When Rivals Lose (Bayshore Rivals 2)

Turning around to leave, something dawns on me, I have one more question burning in the back of my mind, and I want only an honest answer.

“Can I ask you something else and you be honest with me?”

Matt stares at me, his face blank, “Ask away, sweetheart.”

“Do you know Sullivan Bishop?”

At the mention of the name, Matt’s face scrunches up like he just caught a whiff of something nasty. He leans forward on the bench, staring up at me, “I know the Bishops alright, and so do you, well, did. Your family and the Bishops’ have been enemies since forever, for as long as I can remember. It’s funny you ask that actually because you and Sullivan have history.”

My eyes widen, and I wonder for a moment if that’s why I felt so connected to him. As if Matt can see the wheels inside my head spinning, he continues, “Not that kind of history. I think you would much rather kill each other than screw. You two have hated each other since you were kids, and senior year you planted drugs in his pocket at a party. Got him arrested and kicked out of school. They did an article in the paper about it, plastered the Bishop family name everywhere. Sullivan lost his scholarship to play ball, but their family lost much more than that. They’ve since disappeared from town.”

“I… I destroyed someone’s life?” I blink, not even sure I believe what he’s saying. Why would I do something like that? What caused me to hate this family so much?

“You act so surprised?” Matt’s brow furrows with confusion, “I know you don’t remember stuff, but I’m sure you can still tell who you are inside, right? Plus, it’s not like they didn’t deserve it. Your father has reasons for doing the things that he does.”

There’s a gnawing in my gut, something that tells me if I look deep inside myself, I won’t like the person I find, the person I was before the accident. I don’t want to be her…I don’t want to do whatever my father had me doing.

“I don’t care what his reasonings are, that’s not me. That can’t be. I don’t want to hurt people, deserving or not.” Matt scrubs a hand down his face and lets out a frustrated sigh.

“The damage is already done, Princess. Sullivan Bishop has been out for revenge for a long time, so don’t be surprised if he comes for you next.”

“What does that mean?” I ask because I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything, and the frustration over it grows inside me the roots sinking deeper and deeper. It’s like everyone is speaking in tongues, a language I used to know but no longer understand.

Matt gets up from the bench and walks toward me, he stops a foot away, leaving just enough space between our bodies, so I don’t feel suffocated by his presence. Still, his body towers over mine, and I don’t like it. I don’t like the fragileness I feel. There’s a sweetness to his scent, and it tickles my nostrils. His fingers lift my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes as he speaks.

“It means if he or his brothers fuck with you, there will be consequences. Your father just got you back, and I doubt he’s going to let anything happen to you again.”

When he releases me, I feel compelled to ask him what he means about my father getting me back? Is he referring to the accident? Or is he referring to something else? Matt doesn’t give me a chance to digest my thoughts fully before he takes hold of my hand, tugging me back the way we came.

“It’s time for the Princess to go to bed.”

“I’m an adult you know, not six-years-old, and I’m not a princess, stop calling me that,” I growl under my breath as he leads me back into the house.

He stops once we reach the grand staircase, a tight-lipped smile on his lips, “You might be an adult, but you’re fragile, like the most beautiful piece of sea glass, and right now you need your rest. You are still recovering, and if you don’t take care of yourself, you will never fully recover and come to remember the life you lived.”

I guess I can’t argue with him there. I’ve been exhausted, my headaches have been more constant than normal. It’s like my memories are trying to come back, pushing against the barrier my brain has put up. I want to remember, no, I need to remember. I need all the missing puzzle pieces so I can figure out what the hell is going on.

“I want to kiss you, Harlow,” he murmurs, and before I can object, he’s leaning in, cupping me gently by the back of the head, his fingers threading through my hair. His lips descend brushing against mine in the faintest way, but it’s still enough to send an electrical shock through my body that sparks something inside my brain.