Chapter 1

Four Years Later

Friends - Chase Atlantic

The tiny bell hanging on the door of the cafe chimes every time someone comes and goes, sending a pulsating sharp pain through my head. I suspected last night I was suffering from yet another concussion, but the scent of food turning my stomach and the small cafe I'm standing in spinning around me confirms it. Nothing I haven't dealt with before. I'll be fine.

At least until Cece gets here.

My best friend has known me so long she can tell when I'm lying, and I have no doubt she'll call me out on my attempts to hide the newest collection of bruises across my skin.

She knows all about Christian, and what happens when he goes off. I can't even count the number of times she's threatened to put a bullet in his head and bury him six feet under for laying his hands on me. I know she's being protective, and I admire her for it, but sometimes I wish she wouldn't say anything. Walking on eggshells around him is hard enough. I don't need the added stress of wondering what will happen if he ever decides to snap on her the way he does me.

I have to admit though, it's rather funny, watching her chew him a new one. No one ever does. Only Cecilia. She's the only one who has the balls to give him a piece of her mind, but honestly, she's like that with everyone. Cece, despite being five foot nothing, never takes shit from anyone. Never has. There is no way in hell she'll miss the marks this time, and even if she does, she'll see right through my lies until she's forcing me to show them to her.

And as much as I hate that, if there is anyone I can't hide them from, I'm thankful it's her.

I pull the sleeves of my shirt down, fidgeting with the cotton fabric in my hands as I wait patiently in the lineup to place my order. Hopefully, now that race season is starting, Christian will be more focused on that than me.

Who am I kidding? If anything, it will only get worse.

Especially with the added pressure and stress of winning. It doesn't matter that I'm not one of his adrenaline-junkie opponents. I don't even involve myself in his race stuff other than show up to watch when I'm supposed to, and I definitely never touch his precious bike. Yet, every loss or every idiot he goes up against that does something to piss him off, is always somehow my fault.

It's me who always receives the brunt of his aggression and frustration.

His personal punching bag.

Cece always asks me why I stay. Why, no matter what he does to me, I find some reason, some excuse to stay. Sometimes, I even find myself defending him and what he does.

Idiot.

But no matter how many times she asks and how many times I forgive him, I never know how to answer her. Because, if I'm honest, even I don't know the answer.

Fear, maybe? A sense of responsibility or hope that the man I met four years ago, who was funny, kind, and caring, is still in there. But even I know he isn't.

I don't think that man ever existed.

Not really.

Checking the time on my phone, I'm shocked to find I've been here for over fifteen minutes, and the line has barely moved. I roll my eyes and turn my attention outside. Summer is just beginning, and it's about time. The large cafe windows allow the bright rays of sun to pour in and illuminate the space. Outside, people are sitting at small bistro tables, where some are chatting away, and others are working. It's busy here, not that I'm surprised; Seaside Cafe makes the best coffee in Tampa, and with the return of the warm weather comes the tourists who all want a taste.

The familiar hum of sports bike engines meet my ears and draws my attention to the parking lot outside. A red BMW S1000 and matte black Yamaha R1 pull up and park. Bikes around here are a common sight. You rarely go anywhere without seeing them, especially with the warmer weather finally upon us. It's also opening weekend at the track, bringing bikes and teams from all over the country to this part of Tampa for the start of the race season.

One of the guys hang back to make a phone call, and the other slides his helmet off and places it on his seat. I watch as he runs his tattooed hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face. The moment his face is in my view, my stomach catches in my throat.

Sayshen Shaw.

Biggest fuckboy from Palms High, the high school we both attended. The guy every girl fucked, and then bragged about for a week until she realized she was no different than any of the other chicks who were stupid enough to get under him before she did. His body count from senior year alone is more than most men fuck in their lifetime.

Girls always flocked to him, desperate for his attention and I never understood it. Don't get me wrong, he's hot, even I won't deny that. But I would never allow myself to be just another notch in his bedpost. Another girl he fucks for a night and forgets. While some girls want the guy all the girls want, it's a turn-off for me. Especially when they can actually get him. I don't want what anyone can get, and with Sayshen Shaw, if it walks, talks, and has a pussy, he'll fuck it.

I watch as the small bell above the door chimes with Sayshen's entrance into the cafe. At first, he takes his place at the back of the line. He's gotten taller since graduation and maybe a bit more buff. His arms, hands, and neck are covered in thick black traditional tattoos and he has a small diamond stud earring through his nose. Other than that, he looks the same as he did then. The same dark hair, though now it's shaved around the sides and a bit longer on the top. His bangs hang down over his face, accentuating his dark whiskey-brown eyes as they roam the small space of the cafe. His skin is tanned and─

The lady in line behind me clears her throat, breaking my thought, "Are you going to move up? Or can I cut in front of you?" she asks with annoyance. Turning, I find the line has moved, but I was so focused on Sayshen I hadn't noticed.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, I apologize before moving up the line.

"Bexley Larson. Is that you?" Someone shouts from behind me.

Fuck.

I don't have to look back to know who it is. His tone, though deeper, is still familiar. Looking over my shoulder, I see him pushing through the line as he approaches me with his friend following behind him.

"Ha, I knew it was you," he adds as the lineup of people grunts and groans at them. Clearly pissed off at them for cutting through the line to reach me. Sayshen's friend pulls out a small pocket knife and uses it to pick his pearly white teeth as he eyes the lineup of impatient customers. I remember seeing this guy around a bit in high school. He was never a student, at least not that I remember, but he often sat out in the parking lot on his bike. Waiting for Sayshen and his friends, Cruz and Reign, to get out of school.

"Is there a problem?" The guy asks the crowd in a husky tone. It's a threat, for sure, but it works. Their complaints quickly disappear, and most turn their eyes away from Sayshen and his intimidating friend.

Returning my eyes forward, my lips pull into a small smile as I wrap my arms around myself, sleeves pulled tightly in my fists.

"Well, if it isn't Sayshen Shaw," I retort mockingly.

Finally reaching my side, he eyes me from head to toe before bringing himself to stand next to me in line. "Damn, girl. You haven't changed at all. Ass still tight as fuck and still just as gorgeous."

His friend hovers next to him, typing away on his phone. His jet-black hair is slicked back neatly on his head, and tattoos cover every inch of his exposed olive skin. He is taller than Sayshen and definitely older.

"Great, thanks. Don't think I could've survived my day without being eye fucked by the biggest fuckboy from my high school years," I spit cockily. "Great to know you've matured, Shaw,"

The line moves forward, and I move with it. Eager to get further away from Sayshen and the attention he's drawing. My eyes find their way to the ceiling as I release a breath. Cece can show up anytime now. This bitch is always late.

"Aw, come on, don't be like that, alright? I was trying to give you a compliment. Besides, I'm not the same guy I was back then," he explains.

"That's awesome, Sayshen, really. But to be honest, I don't care even if you are or not," I admit with annoyance.

"Why do you gotta be like that? Let me take you out sometime. We can catch up," he says, pressing his hand over his heart like my coldness inflicts pain. Sayshen Shaw might not be a bad guy, but he's not the right kind of guy for me. He never was. I rejected his every attempt all through high school, and when I say he tried, he tried. I was the only girl he spent all four years pinning for, the only one who didn't give into his looks and his charm. I'll admit, sometimes it wasn't easy. He was hot then, and he's even hotter now, but I'm with Christian.

"I can't, sorry. I'm taken, and I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate me hanging out with, well, a guy like you," I admit. The line moves up again, and it's finally my turn to order, yet there's still no sign of my best friend.

"A guy like me?" he laughs, following behind me as I approach the counter.

"Hi, welcome to Seaside Cafe. What can I get you?" The pretty blonde barista asks from her till. She looks exhausted. Her hair is a mess in her little visor cap, and her eyes are puffy as she puts on a fake smile for the line of customers.

"Hey, yeah, can I get a large strawberry matcha latte with oat milk and a large shaken espresso with vanilla cold foam─"

"Hey, do you think you could hurry those up for me, beautiful? We're in a bit of a hurry," Sayshen adds in a flirtatious tone, cutting me off mid-order as he leans on the counter next to me. The barista's eyes widen with excitement as she takes in his inked arms and chiseled jawline. One look at the protective chest plate, before her eyes flicker outside to where he and his friend's bikes are parked and she instantly caves.

"Right, of course. I can totally do that for you," she stammers nervously as Sayshen hands her a twenty. "I like your bike," she adds with a shy tone.

Sayshen grins, "Well thank you," he replies as his eyes lower to me, "she's pretty badass if I do say so myself."

Ignoring his comment, I cross my arms over my chest and lift my eyes to his. "What are you doing and why are you paying for my drinks?"

"I'm not," he replies, signaling the barista to keep the change. "I'm buying you and Cece drinks, because I can."

Thrown back by his response, I raise my brow. "How'd you know one was for Cece?" A genuine question I find myself wondering as we move over to the pickup area.

"I paid more attention in high school than you think I did. She was your best friend, the moment you ordered her nasty green drink I knew who it was for. Besides, you've always been a plain-jane kind of coffee girl. Ain't no way that fancy shit was for you." I don't know what I find more surprising. The fact that there is a whole other side of Sayshen I apparently didn't know in high school, or the fact that years later, he somehow remembered not only my coffee order but my best friend's.

His friend's phone rings, and he quickly answers it in a foreign language, takes it and heads outside to talk, leaving Sayshen and me alone again as we wait for my drinks.

"Okay, well, thanks, I guess," I reply.

"So, are you going to tell me who the lucky guy is?" he asks, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he leans against the wall next to the pickup. I laugh, turning my eyes up to his. Even with him leaning against the wall, I feel short standing next to him. I'm guessing he's about 6"1", and god, don't get me started on how toned he is this close up.

"Nope," I reply, accentuating the P sound with my lips as I smile and turn my gaze back behind the counter where the barista is whipping up my order as quickly as she can. No doubt to impress fuckboy Sayshen over here.

"Why not?" he asks. Though he is out of my line of sight, I can feel his eyes on me. The weight of his gaze has my stomach in knots and my cheeks flushed.

I don't know why I like it. I shouldn't, especially because of Christian.

"Because it doesn't matter," I chuckle. The barista makes her way over and places my drinks on the counter, looking right past me and over to Sayshen.

"Here you go, enjoy. I hope to see you again," she adds excitedly.

Rolling my eyes, I unwrap my arms from myself and grab the drinks from the counter before turning to walk away. Catching me off guard, Sayshen's hand gently grabs my forearm, pulling me toward him.

"Bex, who did this to you?" he asks sternly as he examines the bruising along my exposed arm. Fuck. In grabbing the drinks, I hadn't thought about the marks on my arm I've been spending all morning keeping hidden. Lifting my eyes to his face, I find his attention fully focused on the bruising as he slowly pushes back the fabric of my sleeve to expose more of the purple and red marks.

"It's nothing," I whisper, pulling my arm from his grip.

"That isn't nothing. Don't give me that bullshit," he snaps, drawing the attention of the people in line next to us. "He put his hands on you? Who is he?" he asks with an aggressive tone. More people begin to notice the change in tension and set their sights on us. My cheeks flush with embarrassment just as Cece's voice hits my ears.

"Sorry, I'm late bitch, my car wouldn't start. I had to get my brother to–" Cece freezes, stopping mid-sentence when she notices Sayshen standing with me. But it's not the Sayshen that just paid for my drinks. The carefree, comical guy from just a few moments ago is gone. Though his eyes hold my stare, they have darkened, and his jaw clicks with anger. I find myself confused, puzzled as to why Sayshen would care at all about what"s happened to me. Especially enough to have the reaction he's having now.

I am nothing to him. I never was. Just a girl he wanted and couldn't have, nothing more. Why does he care about the marks he found on my arm? What does it matter to him how they got there, or rather who put them there?

"Sayshen Shaw. Well, that's a face I never thought I'd see around here again," Cece admits as she locks her arm through mine. "You good, Bex?" Her long lavender hair cascades down her back in thick beachy waves with a few tiny braids randomly placed throughout. Paired with a cute crochet crop top that ties around the back of her neck and cute denim shorts, she's making quite the fashion statement.

Not that I'm surprised. I'm the one who told her what to wear when we were on video call this morning. If there"s anything I know, it's fashion, and this year, crochet crops are definitely in, especially when you have a body like Cece's. Lucky bitch inherited the naturally tanned skin from her mother, who was born and raised in Mexico. Big brown doe eyes and lips the Kardashian's would literally pay for, it"s a wonder why my bestie is single.

Actually, no it's not. She's more than a little spicy, and well, most men don't know how to handle heat.

"Yeah, I'm okay. We should, um, go now. We really don't want to be late," I stutter with a startled tone, trying my best not to sound like I'm internally freaking out.

"Yes, let's do that cause I don't know what's happening here," she gestures, pointing her finger from Sayshen to me, "but I don't like it, so let's go. See ya around, Shaw." And with that, Cece pulls me away until we're standing outside. The fresh sea salt air assaults my lungs as she drags me over to her small violet Honda Civic that she left parked in the lot. She heads to the driver's side while I climb inside the passenger seat. I exhale and let my head fall back on the headrest as my eyes flutter closed, and I try to get a grip on everything that just happened.

"What the fuck was that about?" Cece asks as she closes her door. Handing her drink over, I laugh.

"Nothing, it was nothing."

Lies.

"Puta, you are so full of shit, and what the fuck is this on your arm?" she snaps with a concerned tone as she takes her drink from me.

"It's fine. I'm fine," I reply, pulling down the fabric of my sleeve, suddenly feeling insecure in my own skin. "Why is everyone so fucking worried about marks on my arm. It could be from a million different things!" I snap.

"Oh, okay, so that's what was up Sayshen's ass, too, huh. Good," she adds as she takes a sip of her drink before placing it in her cup holder. "That boy was so obsessed with you all through high school I'm not even surprised he still wants a piece. Shit, maybe you should let him." She smirks coyly as she wiggles her eyebrows.

"Seriously?" I scoff, shoving her arm playfully.

"I was just kidding, kind of…" She laughs. "But in all seriousness, Bex, it could be from a million different things, but you and I, we both know damn well who and what those marks are from. When the fuck are you going to leave his stupid ass? Like, I'm trying to be patient, and kind but for the life of me I don't understand why you put yourself through this shit!" Her shouting sends sharp pains radiating through my temples, intensifying the lingering pain. Clenching my eyes closed, I bring my hand to my head.

"Stop, okay. I don't need this today. Especially not from you." I wince as the pain in my head throbs.

"I'll stop only because even I can tell you're in pain right now. But I fucking hate that piece of shit. You deserve so much better," she replies as she starts up the engine. "Fuck, I can't wait to give him a piece of my mind when I see him." As she backs out of her spot, I glance back to where Sayshen and his friend parked their bikes. Sayshen is sitting on his. His helmet is on, but his visor is open, and his eyes are fixated on me. The weight of his gaze has my stomach in knots.

He told me he isn't the same guy he was back then, and though I have my doubts about him, part of me feels like for once, Sayshen Shaw is telling me the truth. Something new and unexpected flickered in his whiskey eyes after he saw the marks Christian left on me─rage.

Since when did my pain matter to Sayshen Shaw?