Page 7 of Pretty When He Bleeds

I roll my eyes and crush the Gatorade bottle in my hands, the plastic crumbling under my fingers. “What the fuck do you want me to do, Kill? Invite him over for coffee and have a heart-to-heart?”

Killian snorts. “Nah, you’re too much of a jackass to pull that off. But you’re good at getting under people’s skin. Push him. See how much the fucker knows.”

“And what if he knows everything?” I glare at him. “You think he’ll just sit on that shit? Damon Ward isn’t exactly the picture of mental stability, Kill. If he finds out, I’m fucked.”

He looks at me for a moment, those blue eyes of his picking me apart the way only he can. “If he wanted to destroy you, he would have done so by now. The fact that he’s playing coy means he’s feeling you out. So, play back. Don’t give him the power to make you sweat.”

I scoff. “You make it sound so fucking easy.”

“It’s not, but you’re Roman fucking Bishop. Blackthorne U’s resident wrecking ball who doesn’t take shit from anyone,” he says, slinging an arm around my neck. “Don’t let him see that he’s got you rattled.”

I don’t answer right away, because I fucking hate that wrecking ball moniker.

Don’t let him see he’s got you rattled. I’m pretty damn sure he knows I’m rattled.

I shove him away and toss the crushed bottle in the trash. “I’ll deal with it,” I mutter more to myself than Kill.

He arches a brow. “Deal with it how?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, heading toward the stairs. “Just stay out of it, okay?”

“Like hell, I will,” he calls after me, but I’m already halfway up the stairs. I shut the door when I get to my bedroom and lean back against it. The noise from downstairs still filters through, but it’s not as hectic as it was before.

I find myself slowly calming down as I head to my bed and faceplant, then immediately regret it because of my aching ribs. But as I lie there, my mind starts replaying everything.

Killian is right. I need to find out what Damon really wants and why he’s here before he decides to make a move. But the thought of facing him again, to look into those eyes that remind me so much of Caleb, makes my stomach twist in the worst way.

I grab my phone and scroll to Caleb’s number. I still have it saved even though it’s long been disconnected, but the urge to call him is so fucking strong, it hurts. Instead, I toss the phone next to me and breathe out a sigh that makes me hurt all over.

The knock on my door makes me flinch and I look up to see Killian poke his head in. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I lie.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this again but don’t let this guy fuck with your head. You’ve already got your own shit to deal with.”

I glare at him. “Thanks for the pep talk, dad.”

“You’re welcome, son,” he says without missing a beat, smirking like I didn’t just glare at him. He lingers for a moment before he shrugs and walks out, finally leaving me alone with my own thoughts.

Damon

It’swarmtoday,butthe sun’s doing fuck all against the chill in the air. Not that I care. I’m sitting on a bench between the media and art building, smoking and doomscrolling.

I’m already halfway through my smoke when I see him walking out of the media building looking as broody as ever. He doesn’t see me at first and I take that moment to take him in. Same hazel eyes, same brown hair, same confident gait that does nothing but piss me off.

He hasn’t changed much. Still acts like he’s untouchable. Still full of shit.

I make sure the cherry on my smoke flares when he finally notices me. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him stopping, and I know he’s deciding whether to ignore me or confront me. I hope it’s the latter.

Then his shadow falls over me and I can’t help but smirk.

“You stalking me now, Ward?”

I glance up and exhale a slow stream of smoke that curls lazily around my head. “Relax, Hotshot. Art and Media studies are right opposite each other.”

He clenches his fists at the nickname I know he hates, but he doesn’t bite. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me. “You got something you wanna say to me?”

I take another slow drag of my cigarette, letting the silence stretch just long enough to piss him off. “You’re wound tight. It must be so exhausting to be you.”

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