Page 53 of The Revenge Plan (Forbidden Descendants 1)

“Well, now I want to know everything,” I growled in no uncertain terms. “So, tell me.”

“Why?” he pushed back. “Because you just want to hurt more? Is that it? Well, tough shit. I don’t want to watch you suffer again.”

“Damn you,” I growled, shoving him for real this time, not just poking with my finger but pressing my hands against his chest and heaving with all my might, causing the solid mass that he was to actually trip a few steps back. “I will handle my own reaction. Now, tell me what you know. I need to hear it.”

When he just stared at me, stubbornly refusing to talk, my chin quivered. “Wouldn’t you want to know?” I whispered because my voice had broken and gone hoarse.

“Fuck, Haven,” he muttered in agony, gripping his hair with a tormented wince. He still didn’t want to tell me, but I think I was wearing him down. “I honestly don’t know that much. I can’t tell you for sure when it started. And I have no idea how many.” Shaking his head, he gave one last futile effort to get out of talking. “I have stayed as far away from him as I could get. I don’t know—”

“Just tell me what you do know,” I urged softly, my eyes pleading. “When did you first become aware of it?”

He shook his head.

I touched his arm. “Please.”

Closing his eyes, he blew out a soft curse and then admitted, “Beginning of sophomore year, after the first away game.”

Even though I’d been braced for the news and knew it wouldn’t be good, I still gasped in anguish and stumbled backward away from him because…the beginning of sophomore year? It had already started that far back, not even a year into our relationship? Holy shit, how had I not known? Not sensed it? Not—

“But my friend wasn’t surprised at all,” Wick went on, stabbing me right through the heart with more information. “And he already seemed used to seeing it, so Nicholl must’ve started before then.”

A sound of denial left my lips. I clutched my chest.

“Haven?” Wick stepped forward, reaching out. But I shook my head and lifted my hands, warding him off.

“How many?” I asked, determined to see this through and learn everything, no matter what it did to me.

Wick went back to shaking his head, his eyes pleading with me to drop it already.

But I couldn’t. I had to know. “How…many?”

“I don’t fucking know,” he stressed. “A lot, okay. Every away game, it seemed like he would chase a new girl. And from what I could tell, he usually caught her.”

“Oh God,” I moaned, the truth tearing me open and leaving my shredded heart on full display.

Nausea mounted, and suddenly I was slapping my hand over my mouth as I raced from the room, down the hall, and toward the bathroom. I’d just barely made it there and fallen to my knees in front of the commode when my stomach rebelled and the vomit took over.

I clutched the porcelain god and gave up my benediction, emptying everything that was inside me. Once I finished, I leaned my temple against the side of the vanity cabinet beside me and cried.

When I calmed enough to realize Wick had followed me, I glanced over and blinked him into focus to find him sitting not far away in the entrance of the bathroom with his back to the doorjamb and his elbows resting on his bent knees while he buried his face in his hands and waited for me to calm down.

Growing alert to my changed mood, he lifted his face and glanced over. I could tell

from his expression that he regretted telling me anything.

Offering him a weak smile, I motioned toward the toilet. “Sorry about that. Weak stomachs run in my family.”

He stood as I talked and stepped toward the sink to grab my teeth-brushing rinse cup, and he filled it with tap water.

“My mom said her big brother would throw up every time something bothered him,” I rambled on. “My uncle Mason. My parents mentioned him last night when—”

“I remember,” Wick said simply as he held down the cup of water.

“Right.” Taking the water, I rasped, “Thank you.” Then I stood with it in hand and took a drink to swish it around in my mouth so I could spit before actually swallowing the next mouthful.

Wick stood beside me silently, a solid force that steadied me as much as he stirred the anxiety. Not sure how to deal with him, I brushed my teeth, focusing on that. When he was still there afterward, arms crossed formidably over his chest and shoulder resting against the bathroom entrance, I decided to just deal with his presence.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking.” When I looked up to meet his gaze, we stood close, close enough for me to realize, “You have a cut on your lip.”

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