Amelia

My body tenses when he walks into the room. I can feel him right there, but I refuse to look that way. If I look, everything will be ruined and I would have put up with Tom’s clammy hands all over me for the last thirty minutes for absolutely nothing.

I can see his silhouette by the door out of my peripheral vision. He doesn’t know what to make of this, but he is watching my every move trying to figure it out. I can almost hear his mind trying to process what his eyes are seeing. It’s go time.

Time to break my heart . . . and his.

I turn my body toward Tom just enough so that I can see his face. He still doesn’t know Cal is here.

Idiot.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull his head close to mine. He thinks I want to kiss him.

I’d rather die.

Leaning down, I place my lips on his neck and trail a few kisses up to his jaw. His hands slide around to grab my ass, just like I knew they would. He makes this way too easy.

I hate using Tom to push Cal away. I was honest with him upfront and told him in no way possible did this mean he was getting laid or anything else. He said he was cool with that, but I know guys, and right now, I can feel his little friend waking up beneath me.

Tom tugs on my hair, trying to pull my head back so he can have access to my mouth. I can’t let him do that. There is no way I can fake my way through an actual kiss. Not with Cal standing there, watching this entire scene play out in front of him. Not while my heart shatters in my chest.

I try to picture Cal in my mind and pretend I’m sitting on his lap with his hands on me. Tom is squeezing way too hard, and I can feel a bruise forming already. Cal would never bruise me. He worshipped every inch of my body. Picturing Cal isn’t working. I try to completely remove my mind from this charade, taking myself somewhere else, letting the pain consume me so that I can’t think about what I am doing or with whom I am doing it.

It works.

One minute, I’m on Tom’s lap pretending to make out with him, and the next, I am flying through the air. Strong hands grip me under the arms, lifting me from his lap and swinging me around to place me on my feet directly across from Tom. Cal turns his back to me, and then all I hear is screaming.

Tom’s chair is tossed to the side of the room, forgotten while Cal holds Tom with one hand by the throat, shaking him violently. Blood pours from Tom’s nose and one eye is already swelling. His face is turning blue now from lack of oxygen as I watch in horror.

“Callum Lee Johnson! Stop right this second.” I scream at him, hitting him as hard as I can across his back, arms and neck. It doesn’t even faze him. I might as well be a fly swarming around his head. All he sees right now is red.

Blood red.

Vengeance.

“You’re gonna kill him,” I cry, screaming over and over at him. Not out of fear for Tom. No, that would make me a decent person. I’m afraid if he kills him, then I would have just spent thirty minutes in hell for no reason. Cal would be carted off to prison, and I would be stuck here in nowhere Missouri, all alone.

“I should. He deserves it.” The rage in his tone terrifies me, makes me want to run and hide from him even though I know he would never hurt me. He drops Tom to the ground, where he then lays choking in mouthfuls of air.

“Outside. Now.” Cal demands, turning toward me as he waits for me to exit the room in front of him. He doesn’t want to leave me in there with Tom. He doesn’t want me to be the one to care for him right now, even though it’s my fault he’s in this predicament.

We step outside to the cool, muggy air and I wait, shaking with fear. This is what I wanted. I wanted him to get angry. I wanted him to leave me. He deserves so much more than my fucked up life and this sad, pathetic town. He’s going places, big places, but only if I can convince him to leave me.

It takes everything in me not to turn to him and rush into his arms and beg forgiveness.

“Why, Amelia?” he asks, his voice broken and ragged. My body bows in on itself when I hear the pain reflected in his voice. I can’t believe that I caused it. That I chose to hurt him so much.

“Why what?” I pretend to be cool and composed as I die on the inside.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice breaking halfway through.

“God, Callum, can’t you see that I don't want you? It was great. Honestly, it was, but our time is over now.” I hate myself in this moment. I hate the person I am, and I hope he hates me too.

“Is this because of the offer? I already told you I wasn't taking it. I don't want it. Football means nothing to me . . . nothing means anything to me but you.” Even after seeing me in the arms of another man, he still wants me. He still loves me. He still believes in me. I don’t deserve this man. I have never deserved him. He is beautiful inside and out and he should be happy and away from all the craziness that is me and my screwed up life.

“Stop. Just stop. Listen to me. I. Do. Not. Want. You.” I pronounce each word carefully, stabbing my finger into his chest like a knife with each word spoken. “It was fun, but I’ve moved on. It’s time you do the same.”