Gavin’s blue eyes hardened to gemstone brightness, bloodlust surging through his veins. “You don’t deserve her,” he growled, stepping closer to Dillon until their faces were almost touching. “Not… one… fucking… inch,” he added, his tone seething.
Before Emily’s heart took another beat, Dillon cocked his arm back and connected a sharp blow against Gavin’s mouth. Letting out a gasp, Emily pulled on Dillon’s bicep as she watched Gavin slightly stagger back. A cocky smirk washed over his face when he regained his bearings. Stepping forward, he wiped his hand across his bloodied mouth, his smirk never wavering as his hate-filled eyes never left Dillon’s. Dillon launched at Gavin again, but Trevor grabbed him and held him back. As if unaffected by any of it, Gavin stood as still as stone, glaring at him. Letting out a huff, he spit at Dillon. His blood-tinged saliva landed on Dillon’s cheek, slowly dripping its way down his face. Henry came rushing out of the restaurant, his eyes wide at the scene unfolding.
“You motherfucker!” Dillon yelled, struggling against Trevor and Henry’s hold. “I’ll fucking kill you, asshole!”
“Gavin!” Olivia let out. “Come on, I’m taking you home!”
Walking backward with Olivia tugging on his arm, Gavin stared at Emily. She could feel his cold and pain-stricken gaze slide over her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a bottle cap and fingered it in his hand before flicking it at her. Emily felt it hit against her chest, her heart constricting and clenching in the process. Averting her eyes down, as though in slow motion, she watched as it hit the ground, spinning recklessly in circles. It mimicked her every emotion. Although Dillon continued his yelling and other patrons had gathered outside, the only sound piercing through Emily’s ears, like nails against a chalkboard, was the bottle cap clinking and clanking. It reverberated in her soul as a single tear broke loose, slipping down her cheek. Slowly lifting her head, Emily found Gavin staring at her. His beautiful face looked weary, broken, and defeated. He turned, and like a ghost vanishing through the air, he disappeared into Olivia’s car. In that second, with her heart in her stomach, Emily was sure that this last vision of him would sear itself into her mind, haunting her forever.
As she watched the taillights of the vehicle fade into a distant glow amid Manhattan’s chaotic traffic, she felt Dillon’s hand wrap around her arm, his ironclad grip burning into her flesh. Before she knew it, he was quickly leading her back into the restaurant with Dillon’s father and Trevor behind them. Swallowing hard, Emily swiped the tears away from her eyes, her body shaking and trembling from head to toe.
Once they entered the party room, Dillon let go of her and stalked over to the table where they’d been seated. Yanking her purse from the back of her chair, he fished his keys from his pocket, his face fevered with anger.
“Me and my fiancée are leaving,” he barked out, making his way back over to Emily.
“You can’t just leave, Dillon,” Joan retorted, her tone insistent as she looked around. She rose from her chair, sweeping her hand across the room. “You have guests here. It’s apparent something’s going on between you and Emily, but you need to tend to that later.”
He shot his mother a cold look. “Like I said, we’re fucking leaving.”
Joan’s eyes bulged, and she went to speak, but Henry placed his hand on her shoulder, effectively silencing his wife.
“I know what the fuck I’m doing tomorrow,” Dillon spewed, pointing to himself. After grabbing Emily’s hand, he pointed to the bridal party. “Do you all know what you’re doing tomorrow?”
With not a word whispered, the crowd of family and friends stared at him, nervously shifting in their seats. Emily’s sister went to get up. Once again, Emily shook her head, her eyes essentially begging her not to do anything. Pursing her lips in transparent worry, Lisa crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing on Dillon. However, she remained silent.
“That’s what I thought.” He pulled Emily toward the door. “We’ll see you all tomorrow at eleven.”
After retrieving Emily’s jacket from the coat check, Dillon weaved them through the lobby, nearly running into other guests. Once they reached his car, Emily drew in a deep breath, trying to coax down her stammering nerves. Sliding herself into the seat, she bit her lip nervously as she watched him round the vehicle, the blazing look in his eyes triggering an upsurge of fear throughout her entire system. Getting into the car, he slammed the door, and without looking at her, he started the engine. Suffocating.
Emily felt as if she was suffocating as he curtailed out of the parking spot, his hands tightening around the steering wheel, his jaw clenching and unclenching. As thoughts of Gavin fired off in her head, she noticed that they were heading in the wrong direction.
“I need to go back to my apartment,” she whispered, the blood whooshing through her veins. It pounded and correlated with the throbbing pain in her chest.
“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m letting you go back to your place,” he snapped, his eyes never leaving the road.
Emily’s heart seized and then started racing as though it was about to burst right through her rib cage.
“You’re staying with me tonight,” he added, his tone harder. “I’ll bring you home in the morning to get your shit before the ceremony.”
Fumbling for something to say, she stared at him but cowered back when he whipped his head in her direction, the fury in his eyes threatening to torch her into flames. For the remainder of the ride, she kept quiet, and by the time they pulled up to his townhouse, she was sure she was already sinking into the fiery pits of hell. Getting out of the car, he didn’t utter a word to her as they climbed the stairs to his front door.
With her nerves trembling and crawling against her skin, Emily jumped as Dillon slammed the door after they walked in. Ripping his jacket from his body, he loosened his tie and moved into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of Jack Daniels from the cabinet. After plucking a glass off the counter, he filled it to the brim, chugging half of it down. Brows knitted together, and hostility brimming in his irises like burning coals, he motioned her over to him with his finger.
Emily couldn’t take in enough air as she slowly peeled her coat off and dropped her purse onto the sectional sofa. Staring at him from across the room, a cold spiral of fear ran down her spine.
“Come here, Emily,” he said, his voice laced with a sickening calmness.
She swallowed, looking at him as he stared back at her. Inhaling as her footsteps echoed against the marble floor, she cautiously inched her way into the kitchen, the anxiety steadily building within her. Approaching him, bile rose in her throat when he darted his hand out, yanking her by the arm into his chest. Feeling his heart pound against hers, she didn’t bring her eyes up to meet his. She couldn’t. Something darker than fear had taken her over. Trying to catch her breath, she stared at his mouth that curled lopsided into a wicked grin.
Bringing his knuckles under her chin, he slowly lifted her face, looking into her eyes, his voice low. “You fucked him, didn’t you?”
“No,” she whispered, her voice weak, her muscles growing weaker by the second.
With his breath hot in her face, his tone remained the same but his eyes hardened. “And you expect me to believe that?”
“Yes,” she answered, trying to keep her body from shaking.
Emily felt her stomach churn when he brought his other arm around her waist, kneading his fingers into the small of her back. He dipped his head, slowly running his nose along her brow. She pulled in a sharp breath as he used the weight of his body to push her back, pinning her against the cold granite counter. With tears welling in her eyes, her heart tripled over as she stared at him.
His dirty-blonde hair—usually meticulously styled—hung over his forehead. “You do know that if you fucked him, you mean absolutely nothing to him,” he whispered, grazing his lips over the shell of her ear. “He’ll fuck anything that opens its legs for him.”
Though dread of what he’d said washed over her, and her heart felt exposed with torn open fresh wounds, she didn’t reply as she tried to mentally push his words aside.
Burying his face in her hair, he pulled her tighter against his rigid chest. “Did you fuck him?”
“No, I didn’t fuck him.” Body still shaking, the whispered words slid from her mouth, her voice feigning innocence.
Slowly, he dragged his fingertips across her cheek and slid the pad of his thumb along her quivering lips. “Do you love me, Emily?” he asked, his eyes pinning her with malice.
Staring up at him, she was confused by the question and wasn’t sure how to answer it. Her gaze reflectively dropped to the ground, her mind racing as she searched for something to say.
“We’ve had a rough couple of months, Dillon,” she whispered, bringing her eyes back to his.
He cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t answer my question.” He leaned in closer, his breath whispering against her cheek, as his one hand gripped her waist while the other cupped the back of her neck. “Do you love me, Emily?”
She swallowed hard and stared at him, a sob breaking past her lips. “I do love you, but I think—”
He cut her off, quickly bringing his fingers up to her lips, silencing her.
Breathing heavily, her body trembled as he dropped his hands and placed them on the granite counter, caging her in like an animal.
“Then prove it to me,” he whispered, his face inches from hers, the smell of liquor oozing from his mouth. “If you didn’t fuck him—and if you love me, Emily—then prove it.”
She stared at him—body, mind, and soul shaking—as he slowly slid his fingertips down her arm. Reaching for her hand, he hastily led her into his bedroom. He snapped the door closed and started removing his clothing. The entire time his eyes never left hers, their intent revealing an urgent dominancy to reclaim her.
“Take your clothes off,” he ordered, his voice low as he approached her.
Standing completely naked before her, he breathed out heavily, the sound hanging in the air. Emily stood rooted to the ground, unmoving—dying inside little by little.
“You
will
prove it to me,” he rebuked, framing her face with his hands. She looked away, but he cupped her chin, forcefully bringing her attention back to him. “Because if you don’t,” he whispered, leaning into her ear, “then I’ll know you fucked him. And you want to know what’ll happen then?”
With her heart ricocheting in her chest, she nervously swallowed, her throat feeling as though sandpaper coated the lining. She shook her head.
“You’ll force me to hurt you both,” he hissed, his hands fumbling to unbutton her blouse.
Standing completely still, without speaking, her instincts warned her to flee, but she couldn’t. In the darkness of the room, the unshed tears she was trying to hide fell and tumbled down her cheeks. However, they fell silently as Dillon stripped her down to nothing—physically… mentally… and emotionally.
Pushing her onto the bed, he hovered over her naked body. His face was peppered with anger, lust, and possession. Spreading her legs open, he sank himself inside her, and it was then that the blackness of what Dillon had become enveloped her like a cold shadow. She knew in that very moment she was grasping onto something that would never be again. She could never love him the way she once did, and she could never love him the way she now loved Gavin. When her body had no more to give, she succumbed to the numbness that set in. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut herself down as he rocked into her harder, interminable pain pulsing through her head. She envisioned Gavin’s blue eyes above her instead of the dark vengeful ones staring back at her. Inhaling, she tried to picture that it was Gavin’s hands groping her breasts, Gavin’s sweat dripping onto her body, and Gavin’s lips kissing her mouth.
Gavin…
Dillon grunted and collapsed all of his weight on top of her when he finished. Within a few minutes, he was fast asleep. Hours. Emily lay there for hours, her mind replaying Gavin’s words over and over. Feeling as though she had cheated on her own heart—the very heart that belonged in Gavin’s hands—Emily slowly slid from the bed, her breathing shallow as her feet hit the ice-cold floors.
There would be no lace veils or vows taken tomorrow. No. There wouldn’t be promises made or lies spoken. Gavin was correct. Her lips held lies, and those false truths had potentially ruined his and her future together. She loved him, and now she would go to him. She could only hope that he would forgive her for doubting him and his love for her. As quietly as possible, Emily gathered her clothing and got dressed. She also gathered the nerve she so desperately needed to finally leave Dillon. Turning, she stood in the threshold of his bedroom, watching his sleeping form.
As tears sprung in her eyes, she could feel her heart breaking and mending all at once. “Goodbye, Dillon,” she whispered.
Almost tripping over her bare feet, Emily moved quickly into the living room and grabbed her shoes, coat, and purse. Trying to avoid making any noise, she slipped on her coat but kept her shoes in her hand as she tiptoed her way toward the front door. She reached for the knob, sucked in a deep breath, and slowly pulled it open. Though the door creaked, the sound echoing throughout the townhouse, her fear of waking Dillon was dwarfed by her incapacitating fear of losing Gavin forever.
The latter propelled her out into the cold winter air.
Tick-tock…
Pulse Coming Summer 2013
Acknowledgments
Writing is and always has been an outlet for me. When I sat down and first started writing
Collide
, I had no idea the road I was about to travel. I figured it would be easy enough to get my fingers to tap out some words, flesh out some characters, and build a relatively good storyline. What I found instead was a painfully magnificent, torturous, beautiful, and emotional ride—all wrapped into one imperfect but perfect package. The mental attachment I endured having to essentially “become” my characters was neither something I was prepared for nor something that I will ever forget.