Lost King by Piper Lennox (moboreader txt) 📗

“Just a joke,” he says, elbowing me too hard. I was reaching for seconds of pasta, but now get up and take my empty plate to the sink. My appetite is gone.

While Georgia and Max bicker, the rest of the table trying to ignore it with polite conversation, I start rinsing dishes and loading them in the washer.

“Antisocial Theo Time,” Wes chuckles quietly, stepping up beside me to help.

“No, too early for that. Just absolutely done sitting there with Max’s stupid ass. Why the hell is he here?”

“Brooke insisted.” He scours a burnt pan before passing it my way. “And you know Clara. Too sweet to tell her no. If it makes you feel any better, he’s only staying until tomorrow night.”

“Not sure I can resist beating the shit out of him that long.”

And then, like a sign from the universe that Max sorely needs the shit beaten out of him, I hear him spout another gem.

“...just kidding with him, damn. And it seems pretty hypocritical of a guy who did porn to get all uppity over some ancient blog post. Just saying.”

The room gets dead silent.

Slowly, Wes turns off the water, takes the knife I was washing, and slides it far, far away on the counter.

I know he did it to be funny, trying to lighten the mood a little. But maybe he was right to do it.

Because the second my muscles remember how to work, I’m across the cabin so fucking fast, Max doesn’t have time to blink.

With that ugly yellow sweater gripped in both fists, I slam his back against the nearest wall. Girls gasp. A few guys attempt to pry me away.

Good goddamn luck: Durham anger is legendary and unstoppable. I always prided myself on better temper control than my cousins. I shouldn’t have.

“Ow, fuck, dude,” Max coughs. “Let me go!”

I stare at him a second...and then I do, by effectively punching him out of my own grip.

When he’s down, I tackle him.

25

An unholy racket ensues. Under the sound of my fists hitting Max’s jaw, I hear glasses rattling, a plate or two hitting the floor, girls screaming, and Wes barking at me to get outside.

Everything blurs. Suddenly, I’m standing in ankle-deep snow, swigging from a whiskey bottle.

“Oh, my God,” Wes laughs. “That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Little Theo finally snapped.”

He flicks the bottle when I stop drinking, to encourage me to down more. I shake my head and shove it back to him, feeling my heartbeat hammer through my skull.

I spit into the snow. A spray of pink lands at my feet. Blood. What the fuck?

“Did he hit me?” I ask, still so keyed-up, I don’t even feel faint at the sight of it.

“Once or twice.” Wes doesn’t seem shocked at my rage blackout. I’m sure he’s had more than a few, himself. “You definitely won, though.”

Gingerly, I touch my lip and wince. It’s swollen. The back of my mouth tastes coppery; I feel wounds in my cheek, left by my own teeth. Probably from when I dove on top of him.

“I don’t know what happened to me, man,” I pant. “It’s been years since I hit someone.”

“And long fucking overdue,” he crows. Of course he’s loving this. He and Van have maintained for years that my lack of social energy comes from bottling up my issues with people.

They may be right, but I don’t see the point of hair-trigger anger, either. It’s how theirs used to be, and nothing good ever came of it.

“Where’s Ruby?” I turn and squint at the house through the darkness, but Wes spins me back. Smart. Just looking at the building, knowing Max is still inside, pisses me off again.

“She’s fine, dude, relax. Clara and Georgia took her upstairs. Someone spilled some wine, it got on her clothes...it’s not a big deal.” When I curse and start to the porch again, he grips my shirt to anchor me in place. “Seriously, she’s cool. She wasn’t upset or anything.”

I wish I believed this. Here I got pissed at Max for causing drama and ruining my trip with Ruby, and yet I took that bullshit to a whole new level, turning into some brute-force asshole right before her eyes. I don’t want her thinking I’m really like this.

Problem is: I am.

“I shouldn’t have let him get to me.” I take the bottle from Wes, settle my nerves with one last drink, and pass it back as we head to the porch. We don’t go inside yet. He sits on the railing, while I brush snow off an Adirondack chair.

“Yes. You should have.” He places his back against a column and cracks his spine with a yawn. “He’s a waste of fucking space. And Georgia’s right: Brooke can do better. It was good for her to see Max get his ass kicked. And it was damn good for me to see.” He laughs again, muttering that he’s got to text Van about it immediately.

While the liquor works its magic, I steady my breathing. Through the window, I see Brooke pressing an ice pack to Max’s face. Something tells me neither of them has learned anything tonight.

“Come on.” Wes pockets his phone as he hops down. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Rocky.”

Well. Better nickname than Porn Star.

“How are you feeling?”

Ruby appears in the bathroom doorway as soon as Wes finishes wiping the blood off my hands. Without my rage blindness, it’s getting to me again, so I’ve been keeping my eyes firmly on the ceiling.

“Better.” I thank Wes before he leaves. Ruby gives him an awkward, tight-lipped