6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Stella

The scream fills my ears and I wake up with a gasp.

I sit up in bed, gulping down oxygen like I’m a sailor drowning at sea. Heart racing, I stay panting in bed for a good five minutes before rolling over and checking the time.

4:15am. Right on time.

Swinging my legs off the bed, I walk the four steps to my door and flick on the light. My face looks drawn and weary, my eyes bloodshot with dark bags seeping beneath them. The only thing that remains intact after a long, restless night is my loose platinum braid, and even that looks flatter than usual.

I turn off the alarm I’ve yet to need these past two years and start prepping for the day. I only use the bare makeup essentials for the gym, that is to say, a heavy dose of concealer and four swipes of mascara.

My mother always told me there was no reason for anyone to not look put together and that’s something that has always stayed with me.

I made sure to lay out today’s gym clothes last night, so it doesn’t take me long to get ready. Pulling up my hair into a top knot, I secure it with two elastics, having long since learned one doesn’t hold out too well when I’m doing any sort of jumping exercise.

I pause in front of the bathroom mirror on my way out the door, pulling up my tank top like I do every morning. Everyone’s torso is divided into sections, but mine more than most. Hard earned abs pop over the top of my waistband but it’s not the muscles I take time to study every morning.

The jagged edge of my scar burns a trail up my right side, the thick white line jutting out from the soft patch of skin that goes from my waist to my ribcage. From there, the marred skin becomes more than just a single line, it becomes an intricate web of scar tissue that dances unevenly along my ribs before seeking shelter in the confines of my sports bra.

I inhale deeply, watching my breath push against the taught, damaged skin.

Healing is such a funny thing. It’s a miracle on all accounts but even the toughest cells can never return to what they once were. Rough, ugly skin tissue replaces what was once innocent and pure, turning something soft and beautiful into a hardened, hollow shell of what once was.

Something dangerously close to tears start to prick my eyes, so I turn my attention away from the broken side and on to the one that survived. Bold, tattooed letters stare back at my reflection before I let my top fall back down and head out the door.

On the day of the accident, I broke five ribs and lost eighteen-stitches worth of skin. It only took six weeks for my ribs to heal and for the thick tissue of my scar to pull my torso back together. The doctors were impressed by my fast recovery, but they hadn’t peeked behind the outer layers.

They hadn’t seen the untreated wound beating with what was left of my heart.

My spirits begin to lift the second I step through the gym entrance. The florescent lights are almost blinding this early in the morning, the lingering scent of sweat and metal almost sickening.

And yet, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

For once, Cody is first to the gym and is waiting for me by the cubbies. He pounces on me before I have the chance to take out my indoor runners.

“So, I was thinking…”

“Sounds like a dangerous hobby.” He ignores the retort, running a hand through his spiked hair and drawing my attention to the loose muscle shirt doing a poor job of covering Cody’s impressive arms.

“If you need a cop-out, just send me a signal and I’ll come up with an emergency to bail you out.”

Busy trying to peek past the edges of his shirt for a nip slip, it takes a moment for his words to register.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Cody’s eyes flick to mine, and he gives me an understanding shrug, “I overheard Hayden talking in the changeroom. Guy is planning on putting you through your paces.”

My mouth drops open as my brain grinds to a stuttering halt. An indignant rage sparks inside me as I struggle to think of an appropriate response.

Finally, I manage to spit out, “He isgoing to put me through a fitness test?”

Cody nods, oblivious to the competitive fire smouldering from my every pore.

“He was chatting to a friend about an insane cardio workout he has planned. Was worried your little frame wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

Insane cardio? My little frame?

My vision turns red and I’m a second away from blowing smoke out of my ears. Any rational thought flees my mind as my anger takes control of the wheel, cackling like a Disney villain who has two loyal henchmen on her payroll.

I start mentally flipping through my workouts, discarding anything reasonably close to challenging. If Hayden wants to put my little frame through its paces, then I’ll pick a workout that puts my body to the test.

And if he can’t keep up, well, I guess we can call this date a pass or fail evaluation.

By the time my date enters the gym, my bloodlust has dropped to a comfortable simmer. A shy smile brightens Hayden’s blue eyes as he approaches me.

“Stella, hey! I was thinking about what workout we could do together-”

“I’ve got one planned.” I cut him off before he can finish the sentence. Hayden looks taken aback by my abruptness but recovers quickly.

“Oh, okay cool. Hopefully I won’t have to go too easy on you, eh?” He throws me a wink and I return it with a smile that would make wiser men run for the hills.

Unfortunately, Hayden isn’t a wise man.

“Guess we’ll find out.” Keeping my sadistic smile in place, I give Cody a tight nod, and lead my unsuspecting victim to his final resting place.

I start humming as I lay out the mats in our free-range section, easing Hayden into a false sense of security. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he got here, but that’s soon about to change.

My date made an assumption, and you know how the saying goes.

Two repeating thoughts thrum though my body as I gently guide my baby calf to the slaughterhouse.

Hayden thought he could break an O’Brien.

I’m going to show him what being broken feels like.

Cody

Twelve minutes and thirteen seconds.

That’s how long it took for Hayden to go running for the closest trash can.

“Aw, shit. I’m going to have to clean that up, you know.” Stephen and his unruly curls materialize beside me, and I choke back a laugh.

“At least your bet is over.” I tap the stopwatch app on my phone, ending the timer I’d set after watching Stella and Hayden start their workout.

“Hell, this doesn’t count. That man is going to be traumatized for the rest of his life and no one else is going to have the balls to ask out O’Brien for at least six months.” Stephen huffs with annoyance, giving me the evil eye.

“Don’t try and pretend you didn’t have anything to do with this, Ellsworth.”

I smile ruefully, “I just did what needed to be done.”

“What needed to be done, my ass.” Shaking his head, Stephen wanders over to the garbage can Hayden has all but disappeared into.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a bit guilty about the situation. I may or may not have exaggerated the truth to rile Stella up a bit.

Okay, I may have exaggerated a lot.

To be fair, I didn’t expect her to absolutely kill the guy. I was just hoping to stoke the fires of her competitive nature to the point where Hayden would have to tap out.

An obvious oversight on my part.

I grab my water bottle and head over to the free-range section where Stella is finishing up the round Hayden was unable to complete. I step tentatively, aware of the dangerous charge in the air. Stella’s temper is like a volcano, once it’s erupted, it will either fall dormant or erupt again immediately.

Makes approaching her in this state risky to say the least.

I patiently wait for her to finish her box jumps before casually clearing my throat.

“I take it the date went well?”

She scoffs, turning so I can see satisfaction brimming in her beautiful blue eyes, “He didn’t even make it to halfway.”

I take another step closer, testing the waters, “I would have been disappointed if he did.”

My comment hits its mark and a big, bright smile takes over Stella’s features.

“Want to know a secret?”

No longer afraid of Stella’s fury, my feet propel themselves forward until I’m close enough to see the sweat glistening along her hairline.

“I purposefully skipped the rest intervals.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and I press my lips together to keep from laughing.

“Doubt that would have changed the outcome.”

Stella tilts her head to the side, “No, but then he might not have cracked under thirteen minutes.” Her perfectly straight teeth pop out as her smile widens.

“Would have been a shame to make it a quarter of the way through.”

I laugh, stealing a glance over my shoulder to where a pale and trembling Hayden is being led out the door.

“I’m not sure he’s going to be up for a second date.”

Stella shrugs, drawing my attention to the hard outline of her traps and the tendrils of platinum hair sticking to her damp skin.

“He failed the first test. Wasn’t going to get a second date anyway.”

Tearing my gaze from the smooth skin, I raise a questioning eyebrow, “Not sure anyone is going to pass the first test if it means having the stamina of a horse.”

Stella waves away my concerns with a flick of her hand, “Today was an exception. I just want someone who can keep up, not necessarily be a beast in the gym.”

“Pretty sure the only beast in this gym is you, Stel.”

Most girls blush when you compliment their features. Stella O’Brien only gets rosy in the cheeks when you compare her to an untamed, savage animal.

“Glad you can see past my little frame.” I wince at the words, deciding now is not the best time to expose myself for that particular comment.

“Yeah, well, hard not to when you mercilessly pummelled me outside the club last month. Those bruises took weeks to fade, you know. Had to come up with a story to tell the guys in the changeroom.”

Throwing her head back, Stella lets out a laugh that has my body feeling bruised in a whole different sort of a way.

“You totally deserved it. You were an absolute ass that night.”

She’s not wrong. That was the infamous night Hunter permanently marked himself in my bad books. The physical intervention I imposed on their make out session was not the politest course of action, but it got the job done.

“Don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, but violence is not the answer. There’s this thing called conversation and it works wonders with confrontation.”

Stella smirks, “Could conversation have been more appropriate than carrying me out of the club like some wannabe firefighter?”

I narrow my eyes, my people-pleasing tendencies long forgotten as I stare down the miniature firecracker in front of me.

“I performed that carry correctly, so technically I wasn’t a wannabe.”

Her blue eyes darken as she meets my glare in equally narrow slits, “Whatever helps you sleep at night Caveman.”

Ah, the famous nickname. Wes and his girlfriend sure got a kick out of that one.

I open my mouth to respond when Stella reaches down to grab her water bottle. The retort quickly dies on my tongue as her tank top rides up and I get a clear shot of her left side.

“Is that a tattoo?” The question leaves my lips in shock, partly from the realization that I have never seen Stella’s torso, but also because I never pinned Mo’s younger sister for the type to get a tattoo.

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t me being stereotypical, it’s simply an observation. When it comes to gym rats there seem to be two types of people: those who see their body as a masterpiece and want to use intricate pieces of ink to display it, or those who see their body as a piece of art already and wouldn’t want to cover up a single inch.

Two very different mentalities, yet both run on the same vain theme.

And that’s not to say you can’t be both, it’s just most people who have tattoos like to show them off. And until today, I had no idea Stella might be hiding ink under her signature gym fits.

It soon becomes clear my question was not a welcome one when Stella’s demeanour freezes over and she quickly tugs the ends of her top down.

“Yes, I do.” Her words are clipped, making it obvious the topic is not open for discussion.

The shock must not have worn off, or maybe I’m still hungover from Tuesday, because for some reason, my mouth decides it’s a good idea to pursue this conversation further.

“What is it?”

Stella levels me with a glare that could make a nation crumble to its knees. Normally, I would back off by this point, but curiosity pushes me to make another, arguably stupider inquiry, “Can I see it?”

“It’s a word and no you can’t.” She gives me a tight nod and goes to brush past me. I grab her arm before she can make it beyond my reach.

“Hey, look at me.” Reluctantly turning her head in my direction, Stella meets my gaze with a worn expression.

“I shouldn’t have pried, I’m sorry.”

Stella sighs with a slight shake of her head, “I got the tattoo after my mother died. It’s just not something I like talking about.”

I exhale heavily, immediately regretting my curiosity. I knew the O’Brien’s lost their mother a couple years ago, Mo mentioned it on a few occasions. From what I can remember, it was a drunk driver who ran their mother off the road. Mo had just started university when it happened, so Stella must have been a teenager.

Gently removing my fingers from her arm, I take a step forward and wrap her into a hug. She stiffens then relaxes as I pull Stella’s strong frame close to mine.

“Promise I won’t be so careless next time.” I whisper the words against the top of her head, the scent of her post-workout sweat filling my senses.

“Whatever, I’ve gotten used to your stupidity by now.” Stella gives me a reassuring pat and pulls away with a smile that I know means trouble, “But I do have an idea of how you can make it up to me.”

That’s never a good sign.