The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,62

full of gratitude for this unexpectedly kind woman being here tonight. I start to stand up and she touches my arm.

“We own Palmyra, it’s a Middle Eastern Restaurant in Rivers Wilde ,” she says. “Come visit me, I’m there on weeknights.” She squeezes my hand and I squeeze hers back.

“Oh, that’s my favorite! I’ll come see you,” I promise.

“I’m so glad he has someone like you. He’s going to need you.” She nods at the empty seat at the head of the table.

I want to ask her what she means but at the moment, I’m more concerned about Hayes. I walk out of the dining room, and the weight of the stares on my retreating back are heavy. The whispers are loud and I’m sure everyone is wondering who the hell I am. I want to turn around and yell, “I’m his,” but that would just delay. And something tells me I need to get to him as fast as I can.

I step into the hall and look both ways down the long, dark passage. I have no idea where he went. I’m turning left when a loud crash of glass has me turning right. I run down the hall. Muffled, but loud voices spill into the dark around me.

“You can’t keep doing this, Dare,” Hayes says.

My hand freezes on the door knob. This is his younger brother. The one Poppy mentioned earlier.

“I didn’t realize I couldn’t come to my own family’s home,” the other man slurs.

“I didn’t say that. I just wish you would lay off the alcohol and only God knows what else you’re putting into your body,” Hayes says, his voice tight with restrained anger. “Confidence is here, and I’m trying like fuck to make sure she wants to come back.” I know he’s been on edge about my visit. But it’s jarring to hear the anxiety so clearly in his voice.

“Well from what you told me, sounds like she lives in some shit hole mobile home in the middle of nowhere.” I’m startled by how much he sounds like Hayes. The drunken slurring of his words is the only way I can tell the difference. That, and the ugly insult in his tone.

“Shut up,” Hayes snaps.

“I’m sure she got one look at this place and realized she hit pay dirt. She isn’t going anywhere. Trust me,” he says.

The words and the ease with which he flings them feels like a lash across my heart. Is that what everyone thinks?

“Dare,” Hayes says, the warning in his voice making the hairs on the back of my neck stands up. I’m caught between wanting to go in and needing to hear how Hayes will respond.

“Oops, I forgot. You fucked her and forget you begged me to run a background check on your little gold digger” Those words hit me like scalding water. I cover my mouth to muffle my gasp of pain.

“Dare, don’t say another fucking word—”

“What? Only you can say she’s good enough to fuck but not good enough to bring home,—” he starts before his voice abruptly cuts off and the sickening sound of crunching bone fills the air.

“You broke my nose, you asshole!” the drunken voice screams before more glass crashes to the ground. And the telltale sounds of a tussle—grunts, curses, furniture scraping the floor, glass shattering—fill the air. I open the door and see two men, both big and tall, on the ground in a hopelessly well-matched tussle.

I know I should call for help, or step in to stop the fracas. Yet, I do neither of those things. Instead, I just watch the two men fight. My eyes remain on Hayes, the man I love. He still looks exactly the same, but at the same time, so different.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe

He ordered a background check? He knows every ugly thing about me. Anger, betrayal, and fear whirl. My head spins as those thoughts mingle with the sounds of chaos. The sounds of my childhood. Of furniture breaking, grunts of pain, the crunch of fists, the slap of skin on skin. I’m caught between the devil and hell—I don’t know which direction in this house of horrors to turn. But somehow, I manage to run until I get to our room. I sit on my bed and try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

I’ve just started to drift off when our bedroom door opens. My eyes snap open and I stare unseeingly at the wall as I wait for him