13. Reed

13

Reed

“ Y ou gonna tell me who that was in the store?” I asked after finishing my bite of burger. I’d found some hole-in-the-wall diner off one of the main roads in downtown Salt Lake after Brandy refused to say what she was in the mood for—and by the looks of it, it wasn’t this.

I stared at Brandy across from me, waiting for a reply as she stabbed multiple fries with her fork. She’d already told me it was someone from high school, but I wanted a name. To know what they made fun of her for, for how long, and why. Though I had a feeling I already knew the answer to one of those questions.

I dropped the burger on my plate, leaning back in the booth as I wiped my hands on the napkin in my lap. “You choose to finally stop talking right when I want an answer.”

She used the edge of the plate to slide the fries off the utensil, then began stabbing them again.

“Just fucking eat the damn food, Brandy.”

“I’m pretending they’re you.”

I frowned, watching as the metal spokes tore into the soft potato.

“Such a violent thing,” I muttered.

“Only when it comes to you,” she mumbled.

I darted a hand out to grab the utensil before she could pull it away, yanking it out of her hand. I tossed it on the table, the metal clanging against the ivory surface as it bounced. She kept her hand positioned how it was for a moment, then proceeded to pick up a knife. Before she could slice into the mutilated pile of fries, I plucked it from her grasp and set it on my side of the table in case she got any ideas and wanted her fantasies to come to life.

“How did she make fun of you?” I asked, trying a different approach.

Brandy lifted a hand in the air, and a moment later, our waitress was sidling up next to the table. “Anything I can get you?”

“Just the check,” Brandy said.

The woman eyed our plates full of food. She’d brought them out merely minutes ago. “Need boxes?”

“We’re not done,” I interrupted.

“No, thanks,” Brandy answered.

I rolled my lips together, staring directly at her with a narrowed gaze. Ever since the dressing room, she’d avoided eye contact, and now it was starting to piss me the fuck off.

“Be right back,” the waitress said, deciding not to interrupt the feud going on between us, and disappeared.

I gritted my teeth together. “Brandy.”

“Learn how to take a fucking hint and drop it.” Still, those hazel eyes didn’t find mine.

There was no doubt in my mind why she’d been made fun of in high school, but the fact that I didn’t know about it prior to right now pissed me off. I didn’t need to know everything that went on in Brandy’s life. In fact, I didn’t want to know. But if people had been making fun of her for that night when none of it was her fault, Lettie had to have known, right? She would’ve let it slip at some point. My little sister was terrible at keeping secrets.

And if Lettie didn’t know, that meant Brandy battled it all on her own. The taunting clearly still bothered her because she’d avoided the woman at the bridal salon like she’d burst into a million pieces if she so much as caught a glimpse of her.

Had that night truly stuck with her this long?

As soon as the waitress came back with the check and laid it on the table, Brandy was gone. I watched her retreating back, forcing my eyes not to drift to those tiny shorts, and pulled my wallet out from my back pocket.

I set two twenties on top of the bill. “Can I get two boxes, please?”

The blonde grabbed the check and cash, nodding. “Of course. Is everything okay with your girlfriend?”

That bite of burger nearly came right back up my throat. Could a guy and a girl not hang out without automatically being in a relationship together? Well, I guessed it wasn’t really hanging out… More like forced to be in proximity together against our will.

“She’s fine.”

The waitress raised a brow, her hands idly folding the cash and bill in half. “That what she told you?”

I wanted to say, No, because she’s the most complicated woman on the planet and doesn’t talk when spoken to, unless it’s to spew insults or start a fight.

“Something like that,” I answered.

“Little tip,” she started, folding the items again and stuffing them in her apron. “Women are never fine when they say they are.”

With a tight-lip smile, I gave her a courteous nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with my change and two boxes. I set the contents of our respective plates in their own containers, left the extra cash as a tip, and headed for the doors. As soon as I was outside, I found Brandy standing on the sidewalk with her back to me. I could tell her arms were crossed, and if I had to guess, she wore her usual scowl.

I stopped as the door quietly shut behind me, standing there like an idiot holding two to-go boxes as I stared at her. Her hair fell down her back in waves, but even I knew she hated the texture sometimes. Especially when it was windy, and the curls were unruly. I’d overhear her and Lettie talk about the most random things growing up, and that was one that stuck in my mind, among many other things. Like how she hated when Lettie slept with the TV on, and that she was scared of the dark but didn’t want people to know she slept with a night light, or how her favorite color was peach because all the other colors were too boring.

I tuned a lot of voices out in my life, but never hers.

A lot of the time, it was because Brandy demanded to be heard with just her presence alone, but other times, it was simply because my focus always snagged on a piece of her when she was around. Whether that be her laugh, or her stubborn side voicing itself, one part of me was always hyper-focused on her—and if I had to guess, it was because of the night I nearly killed a man for her.

“Are you just going to stand there or unlock the damn truck?” Brandy asked, turning to find me staring.

I shook my head to clear her from my thoughts, continuing on my way. Holding the boxes in one hand, I fished my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the doors. “Was just trying to figure out a way to leave you in Utah for good.”

I went to the driver’s side and opened the door at the same time she did on the passenger side.

“Oh, great. I’m stuck on a road trip with a guy that wants to leave me stranded,” she groused.

I got in and set the containers on the center console. “Nah, I wouldn’t have the heart to leave you alive. Might decide to go ruin someone else’s life besides mine.” I shot her a glance as she closed her door a little too hard. “Couldn’t have that happen, now could we?”

She rolled her eyes. “Lettie always did like true crime podcasts. I’m sure she’d be over the moon to know her best friend made it on one.” She yanked on the seat belt, the strap instantly locking with the force. She pulled on it again, but it was stopped a few inches out. She let out a frustrated groan, trying again and again. “Your truck fucking sucks.”

“It doesn’t like angry people,” I explained.

In between another few hard yanks, she gritted out, “I’m surprised it hasn’t tried to get in a wreck with you in it, then.”

I watched as she continued to struggle with it for another few tries. She knew that if she let it go back in the compartment and pulled gently, it’d fix itself, but she was Brandy, and if there was an option, she’d always choose a fight.

“Fuck, Brandy, quit it.” I pushed the styrofoam containers back a few inches and leaned over the center console. Vanilla and a hint of peppermint wrapped around me as soon as I was in her space, just like in the dressing room.

I pried her hand from the strap, then let it retract into the wall on its own. My eyes caught on the way her chest rose and fell slower, almost like she was holding her breath. My lips were a good two inches from her cheek now, and it was more than obvious she was trying to ignore our proximity.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Brandy,” I murmured, catching her gaze as her attention shot to me. “Wouldn’t want that little, black heart of yours shriveling up any further from lack of oxygen.”

Those caramel eyes narrowed as I eased the seat belt over her lap. I didn’t scoot back as I clicked it into place between our bodies. Her back was pressed so hard up against the seat, I thought she might become part of it.

Seeing the way she was mad at me, and we were about to be forced in this truck together for the next few hours, I needed her to get her aggression out on something that wasn’t me.

And I knew just the place to do it.

***

“This isn’t the highway,” Brandy pointed out as we pulled into the parking lot.

“I’m glad all the glaring hasn’t affected your eyesight,” I said, positioning the truck in one of the empty spots directly in front of the establishment.

She let out a frustrated breath and leaned forward in her seat to read the sign on the building. “A fucking rage room?”

I tried to hide my smile, but this was one of those rare times I couldn’t. “Yep.”

I turned the truck off and unbuckled before getting out. She stayed firmly seated, staring at me through the open door. “No way in hell.”

I set a hand on the door. “Well, I’ve thought about it, and I actually would rather not lose my cock to your wrath on the way home, so this is more for me than it is for you.”

She crossed her arms as the corner of her mouth faintly twitched. “Why would I do anything for you?”

I tilted my head in thought. She had a good point.

“Then consider it a half-hour of letting loose.” I was sure there were quite a few faces she could imagine pounding in, and it was a no-brainer mine would be on that list. It didn’t bother me as much as it should. If I was her outlet for taking her anger out on anyone, I was glad she chose me.

I may verbally give her a hard time, but I’d never fight back.

That was something her father couldn’t say for himself.

She sat there for a moment, probably thinking of all the ways she could accidentally hit me with a mallet instead of a plate or TV. She must’ve figured out some grand plan to injure me, because that frown finally lightened up for the first time since this trip began, and she unbuckled. “Fine.”

I shut my door and waited for her to meet me at the front of the truck before we headed for the entrance. I clicked the lock button on my key fob, then pocketed it as I held the glass door open for her.

“Don’t start acting like a gentleman again, Satan,” she said as she grabbed the other handle on the door next to it.

“Never claimed to be, Little Devil.”

She shot me a glare as we went in through our respective sides of the double doors and approached the desk off to the side. There was graffiti littering the walls with not an inch of blank space showing. I didn’t like these gimmicky types of places. All they did was suck your wallet dry and you got nothing out of them but a faint memory. A beer on the porch sounded much more enjoyable than breaking random shit, but for one, I’d never share a drink with Brandy, and two, she needed to lighten the fuck up before I sat beside her for a few hours. If she didn’t, I was sure the whole truck would blow.

Maybe that was why her Bronco was always breaking down.

“Welcome to Ram’s Rage Room,” the man behind the counter greeted. He had wildly curly hair sticking up in different directions, but he wore a huge grin all the same. “My name’s Ethan. First time?”

I leaned an elbow on the scratched up counter that sat a little below my chest. “First time for me. Brandy here is a pro at breaking stuff.”

She shot me a glare, crossing her arms.

“Well, pro or not, I’m gonna have to ask that she wear long pants if you guys want to rage,” Ethan said, glancing at Brandy’s shorts.

“I don’t have any pants,” Brandy stated.

Ethan’s smile was clearly trying to lighten her attitude. The poor guy didn’t know that’d never happen. “No problem, miss. We’ve got some you can rent for five bucks.”

Her mouth was a thin line as she simply stared at the guy, blinking.

I looked at her beside me. “What’s wrong, Little Devil? Scared to wear someone else’s clothes?”

She turned her nose up at me. “I have no problem wearing other people’s clothes. Is it you who has a problem with seeing me in them?” I ground my teeth together as she faced Ethan again. Pulling a five out of her shorts, she slapped it on the counter.

He slid it off, setting the cash beside his keyboard. “I’ll grab you a pair. If they don’t fit, just let me know and I’ll swap them out.”

He stood from his stool, disappearing into a room off the side. I stared at the side of Brandy’s face as she tapped her foot on the concrete floor. Ethan reemerged less than a minute later and set a pair of folded gray pants on the counter. “Bathroom is down that hall. First door on the right.”

Brandy grabbed them off the counter and stomped off.

Once the door clicked shut, Ethan said, “I see why you brought her here.”

I simply stared at him. “Why’s that?”

“Girl’s angry. At you or something else, it’s damn clear.” He let out a little chuckle, moving his gaze to his computer screen.

My jaw popped as I ground my back molars together. “Surprised you work at a rage room and judge people for their attitudes.”

His hand lifted off the mouse for a second, flipping it over to gesture a pathetic shrug. “Lots of women got problems, man. There’s a reason it’s always their boyfriends bringing them in here.”

I leaned forward on the counter slightly, looking down at him on his seat. “Damn lucky I’m not her boyfriend, Ethan, or you’d be up against that wall instead of perched on that little stool.”

His clicking froze, and he blinked a few times, processing what I said. I relaxed a bit, getting out of his space. With an audible swallow, he grabbed two papers off the desk and set them directly in front of me with a pen. “Here’s your waivers.” His words were rushed now, small.

As they fucking should be.

The bathroom door opened, and Brandy approached me from the side. My gaze drifted down to the pants that cinched at her waist and flowed to a more baggy state around her lower thighs and calves. Her curves were almost more attractive under them than with the shorts.

Forcing my attention away before she could catch me gawking, I picked up the pen and signed the form. As she stopped a good foot from me, I held the pen out to her. She took it. “Gotta sign this,” I said, sliding the paper toward her.

As her eyes trailed down the tiny print, Ethan cleared his throat and said, “Thirty minutes is standard, but if you do an hour, you get more items to break. Half an hour is thirty dollars per person, a full hour is sixty.”

Pulling my wallet out of my back pocket, I tossed a hundred and a twenty in front of him. “We’re going to need the hour.”

Brandy slapped the pen down on the paper, and I turned to find her glaring at me. I simply smirked.

Once everything was signed and taken care of, Ethan showed us to the room we’d be stuck in together for the next hour. He kept his eyes downcast and didn’t make a single comment about Brandy again. Once he left, I tossed my mallet to the ground and crossed my arms, leaning up against the wall.

Brandy held a baseball bat in a fist at her side. “What are you doing?”

“Watching,” I answered.

“Oh, no.” She took a few steps toward me, then bent over and grabbed my mallet. She held the wooden handle out to me. “I’m not doing this alone.”

I lifted a shoulder. “You’re the one that needs to get her rage out.”

She moved closer, pressing the end to my chest. “Don’t give yourself so much credit, Satan. You’ve got just as many anger issues, if not more.”

I grabbed the handle, yanking on it to draw her even closer. Mere inches separated us now. “One would say it’s warranted, given the circumstances.”

To my surprise, she stepped up on her toes, pressing the mallet into my torso. “It’s your fault they were given to you in the first place.”

I lowered my head, feeling the tension radiating between us like a live circuit. This whole place was going to go up in flames in a matter of minutes. “What would you rather have happened, Brandy?”

She hesitated for a split second, but it was enough for me to catch.

“Huh? Let him have his way?” I asked, my tone hoarse now.

Her chest rose on a heavy inhale, like she could barely catch her breath over her hatred for me in this moment.

My other hand closed around hers still gripped around the mallet, and I pried her off finger by finger. “We’ve only got an hour, Little Devil.” I nodded my chin behind her. “Get smashing.”

As if on cue, the heavy metal music started blasting through the speakers mounted in the corners of the room. She stepped back and spun, landing her bat directly in the center of the TV that sat on the floor. The screen shattered, and she swung back, hitting it again. It split to pieces, littering the ground with shards of glass.

She went feral on the flat-screen, slamming the weapon over and over again into the screen. Then she moved to the glass bottles lining the table a few feet to the left and wiped them out in one swing.

She went full-on crazy, crashing into everything in sight. Within minutes, the floor was full of debris, but she kept on going, finding item after item to smash.

It almost made me fear that once the contents of the room were obliterated to pieces, she’d move on to targeting me, but then I remembered she’d be too bored without having someone to constantly fight with, so she’d spare me. That, and I had the keys to the truck. Though I wouldn’t put it past her to pick my pockets and leave my cold body on the floor if it came down to it.

After a while, I tossed my mallet on the floor, the thud drowned out by the music and relentless smashing. When I brought her in here, I truly didn’t think she’d take advantage of it, but now the floor was a complete, utter mess, and her psycho side was out to play.

The side of her I ached to get out just to see her light up like a match, her flame licking at anyone close enough to get burnt. Lucky for her, I was used to the heat. Craved it sometimes, actually.

Time passed as she moved around the room, hitting every available object, likely imagining it was me. Finally, she seemed satisfied enough to take a breath and tossed her bat to the ground. My mallet had landed sideways, and as soon as the bat hit the ground, it bounced, and the handle slapped across the head of mine, causing the end of the stick to ricochet up. The piece of plastic from the TV that was lying over the tool flew up, and I moved before I could think. My chest hit hers, and my hand came around the back of her head as I pressed her up against the wall, out of the way of the flying debris.

Her lips parted as her chest heaved with her rapid breathing. Tiny droplets of sweat rolled down the side of her face, down to her well-defined chin. Her cheeks held the slightest tinge of peach against her tan skin, the shade only making her hazel eyes pop more than they typically did.

My fingers moved on their own accord, weaving into the strands of her wavy hair as my other lay flat on the wall beside her. I barely heard it as the plastic piece hit the ground somewhere behind us, or as the bass of the music thrummed between the two of us. Rather, it was her pulsing heart beating against my chest and her panting breaths that my focus was caught on.

In a world of things I tried to avoid focusing on, she was never one of them. Not even when she made it clear day in and day out that she hated the very ground I walked on.

“Gotta be more careful,” I grumbled.

“I don’t need saving,” she hissed, though her tone didn’t hold its typical murder-like quality.

I dropped my hand from her hair but kept her boxed in. “As you’ve reminded me for years,” I mumbled.

“Clearly seven hasn’t been enough, so maybe another century will get the message through your thick head.”

I cocked a brow.

Her jaw moved as she clenched it, and then she was pressing a palm to my chest and shoving me away. There was little effort behind the move, but I stepped back anyway, dropping my hand from the wall. Her shoulder barely brushed my chest as she turned and headed for the door.

“We still have twenty minutes,” I called to her.

She didn’t look back as she said, “I’m done.” She opened the door with a little too much force, and it wasn’t until she disappeared, letting it slam behind her, that I finally moved, following in her haste.

As I waited in the hallway for her to change, I could only hope that forty minutes of getting her aggression out on random pieces of trash was enough to save me on the drive home.

Even if it wasn’t, though, I’d survive. I’d handled her wrath before—I could do it for one more car ride.