Chapter 4

Michael

 told you it wasn’t over.”

I turn around and face Brandon, standing tall without an ounce of fear in him.

“What do you want?”

“I didn't come here to find Gabby. I know exactly where to find her.”

I try like hell to keep my composure, despite the fury pumping through my body. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Julia's dead.”

My world stops as I’m hit with that information. “How do you know?”

He pulls a joint from his pocket, placing it between his lips he lights up and pulls the smoke into his lungs before releasing it into the air between us. “It was on the news. She was portrayed as a local hero. Entrepreneur, volunteer. Isn't that sweet?”

I fight the bile rising in my throat. She married well. Her husband’s family owns a lot in this town, and they made a significant point of giving back to the community where they were both born and raised. “So, what does that have to do with me? She was dead a long time ago in my mind.”

He takes another long drag of the joint, and I struggle as he pulls it from his mouth and offers it to me.

Fuck, I'd love the brief escape.

My head jerks from side to side, rejecting the pass, and he shrugs it off.

“Right. You’re ‘sober.’”

The finger quotes he makes in the air over the word “sober” pisses me off, but I try not to show it. “She's not dead to either of us.” He leans against the wall. “You still smell her perfume. You still hear her moans. You still see her face when you’re inside a chick, praying like fuck that you don’t.”

I take a few steps back and turn away from him, my hands gripping the porcelain locker room sink. I struggle to breathe, wishing his words weren't true.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“The funeral is Monday. It's here in town.”

That causes me to face him again. “You’re going?”

“Of course, I am. I’ve wanted to spit on her grave for years.”

“You can't do that shit. You know how many questions that will dredge up if you make a fucking scene at her funeral?”

“Relax. I won't do shit with others around. I just need to see that bitch buried.”

“Christ.” I run a hand over my face, a cold sweat settling over my skin as the memories of my past come to the surface.

I was fourteen when I started fucking Julia Sullivan.

Not fucking.

I try to remind myself, trying to remember my therapist’s words.

I was a child, not capable of making a decision that was made for me.

I’m not sure I believe it, though.

I resembled a man. My dick sure as hell worked. I got off each and every time. I never said no.

Still, I hate her.

Something Brandon and I have in common. He was only twelve when it started.

“You want something stronger?”

His hand moves to his pocket, and I shake my head. “No. Leave.”

He puts the joint out on the cement floor and kicks it over to me with his shoe. “You may have fooled everyone else, Monroe, but I know the real you. I know the whole fucking story, and it’s only a matter of time.”

He spins on one foot and leaves the locker room, just as someone else enters.

His eyes roam over Dani, leering at her. But he keeps moving, letting her inside.

“Michael.”

“Dani.” I stand up as straight as I can. I won't let her see my weakness.

It's time to put up that solid wall of arrogance and pray she doesn’t see right through me, like she always has before.