Forgotten Rules (Rules 4)

Rage takes a hold of me, and I pray I can stay afloat a little while longer.

“You want me to talk to you? Is that it?” I propel him off me. “Okay. What do you want me to say, Will? That it fucking destroyed me to find out about my dad today? That I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust a man again? Or believe in love? That I’ll never be able to walk into my mom’s bedroom without thinking of my father fucking my boss?” I push him once. Twice. I lose my shit, plain and simple. And the craziest part? It makes me feel better.

In control.

I need this rage. This burning, uncontrollable anger. If anger is my only lifeline in this ocean of disappointments, I’ll hold on to it until I drown.

“Kass, calm the fuck down!” Will yells, but all I can see is red. Red like my heart as it breaks from finding out the first prince in my life is a frog. Red like the blood that spilled out of me when my family drove a knife into my back.

I pummel Will’s torso with strong blows. He doesn’t flinch, taking every hit like a champ.

“Do you want me to say I’m barely holding it together and it’s taking me all I have not to break down right now? That I can’t believe that I thought for even one second…” My voice splinters. “I thought he gave up on us.”

I’m well aware that I’m probably not making any sense to him. No longer having it, Will clutches my wrist, holding me in place and keeping crazy Kass in check.

“You don’t get it,” I belt. “Nobody gets it. It’s not Kendrick he stopped loving. It’s not Kendrick who wasn’t worth it. He didn’t give up on us.”

I burst out crying.

“He just gave up on me.”

The second the first tear spills down my cheek, I know I’m done. I’ve lost. Kass, 0, Life, 1. Desperate to secure the remaining shreds of my dignity, I opt for my last option: run. Run before Will sees me collapse. I rush toward the ladder, but Will springs into action, almost as though he anticipated my escape, and spins me around in the same way he did before.

Only difference is, this time…

It’s to capture me in his arms.

He traps me into an embrace I didn’t expect, resting his chin atop my head. I fight, I kick, I claw, but he doesn’t let go. If anything, he only holds on tighter. His strong arms feel like home. But I don’t want to feel at home.

Not unless he feels it, too.

Once I’ve run out of rage, strength, and pride, I let my cheek hit his torso and take it all in: his scent, his warmth, his arms squeezing me tight. I listen to his heartbeat and let myself cry.

That’s all I do.

I cry and I cry while Will holds me. I imagined this moment so many times—his arms around me, refusing to let go. But I never would have thought it’d happen like this.

“You should’ve seen the look on his face.” I sob into his shirt, clasping the fabric. “He looked at me like I wasn’t his little girl. Like I was nothing.”

I pull away to see my pain staring back at me. It’s in his eyes. He took some of my suffering as his own, relieving me from parts of a burden I can’t carry. He genuinely feels for me—which only makes me weep harder.

“It hurts… it hurts so bad. God, just make it stop,” I bla

ther between sobs. I can’t seem to make sense of my own plea. I don’t know what I’m asking him to do.

So then why…

Why do I feel like he does?

Interrogations flood his gaze. I watch as he debates on something, weighing pros and cons, torn between choices I never gave him. Eventually, they vanish.

I take it he found his answer.

Our eyes meet.

Then he kisses me.

He cups my face, wipes my tears, and smashes his lips to mine with a need I’ve never felt in my entire life. Surprised, I tumble backward, but he keeps me upright, kissing me so hard my body cries for his touch. He doesn’t seem to give a single shit that I was sobbing seconds ago, dismissing my swollen face and salty lips.