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“Always. Merc says it’s part of my brattly charm. Okay, so how are you going to tell Lo?”
“Aren’t you mad at me for wanting to destroy your relationship with Mercy?”
He laughs, patting me on the back. “As if you could. Merc and I are a done thing, tied together by all the forces in the universe. I think you’ll get it now.”
“Why does it feel like I’m drowning? It didn’t feel that way with you.”
“Because Lo is your true love, I was just a placeholder. Awww. This is adorable. Let’s call him. No! Come to the house, we’ll do it over dinner. Everyone has to be there.”
“I’m not telling him a damn thing, and neither are you. He likes Scott, the peacock on skates.”
“Only because he doesn’t know about you. Now, c’mooooon.”
“You think Mercy’s going to be thrilled about this development?”
“Pretty sure he suspects something by now.”
I facepalm. “Logan’s going to be pissed at me for lying to him no matter the reason.”
“Oh, yeah. He’s already plotting your murder, though. It can only be uphill from that. It’s best to just get it over with.”
Jack grabs my hand. Things feel like they’re moving too fast.
“Jack, I can’t. I’m sorry. I need to get a grip on reality. I’m sure this is a little crush that’ll be over when I come to my senses. Logan’s not even my type.”
“That’s your father speaking, Rhett. Don’t let him ruin this like he ruined us.” He sighs. “I can see you’re freaking out, though. No good will come from talking to Lo today, but you’ve got to do it soon. Logan’s not the only one losing his mind. Merc wanted to be the one to come here, but I convinced him to let me do it.”
“I’m not afraid of Merc.”
“You should be. Logan idolizes him even if that’s sometimes questionable because of his brattitude. If Mercy doesn’t approve of you, it’s over. Didn’t think about that, did you?”
I didn’t.
“I’ll do what I can on my end, just don’t leave it too long, eh? Do you hear what I’m saying? Don’t be a fucking idiot, Rhett.”
Jack leaves. I can’t believe I confessed all to him and that he called me a fucking idiot. With the words out in the open like that, some of the tension subsides. But there’s still enough anxiety lingering, setting me more on edge than I was earlier.
I mean to tell Logan the next day at the charity benefit, but I cancel instead, begging off sick again. Jack sends me a text message with what he thinks are threatening emojis. None of that spurs me to action. For three more days, I mope around my apartment, dodge Logan’s text messages and feel sorry for myself, letting these new and unwanted feelings tear me apart. It complicates an already complicated situation.
The most I can finally muster is a text to Jack.
Has Logan said anything about me?
A few things. All of them involve carving off your balls with a spoon.
What a beautiful little scorpion he is. I can envision his resplendent fury. But then I get a text from Logan.
As much as I want to save Jack from your father, if you continue to ignore me, I’m fake breaking up with you. But for real. Whatever you’re doing is bullshit, Rhett. I know you’re not sick.
Rubbing a thumb over the bite scar on my wrist, I check out the devastation to my person in the mirror. I haven’t combed my hair in all the days I’ve hidden from Logan. Haven’t shaved, either, and I can’t bring myself to. I gurgle some mouthwash and grab a ballcap to hide some of the travesty. I don’t bother with nice clothes and slide into a black tank and a pair of board shorts. I wear my Gucci slides. If Logan rejects me, I’ll simply hurl myself straight into the ocean. I’m certainly dressed for it.
Riding over to House Meyer in my McLaren doesn’t feel as powerful as it usually does. I’m just a sad rich boy in a horrendously expensive car. Logan isn’t going to care about that.
He must have heard the unique sound of my car engine pulling up because he’s barreling out of the door while I’m getting out. A passing cloud shadows the sun. It’s still warm, but it’s suddenly looking like it could rain again. I don’t care, I’ve only got eyes for the man running toward me with his scorpion’s tail cocked and his blue-gray eyes set to laser.
My appearance only flusters him for a moment and then he attacks me. I don’t stop him—yet. I don’t care about the damage he’ll do to me, but he might hurt himself. He slaps my face and pushes at my chest. I don’t move or protect myself. His fist flies at me, but it’s curled around his thumb. That’s when I stop him, so that he doesn’t break himself. Someone needs to teach him how to punch properly. The thumb should always be on the outside.
Gripping his wrists, he struggles and tears fly from his eyes. “I hate you. You lied to me. I know exactly who guys like you are and I … fuck. I’m so stupid.”
