Page 75 of Lucky Hit

"Layla. Who is this?" she demands snarkily.

"Who is it? Give it back," Oakley slurs in the background, the vacantness in his tone making my stomach hurt.

"Give the phone to Oakley," I practically growl at her.

Giggles erupt on the other side of the line. Multiple female voices blend together. I listen in on the chatter, trying to make sense of what is happening.

"He's a little... preoccupied right now. Call back later," Layla giggles and the line goes dead. Before I can even take in what just happened, I get a text message from Oakley. It's a picture of him. My blood boils as I stare at it.

Oakley is sitting on a torn-up couch with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He's with a girl. The girl—Layla, I'm guessing, is sitting on his lap with his arm wrapped around her waist. Her lips are pressed against his cheek. He's grinning, his eyes are dazed, unfocused. I squint to get a better look at the picture and notice the black ring around his left eye. Even in the photo I can see how bruised and bloody his knuckles are.

I grip the phone in my hand and march inside with it still open on my screen. The door slams behind me and the three of them look at me in surprise.

"You okay? What were you even doing out there?" Morgan asks from her spot beside Matt.

"Where is he, Tyler?" I ask through gritted teeth.

He swallows visibly. "He didn't tell you?"

"How could he? He's preoccupied!" I snarl and throw my phone at him. He catches it and stares at the picture with wide eyes.

"Doing what?" Morgan jumps up from the loveseat and glowers at Tyler.

"Have you known where he was the entire time?" I snap. "So help me, Tyler."

"You've known where he was the entire time and you didn't say anything? Ava's been worried sick!" Morgan shouts, and Matt takes her hand in his—presumably so she can't throw herself at Tyler claws first.

"Shit, let him speak," Matt warns. Morgan gives him a death stare in return.

"I only found out he's in his hometown this afternoon. Gracie posted a picture of him this morning. Then Andre posted pictures of him at a party. That's all I know. I had no idea this was going on, Ava," he adds, his eyes flooded with guilt.

“What are you guys talking about? Let me see it." Morgan rips my phone out of his hand. Her whole body goes rigid, and she whirls on us. "Who is that girl? I'm so going to kill him."

I feel sick. My anger is slowly turning into a horrible sadness. It is a familiar feeling, and I hate it. I knew our relationship was too good to be true. This shit doesn't happen to me. I don't get lucky. I'm meant to feel like this. It's all I've ever known.

"Well if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sleep. Hopefully, when I wake up this will all just be a nightmare," I mumble.

My nose stings and my eyes burn. My chest feels tight. I know what's about to happen, and I don't want my friends to see it.

"Ava—" Morgan begins but I hold a hand up to cut her off.

I lock my bedroom door and collapse onto my bed. I bury myself under my covers and finally let the tears out. The pain is overwhelming as I let myself drown in it.

Why me?

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