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“Yeah.”
My hands curl into fists.
“Did you smash her equipment?”
He hesitates.
“Some of it. I was pissed off.”
I step forward.
He backs into the hallway.
“You were pissed off?”
“Look, I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Seems to be a pattern.”
His face reddens.
“Fuck you, Blackwood. You think you’re the only one who suffered?”
Something inside me snaps.
I grab his shirt and slam him against the wall.
The beer bottle falls.
Glass shatters.
Tyler gasps.
“Jesus!”
“Don’t you fucking talk to me about suffering.”
My voice comes out low.
Dangerously low.
“Your brother didn’t die,” Tyler spits.
My grip tightens.
“No. Mine did.”
He stares at me.
I can feel his pulse hammering beneath my fist.
Ten years.
Ten years I’ve imagined this moment.
Getting my hands on the man who killed Eli.
Making him hurt.
