Steal(Seaside Pictures Book 3)(67)

Leaving Will standing there, chest heaving.

I was torn between wanting to yell at Andrew, pound against his chest, and ask Will to tell him he had the story wrong.

Beg him to say something!

But when Will turned to me, his face was pale, so pale.

And all I kept thinking was.

He really did drive me into someone else’s arms — but not for the reason I thought… All these years, I’d dealt with guilt over cheating.

When I never cheated.

When the last guy I had slept with had been my own boyfriend who claimed to love me, claimed to fight for me, marry me — whose only plan all along.

Had been to send me away.

I shook my head as tears fell.

And just like before.

It happened in slow motion.

The drip of water as it slid down my cheek, met my lips.

Will was there immediately, trying to touch me, explain to me, speak to me, but I wasn’t hearing words, all I heard was the sound of the crashing waves behind me, and the sudden jarring thought that I’d wasted so many years of my life dealing with self-blame.

Loathing.

Hatred.

Not realizing that maybe, just maybe, we really did have equal parts in our own destruction.

Gem was right. You allow others to ruin your life.

I’d allowed Will to both ruin and save me.

And now it was time to choose what happened next.

Not him.

Me.

I took a step back.

And then another.

And then I was running.

After Andrew.





I’D PASSED OUT once in my life.

Dehydration.

So I didn’t realize what was happening when Zane was snapping his fingers in front of my face and asking how old I was.

“He can’t count that high,” Demetri muttered.

“So many candles.” Ty shuddered.

I shoved them away and moved to a sitting position then held my head in my hands rubbing my temples. “What happened?”

Nobody spoke.

I sucked in a breath as the events crashed over me, jarring my memory to a painful degree.

That night.

That. Night.

I chose never to think about it.

Hated giving it power.

But in that moment.

I did.

I thought about it — really thought about it.

The fight with Ang before the concert.

The fight with Andrew after.

Drinking just enough to be angry at the world that things weren’t going my way — that my best friend wouldn’t listen to me about drugs, that he’d hurt the woman I loved, and that the woman I loved was choosing drugs over me.

The groupie was pretty.

And it was easy.

So easy to wonder what life would be like if I just shut off, sent Ang away, sent Andrew away, got them help while I could figure out how to save the rest of the band, salvage what was left.

I was fine.

They were the problem.

So. Much. Anger.

I choked back a sob and stood on wobbly feet, my eyes zeroing in on Zane and his haunting words.

Anger is the symptom.

I’d been devastated.

Because I’d had such a high opinion of myself — that when Ang still chose drugs — my pride couldn’t take the hit.

God.

I’d slept with her.

I remembered her tears that night.

Asking me to slow down.

Begging me to talk to her about the future.

Asking when she’d see me again since I’d be gone for weeks.

And my heart cracking in my chest as I slept with her one last time before I sent her to rehab — before I got her the help she needed.

Before I sent her out of my life and fought for us the only way I knew how.

Alone.

“Hey, you okay?” Zane asked.

“No,” I whispered. “I’m not okay.”

He didn’t seem to know what to do with that.

I walked.

And then I ran like hell.

After both of my best friends.

Ang.

And Andrew.





ANDREW WAS A runner.

I could tell by his stride, the easy way he inhaled through his nose, out his mouth. While I thought I was going to pass out from shortness of breath.

“Andrew!” I yelled.

The ocean swallowed my voice.

Finally, he stopped and turned.

I kept running; he was a good hundred feet in front of me.

And when I finally caught up, I couldn’t catch my breath, my tears were mixed with sand by then, and my lungs burned.

“I’m disappointed.” He rasped, “You still don’t exercise. Isn’t that part of the steps in rehab? Find a healthy…” He made mock quotes. “Outlet.”

“I bite,” I sucked in a gulp of air, “My fingernails and,” I put my hands on my knees and tried breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth. “I color.”

“Color.” he repeated, “With crayons? Markers? Colored pencils? Watercolors—”

“Crayons.” I blurted then collapsed onto the sand.

Slowly, he lowered his massive body next to mine.

We were a few feet apart.