Page 98 of Whiskey Throttle
“Hug it out or thug it out, but this shit ends tonight. Em needs us. His brothers. His family!”
With the end of his voice wavering with emotion, he picks up his helmet and straddles his bike. Starts the engine and rides away.
Leaving me here alone with my friend, who has every right to hate me. Dom doesn't attack me the second he can. Oddly enough, he shuffles backward and leans against his bike. Crosses his arms over his chest.
His eyes meet mine. Neither of us speaks. Too many unsaid accusations hang between us.
Men shoulder burdens.
Carry the heaviest things on our backs and in our minds. Not sit around gossiping like women about our feelings. Yet that's precisely what Diego left us here to do. I stand there, spine rigid, still ready to defend myself. Not all casually laid out like him. The silence stretches out. Probably a full minute until finally, Dom breaks it.
“I fucking hate you for this.”
“Fair.”
It's the first thing that comes to mind.
“Fair,” he repeats, his eyes narrowing before looking out at the water. Boat horns sound in the distance. The water gently laps against the barrier. “That's all you have to say for yourself?”
“No, I never meant for this to happen.” My tone is steady despite the adrenaline storm raging inside me. “I didn't plan it, didn't expect it. It just . . . happened.”
Dom scoffs, his gaze snapping back to me with full fury again.
“Just happened? Give me a fucking break. You don't just trip and fall into her fucking bed!”
He already said something similar at the hospital. Makes me wonder if that's what he's hung up on. What's bothering him the most?
I shake my head, frowning at his cheapening us to just sex.
“That's not what I meant. I know it's no excuse, but there's something about her, Dom. Something that pulls me in.”
“Shut your fucking mouth right now.” He pushes off his bike, standing tall and back, ready to fight. My leg muscles lock into place, preparing for him to launch at me. “She's my fucking mother, Hollister.”
His voice breaks on the word 'mother.' Raw pain clouds his eyes. Betrayal and longing. An echo of the hurt he's been carrying.
“I know, Dom. And I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. Or her.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to ease some of the stress vibrating under my skin. “She's not just your mom, though. She's a person, with her own feelings, her own needs. And I saw that. I saw her.”
His teeth clench. His glare wants to end me.
“She doesn't have needs. Hasn't had needs since the old man divorced her. She's not all the shit you’re saying. She's not your . . . whatever the fuck you think she is to you.”
“Hopefully, my girlfriend.”
The fury brimming beneath the surface spews. His face twists into darkness, launching himself. His body collides with mine. My feet skid across the dock, shoulder slamming the side of my bike with a dull clang of metal on bone. His forearm drives into my throat, trying to pin me there, but I twist, gaining the upper hand.
Fists swing.
Mine glances off his ribs.
His lands square on my cheekbone.
Pain cracks through my skull, but I don't go down. I grab his hoodie, yanking him forward. Our foreheads nearly smash. He slams me back again, but I pivot, lowering my center of gravity. Grappling, not striking.
“You're not fucking dating my mom,” he seethes between clenched teeth.
He's strong. Works out constantly. These things I know. But damn if his rage isn't making him ten times stronger.
We scrape and skid.
