Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series) (39 page)

After seven or eight good swigs, I get up, turn the lock on the door, and search my pockets. Pulling out my phone and earbuds out, I scroll, searching for some mind-numbing music. Thumbing through, I land on “In the End” and hit play and then repeat. I push the buds in tight and turn up the volume to maximum. No thinking, not even to choose another song. Picking up my bottle, I guzzle the rest of it even though my throat burns like I’m pouring hot coals down it. My eyes burn like I’ve already consumed so much there is nowhere else for it to go.

After I drink the bottle dry, I slam it down and jerk my hand to the other so quickly that the empty teeters and falls to the floor. I’ll get that in a second, right after I get some more alcohol in me. I take a long swig before realizing it’s tequila. Oh, yeah. That’s fucking perfect.
Goodbye, everyone and everything! Denver out!
I snicker at my stupid internal asides.

Shifting the pillows against the headboard, I scrunch down and pull my knees up, but I don’t have the energy to keep them up. They just fall languidly to the side. I chuckle at them like they’re not even a part of my body. I move my right leg a bit just to test it. It moves and brushes up against something crinkly.

Reaching down, I pull the offending object from under my leg. I should read it. I’m too gone to give a shit right now, so it’s the perfect time, right? I set my bottle on the stand, being careful not to knock this one over and shift my phone to shed light on the letter.

I honestly can’t comprehend much of it. He’s to blame. He’s sorry. He wants to help me. Blahfuckingblah. I wrap it around my bottle. Me and tequila, we will rid ourselves of this too.

Several gulps later, I forget what I hold in my hand. I forget what I’m doing in this bed. I forget I tried, unfuckingsuccessfully, to screw two different guys tonight. I push my phone around, tired of this song, but I can’t get my fingertips to work.

Damn.

“I tried so hard … it doesn’t even matter,” I try to sing out. It sounds more like a pathetic whine.

Another swig.

At least they’re still useful for that movement.

I giggle at nothing.

Chapter Thirty-three

Ransom

C
RACKING THE DOOR
open to the apartment, I drop my bag by the door before locking back up. It’s still early, so I’m sure she’s asleep. As soon as my aunt showed up this morning, I kissed them both and took off. I needed to get to her after I read Austin’s texts. He was vague, I’d get to the bottom of that later, but he said enough for me to know that she’s hurting. And she’s been doing so well. I guess setbacks are part of the healing process and to be expected. I scowl as I recall the pain in her features from own stupid action the other night, and I can’t help but feel responsible for her setback. She always comes across as so tough; it’s easy to forget that she’s got all that shit going on in that pretty little head.

I try the handle, but it’s locked. I really want to curl up with her, so I pad back to the kitchen and grab a butter knife before going back and picking the lock easily.

It’s barely dawn out, so my eyes have to adjust for a second before I can fully comprehend the scene before me.

I’m a guy so, of course, the first thing I notice is the breathtaking sight of her lying there in her red lacy bra and panties. My eyes don’t linger there for long because there’s a bottle wedged between her thighs. I quickly realize that she’s not just lying there. She’s passed the fuck out, propped against the headboard, her legs and arms at odd angles. Almost like she went from thrashing to comatose in a flash.

I close the door behind me and move toward the bed, not really sure how I should handle her just yet. When I hear a thud, I realized I’ve kicked something. My eyes find an empty bottle of Jim Beam. Shit. This was half-full. I pick it up and set it on the nightstand.

Glancing back at her, I see she has her earbuds plugged in. I pick up her phone and grimace at her selection. It must have been a bad night for her to resort to that noise. I hit pause and give in to the urge to lean in and place a kiss on her forehead, easing out the earbuds. She’s freezing. I reach down quickly to pull the other bottle from her legs and see something wrapped around the bottle. I cover her quickly and decide to get in bed with her and warm her up. God, if she had any idea how many times I thought of her lying here in my bed in the short day we were away from one another, she’d run for the hills.

When I set the bottle down, the paper sticks to my hand, so I bring it up and, tilting it toward the light, begin to read. I glance down and see Greer’s name signed to it. Is this what set her off? I tell myself I’m reading this for her own good. To help her. It’s definitely not because I’m a nosey, jealous bastard.

Denver,

I’ve written five letters and shredded them all. “It’s me that I can’t forgive,”
constantly repeats in my head since this afternoon, and that’s when I knew what I needed to say.
I beg you to forgive yourself
. God, it’s killing me that you’re blaming yourself for what
I
did. And I should’ve known that it wasn’t my forgiveness that needed begging … of course, it’s yours. That’s what you do. Shoulder everything yourself—good and bad—it’s what you’ve always done. You have to forgive yourself, Denver.

You think how you treated me led me to making not one but two terrible, for lack of a better word, mistakes, but it’s just not true. I have my own flaws. One of them being that I never saw you clearly even though you begged me to. I think that’s what drove you the way it did. Not ever having anyone see you. Or, more accurately, see what you see in yourself. I see you. I’ve always seen you. I know you’re not perfect, but I’ve always loved you just like you are—which is what makes you perfect in my eyes.

I know what you’re afraid of becoming. I know you feel unloved. I know that you feel like no one could ever love you. And I know you think I could never truly love you because I don’t see you for who you are. I told you before I’ve never seen anyone but you. I stand by that. Just because I didn’t let you focus on your flaws doesn’t mean I didn’t see them. Maybe I should have let you talk about them, explore them more. Maybe then we wouldn’t be in this mess—you hating yourself because of what I did.

You say you’ve forgiven me already. I can’t tell you what that means to me, but I haven’t forgiven myself. I should’ve never said a word about you. And I should’ve stopped when you said no. Those things are on me—only me. I fucked up so bad. Put that blame where it belongs—on me.

God, sometimes the things we coulda, shoulda, woulda are the easiest path to choose, but for whatever reason, we don’t. I could have done the right thing, I should have protected you, and I would be with you right now. So simple, making me the world’s biggest fool.

I can’t imagine that you would ever want to be with me again, but you have to know that I want to work through this in whatever way you’ll let me. I backed off when you said you needed space. I’ll keep my distance for as long as I can, but some things that I need to tell you can’t be done in a letter, and I know they’ll help you heal. I’ll wait for your lead, chicken. Please don’t make me wait too long.

Greer

My eyes run over those lines again and again, and I know that Greer’s the one who raped her. That sick feeling I had that night she told me what happened washes over me. Her word of choice that first night—
betrayal
. You can only be betrayed by someone you truly trust, and all the pieces start clicking into place. My mind races, and my hands tremble. The paper crunches in my fist as I take in her sleeping form, so strong in so many ways, so vulnerable in so many others. I talk myself down a bit and try to focus on what’s important.

I’m scared that I won’t be able to help her, but that fear doesn’t control me. I’d walk through fire for this girl. Sometimes I wonder why. Why her? All I know is that she consumes me. For months, I’ve tried to block her from my every thought, and no matter what method I’ve tried—ignoring her, pushing her away, hating her—there she’s been taunting me. And I know I’ll do whatever it takes to get her through this.

But, first things first.

Turning on my heel, I stride into the living room and spot Pete in the kitchen. “You’re back,” he says, surprised. “Man, I had no idea she left outta here after we went to bed last night. Is she OK?”

“She’s sleeping. I need to go out for a minute. Keep an ear out.”

He just nods at me as I exit the apartment.

“Thanks,” I mutter. I can’t believe how calm my voice is while I’m feeling this kind of rage. It actually scares me a bit because I’ve only ever felt this furious one other time in my life, and that didn’t turn out so well for the other guy. I hope I don’t kill him.

I take the stairs slowly in an effort to calm myself a bit because all I can think is,
I’m going to kill that motherfucker,
and I can’t help her if I’m in prison. But Greer’s going to be thinking about this for a while, not a few measly hours a day. Every time he moves, I want him to think about the girl he violated and what a piece of shit he is.

I round the staircase to his floor, flexing my fists and stretching my neck. And it’s like the god of retribution is smiling down on me. His eyes meet mine, and I grin. It’s the most evil grin I imagine has ever been grinned because that bastard knows right away that I’m here to kill him.

He doesn’t utter a word, just nods at me like he’s going to accept his fate quietly. That might change another man’s mind, knowing his prey isn’t going to put up a fight, but I think about Denver crying and screaming and begging him to get off of her, and it’s all the fuel I need.

I point my finger at him. “You should run, motherfucker,” I bark, rage finally filling my voice as well. He looks determined to hold his ground, but as I continue toward him, he falters and takes a couple of steps backward.

“You like to hurt women?” He shakes his head no. “You must!”

“That’s not exactly what—” he begins.

And
that’s
exactly what I need, a hint of a pathetic excuse. I bring my right fist back and connect with his jaw. He stumbles, but not before I get another right in.

Right.

Eye. It splits.

Left.

Nose. It spurts.

Right.

Eye again.

I don’t stop pummeling as he goes down, and I go down with him, his hands curled up by his side.

“Don’t look at her.” Right. Ear.

“Don’t write her.” Left. Mouth. Blood gushes.

“Don’t talk to her.” Jaw. Crack.

“She’s mine.” I can’t get another hit in, but it’s not for lack of swinging. Someone’s got me underneath the arms and is dragging me backward. How the hell is someone able to get me off him? I finally look up and see two someones—Austin and Gage. Some of the other guys are checking on Greer.

“What the hell, Ransom?” Austin asks.

“He hurt Denver. Bad,” I snarl, as I spit blood. I think I knocked my mouth on his elbow as we went down. He sure as hell never threw a punch. Wouldn’t even defend himself. That’s how I know he’s guilty as hell.

“What? What do you mean?” I look up at Austin and hope that my eyes communicate how serious this is and that I’m not just another jealous boyfriend. He nods at me. Understanding, I hope. Or maybe he just sees the rage in my eyes and is agreeing with me to keep my calm. He pats me on the back, and they pull me to my feet.

“He’s gonna need stitches,” someone says. “Busted eyebrow.”

I hope I broke his fucking nose too. I hope he has to eat through a straw till Christmas. I hope I deafened his ear. I hope he hears a fucking buzzing noise for the rest of his pathetic existence, and every time he hears that buzz it makes him think about the beautiful girl he hurt.

They haul Greer past me, and I spit again on his path. “You got anything to say, you piece of shit?” I growl.

He shakes his head, and blood drips from his eyelashes. “I know I fucked up, but just don’t hurt her. Take care of her.”

He fucked up? That’s it? “Oh, that’s rich. Thanks for your meaningless blessing,” I sneer. My fists ball up. I want to hit him again.

“All right, Ransom,” Austin says as he moves in front of me and pats my shoulders. “Calm down, man. You’ve made your point.”

I let Austin walk me back up to the apartment. Pete and Maggie sit on the couch. I collapse in the chair across from them.

Austin blows out a breath and puts his hands on his hips, staring me down. “Well, I think it’s safe to say that Greer is out of the picture, Pete.”

Pete sits up straight as I examine the cuts on my knuckles from where they tore against his teeth. “Is that blood on your shirt, Ransom? What the hell did you do?”

I stare down at my hands, finally feeling the pain from my knuckles radiating upward. My ribs are throbbing. My knees hurt. Now that the adrenaline has faded, every ache and pain is making itself known with a vengeance.
Totally fucking worth it.

“He beat the hell outta Greer, man,” Austin answers for me. “I was kinda pissed until he said it was because Greer hurt Denver. At first, I thought he was just being a jealous prick.”

“I don’t ever want to hear that bastard’s name uttered in this apartment again,” I finally interject. “Can’t tell y’all what went down. Not my place. Just trust me when I say he deserves to rot in hell.”

“I’m going to check on Denver,” Maggie whispers.

“No, Maggie. Let me, OK? I don’t think she’ll want you to see her like that. She had a rough night.”

She bites her lip and looks at Pete. He squeezes her shoulder and nods. Maggie curls up next to him.

“I’m gonna wake her and get her fixed up and then you can see her, all right?”

“All right, Ransom,” she concedes. “Make it quick though,” she adds, as she blushes.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a chuckle.