his arms. “Good. Now, let’s forget about him. It’s just us, got it?”

“Got it,” I whisper against his chest, hoping it’s enough.

The mirror doesn’t lie.

I stand in front of it, studying my reflection. My skin is marked in shades of red and purple, like watercolor smudges. His handprints are still faint on my hips, and my thighs ache with every step.

Zane didn’t just fuck me. He claimed me. Again. And again. And every time, he made me say it.“I’m yours.”Over and over until I believed it. Until I was too wrecked to say anything else.

I brush my fingers over the bruises on my neck, biting the inside of my cheek. It’s raw—too much, too fast—and yet, I let him. No, I wanted him to.

The hot water from the shower scalds my skin, but it’s grounding. I scrub until my muscles ache, hoping the sting will clear my head. By the time I step out, I feel cleaner, but not lighter.

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