Page 167 of Secrets That We Keep (Forbidden Descendants 2)

“Well, it’s official,” I announced, making him startle and drop his hands to blink at me. “You’ve stooped to a new low. You sicced my own mother on me. So congratulations...” I lifted my arms and spread them wide. “You win. I’m here to resolve all my issues with you or I’m grounded for life. So what was so important that you just had to go to such extreme measures to get me to talk to you again?”

“You know what,” he said in a tired voice. “Just forget it.” He glanced toward his window as if he couldn't stand to look at me. “Just go home, Bentley. I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“Well, sorry, but did you not hear me when I said I was here under duress? I can’t go home until you’re all happy and cheered up again or whatever.”

“Why can’t you just lie, then?” he snapped, slicing a scowl my way. “Tell Felicity I’m fine. We’re good. Our problems are resolved. I certainly won’t tell her otherwise.”

I hissed out a sigh. He really was in a bad way, wasn’t he? Mom had not been lying about that.

“Look,” I said, rubbing the center of my forehead. “I’m here, anyway. We might as well just talk it out.”

He shook his head and snorted. “I said I don’t feel like talking.”

“Beau Clayton Gamble,” I growled, glaring at him. “Start talking now, or I’m throwing another shoe at you.”

“No,” he snapped. “You made it real damn clear how you feel, and I’ve finally gotten the picture. Alright? I’ll leave you alone. Now go away and celebrate or whatever it is you want to do.”

There were these strange red rings around his eyes as if he’d stayed up too late, studying.

Or he was about to cry.

My shoulders sagged in defeat. “I’m just so confused. You say to tell my mom that all our problems are resolved. But I don’t even know what our problems are.”

“Really?” he asked dryly before snorting and shaking his head. “Did you forget about the dog shit date already? Or the date before that? And the one before that? Or pretty much every time we’ve ever had some kind of encounter. I’m mean to you. I’m a horrible, nasty, awful person. You want a list of every insensitive thing I’ve ever done against you?”

“I know you’re mean to me,” I muttered. “But you’re not an awful person. And besides, I’m not exactly nice to you either.”

“Only because I started it first,” he argued heatedly.

“That’s my point,” I hissed. “Why did you start this whole war between us? You’re not like that with anyone else. Just me. And that hurts.”

His chin trembled, and stark grief filled his eyes. “I never meant to…” He tried to say more, but the words choked him, so he shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck, I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” I demanded. “You never meant to...what? Just tell me what I ever did to you to make you hate me so much.”

His eyes snapped open in surprise. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then what’s the problem? Because you’ve made it real clear that you certainly don’t like me.”

Panic flooded his gaze. “No,” he whispered. “That’s not… That’s not right at all.” Shaking his head, he flew off the bed and set a hand over his mouth.

I squinted. “What’s not right?”

“N-nothing.” His attention darted wildly around the room as if he felt trapped. Then he tried to head toward the doorway as if he wanted to escape the entire conversation. “Just forget it, alright?”

“The hell if I will.” I dodged into his path, making him pull up short and gape at me as if he were afraid. Of me. I flashed my gritted teeth at him. “You better start talking—and tell me the truth—or I’m kicking you in the junk.”

He shook his head. “I’m not talking to you.”

“Why not?”

“Bentley. Dammit.”

“Damn what?”

“Get out of my fucking way,” he growled.

“That’s it!” I went to kick him in the shin, but he successfully dodged me, lifting his knee and shifting to the side to protect himself.

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