Page 119 of The Rivals' Touch

He looks at me as if trying to comprehend what I’m saying but failing miserably. “Why was your phone switched off today?”

I shrug. “My father took it from me.”

He climbs on the bed—his white chucks still on—and crawls on top of me, giving me no choice but to lie back on the mattress. His lips hover over mine. “Remi…”

I fist his black hoodie to push him away but pull him closer instead, desperate to erase my soul-wrenching pain with his hungry lips and exploring hands. When he kisses me, I can taste the alcohol on his tongue. I twist his hoodie in my hands.

“Good girl! You can take my cock!” Mr. Beaufort’s fingers dig into my throat, and the alcohol on his breath wafts over my face as he growls, “Whore! Look at me when I fuck you!”

I rip my lips away from Zayd’s and shove him away from me. “I can’t! Just please—”

Zayd leans up on his elbow, searching my face with his brown eyes. “What happened?”

It’s finally raining. The sound of it hammering on the window steals my attention before I meet Zayd’s unrelenting gaze. “It’s over between us. It has to stop!”

He stiffens, and his eyes flick between mine, but I press a finger to his lips and shake my head before he can respond. “Don’t!”

It hurts to have to do this, but it’s the only way.

I listen to the rain on the window and the wind rustling my curtains before whispering, “I’m marrying Bennett.”

His hand flies up; he grabs my wrist and moves my fingers away from his lips. “The fuck you are!”

“Zayd,” I whimper when his grip on my wrist becomes too tight. “Please.”

He drops my hand like it has burned him and shoots to his feet. “You’re not marrying Bennett!”

“That’s where I was today. At Bennett’s.”

It’s as if I’ve slapped him. He reels back and stares at me in disbelief while the rain lashes against the window. “You’ve been with Bennett?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Check social media if you don’t believe me.”

Zayd sways on the spot as he grabs his phone from his back pocket. He unlocks it and glances up at me before lowering his gaze. I know the minute he finds the selfie Bennett took of us before I returned home. Everything about him grows still as if silenced by some greater mystical being. “You were with him all day?”

“Yes.”

His jaw grinds. “I was worried sick about you, and you were withhim?”

“You can’t have worried that much since you went out drinking,” I counter, fisting the bedsheet by my sides.

“What part of I was worried sick about you, didn’t you hear? I couldn’t sit in my fucking room and stare at the wall while you were missing!”

“But you could go out partying?”

He gives an incredulous laugh and shakes his head as he begins pacing. “You won’t let that go, will you?”

“Does it matter? We’re over!”

He stops and looks at me. “Over?”

My voice is weaker than I want it to be as I whisper, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he replies, lifting his hands up by his sides and letting them drop back down as if the fight has gone out of him.

“Okay?” I shift onto my knees. “Just like that?” I want him to leave because we can’t be together, but I also want him to stay and fight. It’s a confusing mix of emotions.

He steps closer, and his legs connect with the bed. “Tell me you want me to stay, and I will. Tell me you want this”—he gestures between us—“and I’ll fight for you!”

Why does he have to say all the right words? My heart feels squeezed as if trapped in a vice. “I can’t.”

Resigned to his fate, he nods. “That’s what I figured. You don’t want me to fight for you, and I can’t fight for something you don’t want.” His voice shakes at the end. I’ve never seen Zayd cry, but it’s there, in the broken sound of his voice. He drops his chin to his chest. “Shit! I’m drunk. Just forget this ever happened.”

“Zayd,” I start, but he walks out before I can ask him to stay. The numbness inside me spreads as I stare at the closed door. “I want you to fight for me.”

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