Page 19 of Beautifully Conflicted

They outfit us in safety goggles, hard hats, and leather gloves, then turn us loose in a room full of glass, electronics, even furniture. All of which we get to crush to the beat of—wait for it—Rage Against the Machine.

I’m in heaven.

I don’t know what to attack first.

Some of the tables have glasses stacked atop one another, while others have them spread out over the surface. There’s also plates, picture frames, vases, and candleholders in every size and color imaginable. A few tables have laptops, old TVs, monitors, keyboards, and even appliances like toasters and coffeemakers. On the far side of the square room, there’s also a dresser, a coffee table, and an armoire.

Rather than swing my bat furiously, which is tempting, I pick a blue glass vase about two feet tall and picture Damien’s face reflecting backat me. Chocolate eyes gleam mischievously. Those flushed cheeks that frame his white smile. His plump lips…

Plumplips? What the fuck?

Shaking that errant thought from my mind, I wind up and swing for the round curve in the middle of the vase. The bat connects with a glorious crack that quickly erupts into a series of full-blown crunches as the glass shatters and falls to the floor in jagged shards. I stomp over it, relishing the crackle under my shoes, and take a swing at a cluster of candleholders.

“Nice,” Jagger sniggers as he takes his own swing, whooping when a set of wine glasses seem to disintegrate before our eyes. Then he picks up a plate and tosses it toward Cam, who makes contact with a midair collision that sends porcelain fragments flying in all directions.

Now all the safety gear makes sense.

We all take turns swinging at plates like we’re at the batting cages, each of us using a different tool. I’ve got a wooden bat while Cruz has a metal one, Cam has a crowbar, and Jagger has a hammer. Not the kind you hit nails with. The kind I imagine you’d hit railroad stakes with. His forearms flex like it’s heavy as fuck, but it makes a sweet pinging sound, followed by the crunch of shattering china when it connects with the porcelain.

I use it to attack a wooden armoire next, whacking at it over and over again until the door finally buckles and gives way to a splintered hole while my boys cheer me on.

“Good call on the rage room.” Cruz shakes his head as I let my arms fall to my sides, panting after that burst of fury. “At least this way he won’t go down for assault.”

Wiping sweat off my brow with the back of my arm I say, “I’m sorry, would you want to hug the guy that steals Liam away from you.”

Fuck!

The words are out of my mouth before my brain can catch up, and I curse myself for admitting what I never planned to acknowledge out loud.

Of course everyone picks that moment to stop smashing.

Cruz’s mouth is pinched in a firm line, and I can see his chest rise as he prepares to tell me off. But before he can, Jagger says, “He stole your girl?”

I take another swing at the armoire before answering. “Yeah. I saw him sling his arm around her after a game and steer her toward his car, then he looked at me over his shoulder and winked.”

I don’t add that I haven’t dated a girl seriously since. As far as I’m concerned, it’s not relevant given that I haven’t found one I wanted to date. Whether that’s because I’m avoiding situations where I can be cheated on or I’ve hardened my standards is up for debate, but not with these guys. I’ll figure that shit out on my own if I feel the need.

“No wonder you can’t stand him,” Cam says.

Consciously or not, we all look at Cruz, waiting for his response. Instead of looking at the floor or offering a grudging apology, his brows are drawn together in a way that can only mean something doesn’t compute.

“Are you sure he stole your girl?” he asks.

I demolish some flowery looking picture frame. “Am I supposed to come to another conclusion when a guy slings his arm around my date and steers her away?”

“No.” Cruz chews absently on his lip. “It’s just that Liam seems pretty certain Damien’s gay.”

My eyes narrow to little slits as I stare at Cruz.

“Explain,” I grunt.

Cruz waves his hands in front of him in adon’t shoot the messengergesture. “I can’t. All I know is Liam talked to him yesterday while hewas waiting for Aiden. I asked whether Aiden might be interested in Damien, and Liam said he thinks they’re just friendly, but it’s possible since he thinks Damien’s gay. He didn’t say why, and I didn’t ask. I don’t like speculating about other people.”

Cruz didn’t know how he identified before meeting Liam, and even now he never talks about his orientation much less that of others. I’m still not entirely sure how he identifies since Liam is the only person he’s ever been interested in. I figure it doesn’t matter as long as he’s happy.

It makes sense that Cruz wouldn’t press for details about Damien, though. But a small part of me wishes he did. I’d love to know what gave Liam the impression that Damien’s gay.

“Either of you get that vibe from Damien?” I ask Jagger and Cam.

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