Page 18 of Ricochet
I push my way out the front door of the building and rush down the steps as though I really stand a chance of escaping him. He remains undeterred, chasing after me without closing his damn trap.
“We could actually play really fucking well together. But if you can’t stand to be around me off the ice, then we’re never going to get anywhere. So fucking work with me here!”
Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, I turn and face him, having to look up where he stands two steps above me. “If I promise I’ll work on it, will you back off?”
“You said you’d leave your shit off the ice yesterday, and you couldn’t do it. Clearly that’s not going to work.”
And now that the nightmares are back, it’s just going to get even more difficult.
“I’ll try harder.”
Turning back around, I start marching down the sidewalk. I’m only telling him whatever it is he wants to hear, whatever will get him to drop this and…
Go.
The.
Fuck.
Away.
Because as his footsteps continue after me once more, the beat of them on the concrete matches whatever vein is throbbing incessantly in my head.
He wants to make it easier for me to be around him, but right now, he’s accomplishing the exact opposite.
I think he’s still rambling on as I round the corner of the library, continuing down a path lined with trees between two buildings. But I can’t hear him past the rushing river of fury in my ears, growing violent with rapids.
He won’t leave me alone.
I just want to be left alone.
“Callum! Would you please just stop?”
The moment his hand is on my shoulder, I finally snap.
I spent the better part of my life not fighting back as hard as I should have. Bruises, scars, and nightmares made me weak. I thought I could leave it all in the past. Do the healthy thing and grow, try to heal myself. Or the unhealthy one and learnto ignore the darkness that threatens to consume my soul every waking moment of every day.
Except now Stone’s drifted in like the fog, like a shadow, to prove me wrong.
I can’t ignore that darkness.
My fist connects with his face.
While pain shoots through my hand like an electric current, Stone’s head snaps to the side as he stumbles back a step. When he looks at me, a bead of blood drips from the cut on his bottom lip. My eyes track his thumb as it brushes against it, coming away painted red.
“There,” he says, sounding more satisfied than I feel. “Feel better?”
Was hetryingto provoke me into hitting him?
I’d get even more angry about that, maybe hit him again. But the few people who are close by have already stopped, staring at us, waiting for exactly that. Probably itching for a fight.
I won’t give it to them.
As I meet Stone’s gaze, I try to keep mine away from the streak of blood beneath his quickly swelling lip.
“No,” I answer honestly. “I don’t.”
Turning around, I walk away.