Page 80 of Wild Hearts

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Wren

YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY...Flynn’s words roll around in my head as I drive the winding beach roads back to Blue Haven. Brady is passed out in the passenger seat beside me. I should have just taken him back to the hotel to sleep it off, but I was so shaken up by what Flynn said. Brady pretty much passed out the moment I took off down the street, and I found myself on the highway before I even realised where I was going.

Flynn had to be saying that I wasn’t the only girl. But what does that mean? Has Drew done this to someone else? I curse Brady for interrupting us. I know I didn’t want to be anywhere near Flynn, but what if...What if what, Wren? What if there is another girl out there who went through what you went through? What if there is? What difference is that going to make?

My stomach flips at the thought.When did it happen? Before me? After me? Could I have stopped it from happening to someone else?I shake my head. Another burst of anger toward Flynn causes me to grip the steering wheel tighter. What the hell am I supposed to do with this information? I wish I’d had a chance to ask Flynn what he was talking about.

I glance over at Brady. I’m frustrated with him. I’m also concerned for him, but at the same time, anger surges through me that he would succumb to drugs and alcohol. The sight of him taking an unsteady swing at Jeremy, in front of Theo, causes a lump of fear to lodge in my throat.

Who is this guy?He’s certainly not the funny, charismatic, carefree surfer that I fell in love with.

Not to mention the black eye that his sister is now sporting. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lachy so furious, and Brady is probably lucky he doesn’t have his own injuries to go along with his fractured dignity.

Brady groans, bringing his hands up to his head. Worried he’s going to be sick, I let down the windows, hitting us both with a blast of cool wind. The air shocks Brady enough to lurch up in his seat. His knee hits the dash, and he hisses in pain.

“What the fuck?” He looks around, trying to get his bearings. Clearly reading the swirling emotions of anger, torment and concern written all over me, his face twists up in a grimace. “Pull over,” he grunts.

I shake my head, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead of us. We are only twenty minutes away from Blue Haven and I want to get us home before I say something that Brady will wish he never needed to hear.

“Can you please pull the car over?”

I ignore him, reaching over to flip on the radio. My heart catches in my chest as the sounds of Harry Styles’ “As it Was” fills the car. Fitting right now.

Brady slams his hand on the dash causing me to jump. “I’m not joking, Rookie. Pull the damn car over. Now.”

When I still don’t respond, he reaches over and yanks on the wheel. I scream, slamming both feet on the brake pedal as the car starts to spin out of control. We come to a stop on the other side of the road, facing oncoming traffic. Brady jumps out of the car, limps over to the side of the highway, and drops down onto all fours as his stomach heaves out the concoction of drugs and alcohol floating around in his system.

With my whole body shaking, I pull the car off the road and kill the engine. My hands still clutch the wheel as I take deep breaths in and out, trying to calm my racing heart. With every passing minute my anger grows until it reaches its boiling point.

“What the hell, Brady?” I scream. I unclick my seatbelt and climb out on unsteady feet, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I slam the car door. “You could have fucking killed us!”

I stand over his pathetic body as he continues to empty his stomach contents onto the grass. “This is getting pathetic, Brady. Mixing painkillers with alcohol? What were you thinking? You not only ruined your dad’s day, but you also assaulted your sister and almost killed me. Are you proud of yourself?”

He winces, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths before staggering to his feet. He turns away from me without a word and makes his way over to the car, searching through his toiletry bag and producing a bottle of mouthwash. He swishes it around in his mouth before spitting it on the ground, repeating the process a couple of times.

“What happened to you?” I snap. “You may have a death wish, but I’m quite happy with my life, thank you very much.”

“Are you?” His voice is eerily calm and controlled.

---