West paused, then stumbled down the beach, grape vining on the sand.
“I’m the bad guy in the play.” He didn’t speak to any of us, he slurred a whisper into his drink. “I’m the one the crowd boos when he enters the stage.”
He swayed back and forth.
Suddenly, he jerked to Lottie. “But what about my sister?”
She sucked in a breath, backing up at his attention. I stepped in front of her, putting both Story and Lottie behind me.
West waved the champagne bottle in her direction. “My sister,” he continued. “So obsessed with not becoming our mother, so scared to marry a man who didn’t love her, she gave up everything else about her. Her purity. Her kindness. Her wholesome heart. Everything that makes Lottie, Lottie. And why?” He grinned into the bottle, eyes flickering to me. “She was hoping you’d love that instead.”
Story grabbed my bicep, maybe sensing I was ready to end his diatribe.
“Enter stage right, our main lead, Grayson Crowne!” West jerked the champagne bottle toward me, gold liquid drenching the sand black. “Grayson didn’t want to be his father, didn’t want to be disloyal to his wife, so instead, he became a coward and abandoned his wife in a loveless marriage. Will you abandon your unborn child too?”
West tilted his head, eyes narrowing as if waiting for me to respond. Story’s grip on my bicep tightened.
“He’s wrong,” she whispered.
He was fucking with me. His words shouldn’t bother me.
Yet, they did.
“Shut the fuck up, West,” Lottie said, but it came out a weak whisper.
West laughed at my silence.
“And my loving, loyal wife…I mean, ex-wife.” He grinned at Story. “You didn’t wan
t to be some man’s mistress and steal what didn’t belong to you, so instead, you became my mistress, the guy that stole the thing that mattered most from you. Or…” He laughed. “Maybe it didn’t matter that much.”
At that, I lunged, Story’s grip slipping easily. I had West’s shirt between my fists in seconds. He held his arms wide, not even bothering to fight back.
“He’s not worth it,” Story yelled to my back. “This is what he wants.”
“I’m not worth it, Playboy Gray,” he said, mocking Story’s distressed yell.
I shoved him off and he stumbled, falling to his ass in the sand, laughing. “You’re all so. Comedically. Tragically. Shakespearian-ly…fucked. You’re all so fucking afraid of being the thing that everyone sees you as, no one’s paying attention to what you’re becoming.”
“Then what are you, West?” I gritted.
He took a deep swig of the champagne, then wiped his mouth off on his arm. “The only one in this hell making the heat work for them.”
Story stepped in front of me before I could grab her back.
“I see you, West,” she said.
West grinned up at her, warped from behind the glass bottle. “Do you, Angel?”
“You’re in hell with us too. The flames are burning us, but they’ve consumed you.”
His grin flickered, then he looked into the bottle. “Empty.” He threw it to the side, shattering the green bottle on a rock.
Story ran to Lottie, gripping her arm. She’d gone pale and looked about ready to faint.
“I need to take Lottie back.”
I went to her. “I’ll help—”