The Revenge Games Duet

Dad would take the boat out, teaching Ash and me a thing or two about fishing. We enjoyed it until Dad showed us one day how to gut a fish which had me vomiting overboard—a very unpleasant memory.

Beside the rundown jetty which has many planks missing and shakes when you walk across, sits the giant rock we used to fight over. I don’t know why I gravitate toward it and find myself staring blankly. Then out of the blue, I raise my foot and kick it hard with the tip of my shoe.

Ouch.

“He’s an asshole,” I yell, hopping back trying to control the agony sweeping through my foot and up my leg.

Logan’s standing at the edge of the water with his arms folded and his eyes wandering the shoreline. His steady, muscular back is facing me and probably the best thing right now because I don’t want to look at him. He’s just as annoying as the rest of the men in my life.

“Yeah, sure I’ll admit he can be an asshole, but don’t you think you took it a bit too far?” he responds in an arctic voice but keeping his expression hidden. “He hurt me, too. This whole marriage thing may fuck up our game. You’re not the only one dealing with the ramifications of his actions.”

“You honestly believe all that rubbish? Falling in love? They knew from the start? C’mon, it’s impossible,” I ramble to myself as Logan quietly stands there in contemplation. “You can spend a whole lifetime knowing someone and still feel unsure if the love is there or is right. Two minutes in a bar and that person is your soulmate? Ludicrous.”

Logan turns his neck, body following until we’re facing each other. His presence radiates with superiority, just like when we were kids. I wasn’t afraid back then and I’m not afraid now. His tough-guy persona doesn’t scare me one bit.

“Hypocritical coming from someone engaged to a man that swore he fell in love with you the moment he saw you?” he questions, sarcasm lacing every word leaving his mouth.

The shock of his words cripples my ability to respond with a witty comeback. We aren’t having a good old laugh here, throwing worms in the bottom of Ash’s school bag anymore. And my initial reaction to his cruel words does nothing to calm the sea of emotions ravaging my insides. Logan Carrington is one of them

. They all come from the same seed—the seed of men who feel entitled.

Screw a woman.

Move on.

Fuck feelings.

And repeat.

“Knock, knock... anyone home?”

“You’re a jerk,” I mutter as I walk past him and toward the unsteady old jetty which is swaying along with the tide. Standing at the beginning of the broken plank, I watch the dark, murky water while the weight of Wes’ actions begins to sink in. My shoulders fall, drooping and dragging the rest of my body down. My shaking hands move to the necklace sitting on my chest—a small heart Wes had given me on our first anniversary. Pulling the chain left and right, my anger overshadowing the hurt makes me remove the chain, and with one mighty yank it flies in the air and hits the water with a splash.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Taking giant steps toward me, Logan shouts through the quiet night, “You were fine until you checked your phone. Then you switched into queen bitch mode.”

My voice remains silent, ignoring his use of derogatory names.

“So what? You’re too good for us now?”

I spin around, matching his stance and moving closer to intimidate him. “I’m too good for you? How about the fact you guys think you’re too good for me? After all... you left me behind.” Sucking in a deep breath, I let it all go. “That call was my publicist. Wesley’s been caught fucking some hooker.”

His fiery, persistent stare turns to pity and the last thing I need is Logan’s pity.

“A hooker?”

“Hookers.” I laugh deliriously. “And sniffing coke off their asses. Because God forbid, you’ve got nowhere else to sniff that shit from.” My lips quiver, tears threatening to fall. I don’t want to give Wes the satisfaction, but emotions are a powerful thing. When you think you’re strong and made out of steel, they’ll make you crumble and fall harder than you can possibly imagine.

I stare at my hands, watching them shake as that trapped tear falls down my cheek, followed by another then a stream. “I hate him!” I cry out desperately and unable to speak coherently. “The whole world will know what he did to me. I’m stupid. So… fucking… stupid… for ignoring every sign that stared me right in the fucking face.”

I fall to my knees, the cold dirt grazing them instantly. “Everyone told me to marry him. He wants to get married and have kids. We argue about that fact all the time. I don’t want kids yet. It’s why we got George.”

I gulp for air, sobbing uncontrollably. “He just kept pushing and telling me our brand is everything. I had no one to confide in. No one to tell me I’m a fucking idiot for believing all his goddamn lies.”

“Jesus, Emmy. Where’s your fucking backbone? Since when do you listen to a guy?” Logan criticizes me.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Mom knows most of it, but I’ve filtered out the horrible stuff. Like when he tried to switch my birth control pills to have me fall pregnant.”

Logan gazes at me with a pained expression, lips taut without saying a word.