Page 68 of Don't Puck Your Best Friend’s Girl

Time stutters, fragments. A drop of crimson appears on her lower lip, bright against her skin. The sight of her blood infuriates me. I surge upward, catching Byron around the waist and driving him backward. We crash into the coffee table together, the wood splintering beneath his weight with a satisfying crack.

"Don't you ever fucking touch her again," I growl, hands fisted in his shirt, holding him pinned among the wreckage.

Byron struggles beneath me, his breath coming in pained gasps. The fight drains from his eyes, replaced by shock at the sudden reversal. Over my shoulder, I hear the front door open and close.

Saylor.

I release Byron and spin around, racing to the door. It swings open only to see her already halfway down the hallway, moving fast, one hand pressed to her bleeding lip. Byron scrambles to his feet, following me as I chase her.

"Get back in your house," I warn over my shoulder, "before I rip your fucking head off."

I don't wait to see if he complies. Saylor has already reached the stairwell, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I catch up to her at the landing, gently turning her to face me, pulling her into my arms.

She fights against me immediately, fists beating against my chest. "You asshole!" she cries, voice fracturing around the words. "Let me go!"

Blood pulses hot and fast through my veins, every sense heightened by adrenaline. The feel of her trembling against me. Even as my face throbs and my ribs scream in protest, I've never felt more alive than in this moment, holding her.

I want to kiss her. Want to claim her here, now, in this dingy stairwell. Want to wipe away any trace of Byron from her mind, her body, her memory. Want everyone — Byron, Hannah, our friends, the whole damn world — to know she's mine now.

The stinging slap across my already battered cheek brings reality crashing back. Her palm connects with my face, leaving a fresh burst of pain blooming where Byron's fist had already marked me.

"Leave me alone!" she screams, tears cutting clean tracks down her flushed face. "Just leave me the fuck alone!"

Each word lands like a physical blow, cutting deeper than any punch. I stand frozen, watching her stumble down the stairs, away from Byron's apartment, away from me.

Blood drips from my split lip onto the concrete landing, each drop a small surrender to the inevitable conclusion I've been avoiding since this began: some things, once broken, can never be put back together again.

Chapter 20

My palm stings from the force of the slap, but the satisfaction is momentary — a brief flash of power in a situation where I've lost all control. I run down the stairs, desperate to put distance between myself and the chaos I've created. Tears blur my vision, hot tracks cutting down my cheeks as I taste the metallic tang of blood from my split lip.

Surely the slap was enough to stop Cade from following me. The look on his face when my hand connected — shock mixed with something darker — gave me a fleeting sense of victory. But it doesn't matter now. Nothing matters except getting the hell out of here.

Cade Connolly. The biggest asshole I know. The man I hated for a fucking reason. The fucker who stormed into Byron's apartment with the ill intent of humiliating us both. Who taunted and provoked Byron until Byron threw the first punch. Cade… he seems to relish in this emotional chaos. But what did I expect? I saw how he was after the whole Hannah thing. I should've known that he's one for drama.

A girl never learns her lesson…or listens to her gut.

But I'm more upset with myself that I let this happen. I shouldn't have gone to Byron's. I shouldn't have lied. Maybe I should've ended things completely with Cade before it spun so out of control.

Then I think about Byron.

What the hell did I want from meeting up with him tonight? Like what did my dumbass expect?

My tears well up even more as I hop off the last step.

I know why I'm here, even if I won't admit it.

A piece of me wanted Byron to apologize and admit to his faults.

And as for Cade? He's the biggest asshole I know, but at least he goes after what he wants. Whereas I'm a timid little girl who will be pulled in any direction if it means attention.

I'm sick of myself.

Footsteps echo in the stairwell behind me. Heavy, determined. My heart lurches painfully as I reach the landing, risking a glance over my shoulder.

Cade.

Byron rounds the corner right behind him, face flushed with exertion and emotion. Blood smears his knuckles — Cade's blood — and a swollen cheekbone.

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