No clue.
I only know one thing: Drills start in fifteen minutes and the second I start running, I’m going to throw up. It’s just going to happen. It’s going to be disgusting. I’m probably going to get some fucked up nickname like Pukey, which will follow me around until I retire from the force four decades from now.
Somehow I’ve managed to dress myself in my uniform, which was a challenge in itself, let alone drilling at eight in the morning, with none other than Greer holding the whistle.
All of this is cool, though, because I want to die. I do. This is just my version of suicide by cop. I can’t think about the words Ever said to me without wanting to rip my hair out by the roots, hence the fifth of whiskey I put away last night. Why did I take that picture of her? I seem to recall asking myself that same question around one o’clock in the morning, while holding out my phone to a bleary-eyed bartender. It’s not a bad picture. I don’t think Ever is capable of spawning anything bad whatsoever. It’s not pixelated or off center. No, it just happens to be a perfect depiction of loneliness.
She looked so lonely watching me leave.
Is that the first time? Or has she always watched me go with that same half-brave, half-dejected expression on her face? I managed to drown those horrifying possibilities in a vat of liquor last night, but I can’t ignore them now. I made her feel used. I hurt her. How was I so fucking unaware?
Because sure as shit, I was aware of meddling in her life. Screwing with her plans. Showing up at her building with the full intent to take her to bed if she gave me the slightest encouragement. I’m only ignorant when it comes to other people’s needs and feelings. Ever was right to throw me out. For the second time. She might love the sex—God knows we both do—but she sees me for the selfish prick I am.
She recognizes damage I can cause to people who have the potential to love me.
All the recruits have made their way from the locker room into the gymnasium now. Well. Except for Jack. Danika isn’t speaking to me after encouraging Jack to drink last night—which I deserve—so I’m sitting alone, up against the wall farthest from the platform where Greer will stand in mere moments, ready to make his younger brother’s life hell. As if it wasn’t already.
With brimstone curling in my nose, I spot someone across the gymnasium floor and my spine straightens. The agonizing throb in my temples ratchets up until I swear, blood swims in my vision. That little fucker. In the mental four-alarm-fire I’ve been in since leaving Ever looking so sad, holding the counter for support, I forgot all about my fellow recruit who never takes off his goddamn aviator glasses. He’s one of the jackasses I sent to go ruin Ever’s speed dating event, so imagine my surprise when the dickhead showed up as one of her matches on DateMate yesterday. Yeah, he’d gone and found her somehow among the dozens of dating sites. I don’t believe in coincidences.
I’m on my feet before my brain has given a formal command, probably because it’s on a ten-second whiskey delay. And yeah, even through the rage, I’m aware I’m about to make a huge mistake. Do I give a shit? Nope. I need someone to give me a nice, hard right cross, because this hangover feels like a nail gun to the skull, and it’s still the least I have coming. I want to hurt. I want to bleed. I want to stop thinking.
About Ever. Her scent, her hands, her eyes, the way she kissed me with so much. So much. About everything that came rushing back in the park yesterday, before she saved me, then cut me loose again. I’m floating somewhere in space with nowhere to land, and I need outer pain to distract me from the inner.
“Hey, you. Ass Face.” I slice through my enemy’s posse of mouth breathers, delivering a two-handed slam to his chest, flattening him up against the cinderblock wall. “You ever try talking to my girl again, I will take those stupid glasses and ram them down your throat. Are you hearing me?”
He’s nervous. He should be. I’ve busted my ass to earn every single recruit’s respect by working twice as hard, so they wouldn’t think I was riding on my family’s coattails. I’m not someone to be taken lightly. Unfortunately, males aren’t known for making the best decisions when their friends are around. “If she’s your girl, why was she speed dating?”
There’s a chorus of ohhhs behind me like we’re starring in some corny eighties movie, which pisses me off almost as much as the comment. Of course, “It’s complicated,” is the only response I have to that, which I deliver through clenched teeth. “You’re going to go home to your mom’s basement tonight and delete whatever lame-dick message you sent her,” I enunciate. “Or we’re going to have a problem.”
“I’m not deleting shit,” Ass Face spits, his face growing redder, thanks to my forearm wedging against his jugular. “Just because you couldn’t hold on to that hot piece of ass doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have a chance at tapping it.”
That’s all folks.
I don’t even see red. Oh no. I’m blind. I can’t see a goddamn thing. It’s like someone stuffed pillows into my ears and kept shoving, trying to squeeze the juice out of my brain. My fists are moving before I register the action, connecting with flesh and bone. There’s a crunch under my fist and it’s so far from satisfying, I have to keep going. Swinging again. And with that second right hook, everything changes from slow, underwater movements to rapid, hyperspeed chaos. The fucker who dared to call my Ever a name is on the ground, I’m straddling his neck and beating the hell out of him. I can’t stop. I can’t even feel the third or fourth hit. I don’t feel anything but a repeated shattering inside my ribcage.
I couldn’t hold on to her.
I can’t hold on to anything.
“Charlie!” It’s Jack’s voice, among the chorus of others. Several sets of hands are attempting to haul me off my bloody opponent, but none of them are successful. There’s a bonfire in my throat, and the smoke is billowing into my noise, behind my eyes. I’m screaming through clenched teeth and—
My back hits the mat. Jack is blocking out the gymnasium lights above me, and I let him. I don’t have a choice. My breath is rattling in and out so fast, my adrenaline like a fire hose blast, I don’t feel the pain radiating from behind my eye socket at first. But it roars in, and that’s when red finally seeps into my vision, liquid and sticky.
Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)
Tessa Bailey's books
- Baiting the Maid of Honor_a Wedding Dare novel
- Protecting What's His
- Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)
- Risking it All (Crossing the Line, #1)
- Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)
- Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)
- Rough Rhythm: A Made in Jersey Novella (1001 Dark Nights)
- Thrown Down (Made in Jersey #2)