Page 365 of Off Limits: The Firsts
Because she is right.
I wrote her name down. It may have been a doodle, but her name was there on the top of the list.
I held on to the file when I knew I shouldn’t. My initial intentions might have been pure behind it—find out what exactly she experienced so I could . . . so I could be the goddamn hero.
Fuck.
I’m such a damn asshole.
I didn’t want to screw this up and look what I just did.
Trust is hard for her.
And I just went and fucked that up.
I clench my fist and beg for something to hit.
The problem is, the only thing worthy of being punched is myself.
I drive.
I press the pedal to the metal and push the limits of the engine as I roar down the rural road. I use the rush of the air through the open windows to fill my ears and drown out my thoughts. And to dry my tears.
I don’t know where I’m going.
I have no clue.
All I know is I need space and freedom and air that Grant Malone doesn’t breathe.
All I want is to lose myself in something—possibly in someone—so I can remind myself why I don’t let my guard down.
All I need are my rules back in place.
All I want is my chest to stop hurting and my heart back.
I know that, regardless of how determined I was to hold on to it, I left it back at Grant’s house.
I gave my heart to him, and I gave my trust to him.
And he has just broken both.
“You want to tell me why you’re beating the shit out of the heavy bag like it has done something to you?”
I don’t have time for Grayson or his shit right now. “I can punch you instead.”
I grunt as I connect again. The jolt of my fist against the bag ricocheting up my arm and slamming into me is nothing compared to what I deserve.
“Who pissed you off?”
“No one.”
Another grunt. Another unsatisfying slam against the bag.
“Ah, so then you pissed yourself off.” He chuckles, and I don’t respond. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, man,” he says suddenly, as if the wind has been knocked from his sails. And it’s just enough to catch my attention that I glance his way.
“What?”
“Did you blow your interview?”
