Hey, what were you calling me about?”
Drew and I texted, but we rarely called each other. He must’ve wanted to talk about something important.
“It can wait. Looks like you’ve had a hard enough day.” He squeezed my knee and returned his hand to the gearshift.
I sighed and looked out the window at Devilbend flying by. Was Hendrix right? Would I end up in a life that felt as if it were flying past as I watched from the other side of the window?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hendrix
My feet pounded against the treadmill as sweat poured down my face. My lungs were screaming, my heart thundering so hard it felt as though it might give out.
I gritted my teeth and kept pushing.
After Donna got into Drew’s car and left, I’d driven straight to the gym, every inch of my body itching to just do something. It was better than punching a tree in the park, better than driving to Davey’s and getting absolutely wasted, better than finding some unsuspecting dude in a back alleyway and beating the shit out of him. I couldn’t punish anyone else to get this feeling out, so I’d punish my own body.
The person I really wanted to punish was her.
That wasn’t true, not really. Yes, I was angry, furious, but I was hurt more than anything. I’d spilled my guts to her, told her the deepest, darkest moment of my life, and she . . . she just . . .
I grunted and swung my heavy arms a little harder, pumping my legs.
I’d told her about Austin because I wanted her to understand how fast and how horribly bad shit could turn when you were searching for an escape. No, she wasn’t getting into fights with randoms as I had been, but she was spiraling in her own way—exactly as I had been. The only difference really was that she preferred to fuck dangerous guys and not fight them. Why couldn’t she see that?
But maybe that was my mistake—I’d told her because I wanted her to change her behavior. I’d told her as a way to get her to do what I wanted her to do.
No, that wasn’t entirely true either. I didn’t think I’d be capable of saying all the things I’d said to Donna if I didn’t want her to know them. Not because it would be a wake-up call for her, but because I wanted her to know me—every deep, dark, horrific part of my soul. I wanted her to know me. And still want me.
But she didn’t. She’d run from me like the monster I was.
Maybe I was going about this whole thing the wrong way. Maybe she needed to hit her rock bottom, just as I had, in order to recognize that something needed to change. But how was I supposed to just sit back and watch her get hurt, possibly killed? Especially now that I’d gone and grown fucking feelings for her, like a moron.
“Hey, bro!” Turner appeared in front of the treadmill, his smile more a grimace. I frowned, wishing he’d go away, wishing everyone would just go the fuck away, but he reached over and hit the Stop button.
“Dude!” I panted, bracing myself on the guard rails. “I was . . . still . . . going.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t let you get hurt, so . . . how about you take a break and we talk about what’s bothering you?” He crossed his arms, and the biceps bulged out. He was a fit guy when we met, but he’d gained definition over the weeks we’d worked out together.
“I’m not gonna . . . get hurt . . . I just need . . . to keep running,” I ground out, beyond frustrated with how hard I was breathing. My legs were starting to shake a little now that I’d been forced to stop. Useless meat stumps . . .
“I can’t let you keep going, man.” Turner frowned, looking more worried by the second.
“Why?”
He sighed. “It’s my job to make sure people don’t hurt themselves. You’re sweating so much it’s dripping on the treadmill, which is fucking disgusting”—he made a face—“but also a slip hazard. Not to mention you’re so out of breath you can hardly talk, and the only reason you’re still upright is because of that death grip on the handrail.”
I glared at him, still working to catch my breath.
When I said nothing, Turner raised his eyebrows and pointed to the changing rooms. “Go shower. I’ll wipe this down