Veils of Rivalry Chapter 68

Cole's POV

Samson passes me the joint while Keith pays the pizza delivery guy and sets all four boxes on the table. We’re all sitting around it, music playing lightly in the background, bottles of beer littered everywhere, with a pack of cards waiting to be dealt.

We’ve been at this for what feels like days, but it’s only been three hours. I came over as soon as I packed enough clothes for the weekend. I couldn’t be in that house with Blaise. I’m so fucking lost and confused about what I’m supposed to do.

One thing my mom always told me was to take a breather before reacting, and since I’ve never taken her advice before, I’m taking it now. I’m having a breather, which also feels like a three-day-long panic attack.

Samson kicks my shin. “Stop zoning out when I’m talking to you.”

I blink and shake my head, taking a draw, filling my lungs with poisonous smoke and handing the joint to Keith. Grabbing the stack of cards, I shuffle them and deal.

“Did you sleep last night?”

I nod and continue dealing, setting aside the rest, and checking my cards without them being able to see. Shitty hand. Shitty day. Shitty week. Shitty fucking emotions.

Keith plates us up some pizza and shoves dip in the middle, and we start playing while simultaneously passing joint after joint, until I’m less anxious and more stoned out of my mind. He hasn’t sent any messages today, and for some reason, that makes me feel worse.

All I need to do is talk to him, I know, but what the fuck do I say? Yeah, you drugged me and made me fuck your girlfriend while my girlfriend sucked you off? That you’ve been lying to me the entire time? That Mia was right?

He tricked me, and I don’t know what to do.

“What would you do if someone drugged you and made you fuck their girlfriend?”

Samson and Keith freeze, the joint nearly slipping from the former’s mouth. “What?”

“Hypothetically,” I clarify. “If Keith drugged you, and made you sleep with his girl, while you got his girl to blow you, and he never told you. What would you do?”

Samson’s eyes widen. “I… I don’t know.”

“Blaise did that?”

I sneer. “No. I said hypothetically.”

“Do you plan on doing that to someone?”

I roll my eyes and throw down an Ace of Spades. “No.”

“Because if you are, that’s pretty fucked up, man. Don’t you kind of have a boyfriend?”

I grind my teeth together. “It’s your turn.” I gesture to his cards hanging loosely between his fingers, not even attempting to hide them anymore.

For the next hour, they’re being unnaturally quiet, sharing glances here and there, and they keep going on their phones. Mine is in my bag upstairs in the guest room. The idea of checking it every two seconds feels like a painful way to make myself even more ill.

I finish my next joint and stub it out, getting to my feet. “Going to the bathroom.”

They both hum and keep playing the game. I’m already out, so they can continue without me.

Taking two steps at a time to get to the guest room, I make my way in and snatch up my bag. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull out my phone to see only one message from Allie’s new number. The usuals of her asking me what I’m doing and how I am.

I ignore her, like I do with all her messages, and open a new message box, hunting for the number I’m yet to save.

Clocking it, I type without fighting with myself about reaching out to Mia.

Me: Did you know?

The response is strangely instant.

Mia: About what?

Me: That Blaise drugged me that night.

Mia: He drugged me too, I think. I only remember some moments, but I don’t think I drank enough to be like that. Are you finally telling me you remember what happened between us?

Me: I didn’t know.

Mia: Do you want to come over? We can talk about it? I won’t tell Blaise, I promise. I know you two are together now.

I frown at the screen. Why the hell would I want to go there and talk about it? What’s there to discuss? Blaise drugged us, made us fuck, and the damage is done. The damage is… I don’t even know if it can be fixed.

Shaking my head, I pinch the bridge of my nose as another message comes in from her.

Mia: We were sober that day in the shower. You know there is a connection between us. Why not explore it? We don’t need to tell anyone until we know we’d work out.

Instead of replying, I narrow my eyes and click off her chat box. Did I just give her mixed signals? Did I just reawaken this fucking fascination she has with me?

Fuck.

I toss aside my phone when she starts calling me.

The other phone is in my bag, along with my cracked mask and hoodie. It takes me a few moments to think, trying to talk myself out of what I’m about to do, but I’m too mad at Blaise.

He needs to be punished and this is the only way I know how.

I open our chat – the masked, unidentified guy and Blaise. There hasn’t been any communication since we technically made it official, so my fingers tremble as I type out a location. The middle of the football field at our college.

Two hours from now.

When he sends a thumbs up emoji barely a minute later, I drop the phone on the ground between my feet and stare at it.

And stare and stare and stare.

Until my eyes burn, and my lungs threaten to blow.

Something wet hits my cheek. A tear slides down, met with another, dripping from my chin and onto the offending phone with the message that shows just how little Blaise thinks of me.

Did I push him away, distance us too far?

If I spoke to him, would he have agreed so easily?

Regardless, this motherfucker just confirmed my suspicions.

Piece of shit.

By the time I get back downstairs and smoke another joint, I drink one more beer and quickly slip away, snatching my bag I left at the side of the door. I empty the contents in my car’s passenger seat, pull on the black hoodie and stare at the mask.

Nostrils flaring, I turn up the radio and speed out of the driveway, onto the road, and straight to the destination.

My ears are ringing from how loud the music is. I don’t even know what’s playing. I’m going too fast, my wheels skid on the road when I turn a corner, and another, and when I see a sign for the school, my adrenaline turns dangerous, and I grip the steering wheel until it hurts.

A lash of pain mixes with betrayal as I try to breathe through my rage. It’s taking over me, like a fucking thrashing monster inside me is trying to get out.

I stop at the empty, dark parking lot, grab my bat from the trunk. Slamming it shut, I slide on the mask and head for the field.

Everything around me vanishes—time stops, the world crumbling as I see Blaise standing in the middle of the pitch, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He’s bouncing on his heels, impatiently looking around until he glances over his shoulder and sees me. I lift the bat from my shoulder and grip it until the wood feels like it might crack under my hold.

Blaise pulls his hands from his pockets. Nervously, he gulps, and instead of coming toward me, he turns on his heels and runs toward the small building – where we go to get changed and showered.

He doesn’t make it that far, though, because I launch the bat at him, smacking him in the back, making him falter enough for me to grab the back of his neck and throw him to the ground.

He lets out a groan when I swing my leg and kick him in the ribs. Once. Twice. Three times. My cheeks are soaked with angry tears as I grit my teeth and kick him again. Until my foot hurts and he’s panting on the ground. I want to mess up his fucking face, smash his teeth in, and break his nose. I want to take his looks, since that’s all I can do.

The heel of my shoe crushes into his chest, and I tumble back from the force of it.

“Fuck,” he groans out, holding himself.

I regain my balance and fist my hand, grabbing his shirt and pulling him up enough to punch him in the face, blood splattering from his nose and hitting the mask.

His head knocks into the ground when I hit him again, his face crimson. He’s not even fighting me back – he probably thinks I’ll suck his cock or something. That this is part of our thing.

I’m not fucking touching him, and he’ll never get anywhere near me again.

Fury gets the best of me. I want to kill this motherfucker. I stand tall, glaring down at him screwing his eyes shut and wincing from his injuries.

Pulling off the mask, I toss it at him. He can see my heartbreak, the look of deep betrayal in my wet eyes. His lips part, as if he’s going to say something, but I rush forward and punch him again, cracking his skull into the ground once more.

“We’re done,” I spit, grabbing his bloody jaw, stopping him from talking. “You ever come anywhere near me again, and I won’t hesitate to fucking kill you.”

Releasing him, I turn around and walk toward my car, wiping tears with my sleeve.

“Cole!” he yells. “Wait!”