Bad Things (Tristan & Danika 1)

“I don’t say it back because I don’t fucking believe you!” He was shouting, and my heart was breaking with every word. “When I hear you say I love you, what I hear is you keeping score, and I’m not playing that game with you. There is no score for me. There never was.”

I couldn’t speak, my mind racing to process his words, to try to make sense of them, to try to put them together in a way that I could accept, and not bleed out from all of the wounds.

“Love is nothing but the most flexible promise,” he continued mercilessly. “You use it for your purposes, and it can lose its meaning whenever you feel like it. Don’t act like you’re more committed to us than I am, just because you like to say those words.”

I shook my head, my eyes glued to him, my lip trembling uncontrollably.

“You’ve already thrown out the bombshell that you don’t think we’re good for each other. You think I don’t know you well enough to know that’s just the excuse you’ll use on me when you break it off? You’re building your case, even as we speak. That’s right; I know you that well. Just like I know that, though you’re very comfortable with the term I love you, you will be the one to walk away from this. Guaranteed. You think you love me, but you’re in love with being in love.”

“Don’t try to tell me what I feel. Don’t fucking do that. You have no right—”

“Don’t I? I thought you loved me. Taking it back so soon? Or is this it then? Have you built up enough of a case to walk away yet? Because I haven’t said three fucking words to you that you’ve taken the meaning out of?”

That broke me, because I’d let him see who I was, and all he saw was the worst of me. And even more painful, he seemed ready and willing to let me walk away.

He always said he didn’t want to hurt me, but what he didn’t seem to understand was, his rejection of my love was the worst kind of hurt.

I don’t know if someone told them, or if we’d just been yelling that loudly, but the yard was suddenly filled with familiar faces.

Frankie approached me, trying to get close, to put her arm around me, but I backed away.

Kenny and Cory had obviously finally made it to the party, and they were surrounding Tristan, looking wary.

Jared clapped a hand onto his brother’s shoulder, his eyes concerned. “Why don’t we take a walk, bro? Let’s cool off for a minute. You were shouting loud enough to wake the dead, and this entire neighborhood does not need to know that much about your personal business.”

Tristan shrugged off his hand, striding down the sidewalk, his pace eating up the pavement until he was out of sight in the dark in just seconds.

Eyes wet with tears, my heart in tatters, I walked back into the house. I needed a bathroom, and a moment to regain my composure.

I found one, washing my face with cold water, then doing it again. I didn’t want to think, and I had no idea what to do next.

I just felt…lost. Like life was a maze that I’d never be able to navigate, like everyone else had been born with a map, and mine had been forgotten, and I was destined to keep repeating the same painful mistakes, again and again.

I had a bona fide pity party for at least ten minutes. Some asshole pounding on the door was all that got me moving again.

I dried my face, and stepped out, my eyes on the ground. I had one goal—to find Frankie and get a ride home without another ounce of drama.

That wasn’t meant to be.

I ran smack into Patrick’s chest before I’d taken five steps.

He saw my tear streaked face, and without a word, just pulled me against him, running a hand over my hair. It was comforting. I had the brief thought that he was sweeter than I’d remembered.

That opinion didn’t last long, though, as he dipped his head and kissed me, right smack on the mouth, and then didn’t pull back.

I didn’t react at first, stunned by what an insensitive prick he really was, to plant one on a crying girl. It wasn’t until he pushed his tongue into my mouth that I shoved on his chest, wrenching away, glaring at him.

And, with the worst timing in history, once again, Tristan was there, catching enough of the kiss to put murder in his eyes.

I backed away as he cursed, and then charged, taking Patrick down to the ground with a tackle that I swore made the entire house shake.

I screamed, and screamed some more as he started punching the smaller man, right in the face, again and again, his massive arms faster than I’d have believed possible. Patrick struggled, he tried, but he didn’t get one punch in before he went limp.

The sounds, the sickening thud of fist hitting flesh, and flesh giving to fist, made me nauseous, and I backed away, further and further, mortified by what Tristan was doing, what he was capable of.

Tristan kept hitting the limp man, his heavy fists brutal, and would have kept right on punching, if Kenny, Cory, Jared, and some guy I’d never seen before forcibly separated him from his prey. As it was, Patrick was out cold, his face bloody.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

TRISTAN

It didn’t even take ten minutes before I regretted everything I’d said to her, and moreover, the way I’d said it. Even the parts that were true shouldn’t have been delivered like that.

I turned around, heading straight back, jogging now, panicking inside because I knew how she was, knew she would use my outburst to alienate us completely. I had so much more that I’d make her hear, though. I knew that I could change her mind.

I was at a dead sprint by the time I got back to the house. No one was left in the front yard, and I burst straight through the front door, searching faces. I went through three rooms before I ran into Frankie, who was looking, too.

“I saw her go into the house, but I haven’t been able to find her since you left. You’re in the doghouse, man. You better make this up to her. You better write some fucking poetry to make up for the shit you said to her.”

I didn’t respond, still moving, and looking, room to room, frantic to find her. I had the worst feeling in my gut, I knew that the faster I found her, the better chance I had of keeping this from turning into something that I couldn’t handle.

I found Cory, and Kenny, and Jared, but still no Danika.

When I finally did come across her, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was so shocked, that I just stood there for a moment, frozen in place.

That piece of shit was touching her. No, not just touching her, kissing her. On the lips. With his mouth. His arms were wrapped around her, too, but all I could focus on was what I needed to do to his face.

Danika wrenched away from him suddenly, her eyes furious, the curve of her mouth disgusted.

I lost my mind, my last clear thought before I went ballistic being that I would destroy him. I would rip him apart, piece by fucking piece, for touching what was mine.

The next thing I remembered were cuffs snapping onto my wrists. I shrugged my shoulders, and the cops looked ready to Taser me for that small movement. I couldn’t blame them. When men my size went ballistic, bad things happened, as evidenced by the guy being pushed away in a gurney.

I looked around, saw my brother, Kenny, and Cory, but no Danika, or Frankie.

“Where is she?” I asked Jared, digging in my heels when a cop tried to prod me forward. I’d move when I was good and ready.

“She left. Frankie took her home.”

“Was she okay?” I asked, shrugging off the cop’s hand on my shoulder. “Give me a fucking minute,” I told the officer, turning to give him a hard look.

He swallowed hard, but set his jaw. If I pushed him much more, he’d Taser me to prove a point.

I turned back Jared.

Jared shook his head. “She was really upset, but she didn’t get hurt or anything. You didn’t touch anyone but that guy in the gurney.”

I nodded, finally letting them lead me away. I knew I’d only made things worse by losing it, but even this second, when I thought of that guy touching her, putting his hands and his mouth on her, I wanted to pound his face all over again. And the fact that he was an ex, that he’d had sex with her at some point, that he’d been inside of her. Mine. Well, that made me want to kill him.

I was lost in my own thoughts to the point that I barely noted what was going on. I summoned up a smirk for my mug shot, but even through the booking, I wouldn’t answer a single question that they asked me. I thought that if I talked about, even mentioned that piece of shit that had been touching her, I’d lose my mind again.

I was focused on one thing. “Don’t I get a phone call?” I asked the officer that had been nonstop questioning me, growing increasingly frustrated when I just gazed off into space.

“You a fighter? You pro?” he countered.

I ignored that completely, even though I knew they were trying to trump up the chargers. “Phone call,” I said stubbornly. I needed to call her as soon as possible, and start with the apologies. I was already fucked. Giving her more time to stew about it would only make things worse.

“Fine. You can make a phone call. Just answer some questions for me first.”

I zoned out again, only hearing that he wasn’t giving me the only thing I was interested in.

Nothing really got me out of my own head until I was being led into a room, and sitting at a table, was James Cavendish.

He raised his brows at me, waving a hand at the seat across from him.

I sat, eyeing him up suspiciously. We’d met several times now, but I still wasn’t sure what to think about the pretty boy billionaire. My first inclination was not to like him, but he made that harder almost every time we talked.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him.

He gave me an enigmatic smile. “Frankie called me. You had my dearest friend upset, which I take strong exception to.”

“She’s my friend too,” I said defensively, “and I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“Yes. I see that. You went Hulk smash, and the rest is history, but let me get to the point here.”

“Please do,” I said tersely.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I’ve backed your band financially.”

I sure hadn’t been aware of that.

“I’m not even directly involved in that industry, but I’m not a man who sees a good investment and just watches it walk away. I’ve been working on a record deal for you, a solid one, but another incident like this, and you will tank all of your chances. This can’t happen again.”

I didn’t mean for it to happen this time, I thought. “Got it,” I said. I wouldn’t blow it for the guys if there was a chance I could help it.

“Unfortunately, I’m not convinced. You see, I saw the other guy. I’ve posted your bail, and I’m paying all of his medical bills. But what you did to him…the injuries he sustained, those are not the actions of a man in his right mind. I hear they had to pull you off, or you would have kept going, but the damage was already very substantial, as it is. I’m not pleased.”

“Join the club,” I growled, because I was as disgusted with myself as anyone.

“I’m going to need some insurance from you that your behavior will change. My lawyers can get your sentence down to probation, they’ve assured me, but you will be attending anger management. You doing coke?”