Page 83 of When Fate Breaks
My jaw goes taut as I slowly peel my eyes away from the brush in my hand and settle them on Remy. “Well, that must be good for your ego,” I deadpan.
He brushes off my comment as if I never even spoke, a complacent grin appearing on his face. “I got a cookie for it. My prize for winning the competition,” he says, turning to the side, seeming to examine the wall of the greenhouse. His eyes travel across it for a few seconds before he speaks again. “Is that what you’re here for, Blake? A cookie?”
I don’t let a flicker of emotion cross my face, doing everything I can to keep my breathing even and not snap this wooden paint brush clean in half. “Is there something I can help you with, Remy?” I grit out.
He seems to have selective hearing again as he once again doesn't acknowledge me, instead bending down to survey my open tool trunk. “These are cute,” he scoffs. “Daddy so graciously pass ‘em down to you instead of putting them in the trash where they belong?”
I stiffen, letting the paint brush fall from my hand and splash into the bucket. I take my time rising to my feet, slowly turning to face him. “You seem to be very concerned with my daddy, bud. Got some issues with your own?”
I can tell I’ve struck a nerve by the way Remy seems to freeze, his mouth falling open and tongue pushing into the side of his cheek. “You son of a–”
“I asked if I can help you with anything, Remy,” I repeat, my arms crossing over my chest defiantly as he starts to charge for me. He skids to a stop a few feet away, looking up at me and seeming to somewhat come to his senses.
Smart man.
“Yeah, you can help both of us by getting out of here,” he spits, shoving his finger towards the door. “I mean, what the hell are you even doing here?”
“I’m fixing the greenhouse.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the greenhouse. And I don’t want you here.”
“Well it seemsshedoes,” I counter, leaving it up to him to decide which statement I’m referring to.
Remy shakes his head, a self satisfied expression plastered on his face. “It’s time to let it go, bud. It’s pathetic, really.”
“I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about,bud.”
“She’smine.”
“Evangeline isn’tanybody’s,” I growl, closing the distance between us.
Remy leans his head back to look in my eyes, a snort coming out of him. “Well she sure as hell ain’t yours.”
I feel myself rear back, my fist clenching, when a new voice instantly makes me snap back into my previous posture.
“Alright! I’m ready when you are, Di Fazio–”
Evangeline pauses in the doorway, looking between Remy and me. Though my facial expression is neutral and my eyes are trained on her, I know my chest is still rising and falling rapidly, my hands balled into fists at my sides. Remy’s back is to her, still sporting the same smug smile as his gaze burns into my face.
“Is everything okay?” she questions.
“Yeah, babe. All good,” Remy assures, his smile widening. “Blake and I were just having a little chat about sports. The game.”
“The Alabama game?” Evangeline asks, one brow raised.
Remy doesn’t answer her question as he continues. “Blake and I seemed to disagree on who the winner really was and still is at the end of the day. But, I think we worked it out. Didn’t we, bud?” he asks, clapping me on the shoulder.
My nails dig into my palms as I fight the urge to slap his hand off of me. “Yeah,” I grit, shrugging out of his grasp. “We worked it out.” I side step Remy and walk for Evangeline, spinning around to face Remy right before I reach her. “Alabama just better make sure their defense is as strong as they like to pretend it is. Wouldn’t want the other team to swoop in and steal the trophy they know damn well they don’t deserve.”
Evangeline chimes in, “Blake, Alabama’s football team has the best defense in the league–”
“Are you ready to go?” I interrupt her, desperately needing to get out of this glass box I worked far too hard on to ruin over knocking some worthless prick through one of its walls.
“Sure,” Evangeline says, her head tilting. “Let’s go. Bye, Remy. See you tonight?”
“It’ll be a late one. Chuck needs me with him on a pitch,” he replies, his jaw tight and eyes locked on me.
Evangeline’s lips pull down slightly, and I hate that she cares that he’s going to be home late, just like he has been every single night since I’ve arrived. I hate that it still affects her even though it’s probably her norm. I hate that it’s her norm at all.
