Page 119 of Bitter Truths

“Because your brother—”

“Right, Max,” I sneer, pulling myself back to the present and the goal at hand. “You chose him over me.”

I don’t wait around for his answer, but the sound of something, presumably his fist hitting the wall, makes me flinch as I sail to the door.

“You’re going to throw it all away?” he demands, his icy tone sending a shiver through me.

Stopping up short with my hand on the knob, I say softly, “You threw it away. Not me.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Somebody, please, for the love of God, take the wheel.

GRIFFIN

With disbelief, I watch her walk out the door before it truly hits me. She fucking played me. Me. And I fell for it.

I thought I was the master at this fucking game, but I guess not because now I’m the fucking pawn.

But was it all for revenge? Or has she felt this way all along? Fuck me, but I don’t know.

Dizziness assails me, and I slump against the wall as my gorge rises and I fight back the tide. I’ve never felt so fucking lost, and for a moment, I’m completely paralyzed. I can’t move my limbs. I can’t fucking breathe.

I’ve been played by the girl who was my everything, and now she’s my fucking nothing.

I knew I fucked up when I stormed out of her house yesterday. After all, I had no right to be angry when I orchestrated Jason’s ousting from the team.

Dick thought he could use and get away with it. I set him straight on that. She never asked, blindsided by Miranda’s bitchy words, but I’m also the one who arranged for Chris Doherty to lose his scholarship.

Will and Randy were on my list, but I guess Halsey took care of that.

Needless to say, I had no right to be upset, and when she reached out after our fight, I was so fucking relieved that I laughed like a lunatic, earning quite a few stares from my teammates.

Truthfully, I wasn’t sure if this was our end because, in my mind, I’ve always known that’s where we were headed. I thought, thank fuck she wants to work it out, except instead of more talk where we seem to go in circles, Halsey crawled into my lap and seduced me so prettily I forgot what we were even angry about.

Apparently, she didn’t. She fucked me out of hate, and I didn’t even see the damn signs. And there’s little comfort in being right because I’m still left with fucking nothing.

Slamming my fist into the wall, again and again, I rage as I fight the pain I can’t outrun. But no matter how hard I hit the damn wall, it doesn’t detract from the visceral ache eating me up inside and cramping my fucking stomach.

“Fuck!” I bellow, panting.

I thought hearing about Bobby Moore in the eighth-grade hurt. Not like this. Fuck no. I can’t fucking get air into my lungs.

A bitter laugh jumps from my mouth, and I slide to the floor, grabbing my head. I can’t fight off the inevitable ache that invades my chest and won’t fucking leave, no matter what I fucking do. Here it is again, that goddamn crushing weight that is so heavy I can’t move for it.

Did I misread the signs? Am I a fucking idiot? It can’t be. She looked at me with her brilliant eyes, and I saw love staring back at me. Right?

Maybe not. Perhaps it was all a game—from beginning to fucking end, and here I sit, pining like a little bitch. No. Fucking no.

Slamming my head against the wall, I grunt with the pain and stare blindly before me. This is it. I refuse to fucking beg like a goddamn dog for the scraps she won’t give me.

I tried. I tried to be the man she wanted, what they all wanted, and what did I get but fucking lies? Ha! I’m the fucking king of lying to myself, not that bitch.

Pulling myself up from the floor, I clench my hand into a fist, close my eyes against her pretty smile and bright eyes, and let the rage consume me. She wanted her pound of flesh. Fine.

This isn’t over. It’ll never be over. And I ignore the voice in my thick fucking skull telling me to let her go. I got what I deserved. I guess revenge really is best served cold.

∞∞∞

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