Undeniably Enemies: Chapter 3

One year later

Thanksgiving is typically my favorite holiday. Or at least, it had been until this year. The flight from LA to Boston was long. The congestion in the airport was a nightmare. But that’s not what has me sitting in a bar in Faneuil Hall drinking by myself.

Owen is going through a messy divorce with his wife. A wife who’s putting him and their daughter through hell. I’ve been there for him as much as I can be, but it was easier to do from a distance. Easier because I didn’t have to look him in the eye the way I had to tonight. Easier because fucking Wren wasn’t at the opposite end of the dinner table from me, laughing and chatting with her friends and cousins while refusing to look at me, let alone acknowledge me.

I couldn’t stop staring at her.

I wanted to go talk to her, but what was I going to say?

I’d already apologized to her that night, and I sure as hell couldn’t tell her that despite my best efforts, I haven’t forgotten a moment of it. Not how she looked in her gown, the way she smelled and tasted, the noises she made, or her face when she came on my fingers and cock. Or even the fact that I had a smear of blood on my pants and fingers from the condom, and like a sicko, I liked that it was there because it symbolized what she gave me.

I can’t tell her of my regrets.

How I wished I’d chased after her and made sure she was okay. How I wish I’d taken her home with me and done it again, but the right way. How I hate myself for thinking and feeling this way because it’s wrong, and I know it, but I’ve thought of little else.

Swallowing down the bottom third of my whiskey, I catch the bartender’s eye and have him refill it. The amber liquid sloshes around as I slide the glass back and forth between my hands. I blow out a miserable breath, lift my glass, and drain its contents in one harsh gulp before I set it down and push it away.

“Do you want another?” the bartender asks, and I shake my head.

“Just the check, please.”

“Sure. Not a fan of the holidays, huh?”

“Something like that.”

He hands me the check, and I throw some cash on top of it, but as I go to put my wallet away, my gaze snags on my hand. I drag my thumb along the thick, white scar that traverses my right palm. It’s a permanent reminder of just how many things have gone wrong in my life. How the swipe of a cleat on a wet hand could change everything. And years later, after I finally felt like my life was back on track, walking into a locker room at work changed that once again.

Owen was with me through all of it. From the surgery on my hand and the loss of my college football career and scholarship to the loss of my future dream as a surgeon to walking in on Tilly getting fucked by our boss while the engagement ring I bought for her sat in my locker just a few over from them. Then, six months after that, I met a fun and beautiful girl who I shared a ridiculous drink with, and I thought for once things might be turning in my favor.

Until I removed her mask and saw it was my best friend’s little sister.

The idea of betraying Owen or hurting Wren the way I did absolutely wrecked me. It still wrecks me.

Only Wren isn’t a dream I lost or a new life I had to adjust to after crushing heartbreak. Which is why none of this makes sense to me. I’ve been holding on, though maybe that’s the story of my life. I get stuck. Fixated on a notion, an idea, and then it’s naturally ripped away from me.

After what happened with Wren, I’ve turned into a bit of a loner. I don’t date, and I have no desire to. The last thing I want is to put my heart on the line again for anyone or anything. Owen is one of the few people I have, one of the few I trust, and I can’t lose him.

Or hurt her again.

I sigh and glance around the bar at all the people laughing and having a good time. Fuck it. It’s time I get over it and move on. Wren obviously has. I’m making too big of a deal of it. Maybe seeing her tonight, seeing how fine she is was the wake-up call I needed with this.

What Owen doesn’t know isn’t going to hurt him, and I didn’t hurt Wren the way I thought I did.

Standing, a rush of alcohol hits me, making the room sway. That was three whiskeys back-to-back, but I’m not driving, so I welcome it. I start to head for the exit when a familiar laugh—a laugh I heard practically all night that’s now engrained in my head—calls my attention to the back of the bar. I squint and narrow in on the tall, pretty blonde openly and shamelessly flirting with a guy who looks more than eager to receive her attention.

His hand is on her waist. His body is inches from hers.

She’s wearing a nothing of a white dress that hugs her small curves with her long, long legs on full display. Her soft blonde hair curls over her tits and sweeps around to the center of her back. Hair I never got to touch or run through my fingers because it was pinned up. Those smiles were mine. That laughter, too. She flirted with me. Out of all the men at the party that night, I was the one she ran off with. The one she gave herself to.

Something distracts her, and he takes the opportunity to turn his head over his shoulder to one of his buddies, say something, and give him a shit-eating grin followed by a wink.

The fuck? Fuck no.

Something ugly and caustic burns through me, boiling my blood. It’s a brush fire until all I see is red. My fists ball up, and my jaw locks. And when I see him turn back to her and lean in to whisper something in her ear, there is no holding me back. My feet carry me with purpose, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m grabbing her by the arm and lurching her away from him.

“What the hell?” she cries, shirking my hand. “Jack? What on earth?”

“Yo, bro,” the dude barks as he tries to grab my shirt and shove me away. His fake tan, barbed-wire tattoo wrapped around his biceps, and spiked, gelled hair are so twenty years ago and cliché I want to laugh. “Who are you, her dad? She’s with me.”

“No, she’s not.” I turn to Wren, giving him my back and dismissing him. He’s nothing, and if he’s dumb enough to try shit, he’ll regret it. I’m drunk and bigger than he is with zero fucks to give. “What the hell are you doing talking with the reject from Jersey Shore?” I jut my thumb over my shoulder at him.

“Oh shit, bro. He just called you a reject. You gonna let that go? He’s trying to steal your woman,” one of his sycophants instigates.

I glare at him. “She is not his woman.” I turn back to Wren. “Answer me.”

Indignation flares across her pretty face. “What does it look like I was doing talking to him?”

“Dredging the bottom of the genetic pool. Wren, he has maybe two brain cells total. Maybe,” I emphasize.

He taps on my back. “Yo, asshole. What the fuck, man?”

I ignore him since that doesn’t require an actual answer and keep my focus on her.

“Good thing I wasn’t interested in his brain,” she shoots back with a malevolent grin.

Is she kidding me with that? Is she trying to make me pop an aneurysm? Or worse, have me kill the man?

Another tap on my back like he’s a fucking bird pecking at a window.

“Guy, she’s going home with me tonight. And if you have a problem with that, I’ll take you outside and kick your stupid ass and then take her home and fuck her.”

Oh, he’s a dead man now.

I grab him by the front of his Drakkar-Noir-saturated shirt and hoist him up until his face is right in front of mine. His feet scramble for purchase on the floor, and his hands grip my forearms as he tries to drag me off him. His lackeys who were laughing at my expense aren’t laughing anymore.

“Listen, bro. I don’t know who⁠—”

I lift him up higher, using my height and strength to my advantage. “Listen, bro,” I mock sardonically. “Try to rub those two brain cells of yours together and get this through your thick skull. You are not fucking her. Not tonight or tomorrow or ever. If you look at or speak to her again, I will beat you to within an inch of your life. And after I’ve done that, and you’re a sad sack of bleeding wounds and broken bones, and they wheel you into the emergency department, I’m also the doctor who will be there to greet you and truly make you understand the notion of pain. Find someone else to spread herpes to. You’re not taking her home.”

He holds onto his bravado for another second, just long enough for him to realize I’m not joking. Not even a little. I’m drunk and angry and fighting too many fucked-up things in my head to be messed with. Especially when it comes to her.

His hands fly up in surrender. “It’s all cool, bro. The chick and I were just talking.”

The chick? Seriously? She was going to go home with him?

I release him, and he skirts away, smarter than I gave him credit for. When I turn back to Wren, she’s seething. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes murderous. She grabs me by the sleeve of my charcoal button-down and drags me to the back hall that leads to the employee area. Releasing me, she gives me a solid shove in the chest until I hit the wall behind me.

“What in the hell?!” she shrieks. “What makes you think you had the right to step in like that?”

“You’re lucky it was me and not Owen or one of your cousins.”

She laughs. It’s bitter and laced with sarcasm. “Right. Okay, then. Good thing I don’t need their permission or yours. I’ll just have to go and find someone else now.”

She starts to walk away from me, and I can’t stand that. Not again. I grab her arm and swing us around until I’m blocking the path back to the bar. “I’ll cockblock you all night, sweetheart. Just try me.”

“You’re unbelievable. You have no right to do this.”

“How many men have you fucked since that night with me?”

My question startles her, and I’m startled for having asked it. Maybe it’s the alcohol burning through me and destroying my better sense, but I don’t know how to stop right now. I’m angry. I’m fucking furious. I’ve been stewing over that night for a year. And to her, it’s as though it didn’t happen. Just as she said. It’s driving me mad.

“None of your business, that’s how many.”

“Essentially, you used my dick to pop your cherry so you could go around and fuck as many guys as you want?”

She smirks evilly. “Something like that. At least that night was good for something.”

Jealousy and resentment shoot up through me like a geyser.

“I’d call you a slut if I thought you’d care.” The words hurdle past my lips, and I instantly regret them. I don’t think she’s a slut. In fact, I hate that word. I believe women can screw around with whomever they want, and there should be no repercussions for it. Hell, it’s not a word I’ve ever used in my life.

Until now. And the impact on her is instant.

“Fuck you, Jack!” she yells, her expression laced with fury. “You didn’t give two shits about me that night. All you cared about was Owen.”

“You don’t know anything.” My temper flares. “Of course I cared about Owen. He’s my best friend, and I fucked his little sister. What was I supposed to do, Wren? Rejoice in betraying him? I was a piece of shit for what I did. But that didn’t mean I didn’t care about you!”

“Yeah. You really showed me that.” She scoffs, sarcasm dripping from her lips. “In fact, you would have been much happier if I’d stayed that mysterious Cinderella, and you never knew the truth, right?”

I can’t deny that, so I stay silent.

Her arms fold, and she nods victoriously as if she just proved her point. “Newsflash, Jack. The feeling is mutual. You regretted me the second you came, but that didn’t stop you from fucking me, did it?”

I step into her, crowding her, hovering above her when I need to keep my distance and my sanity. “Oh, like you didn’t use me?” I snarl. “You begged me for it. You didn’t even tell me you were a virgin, and you sure as hell weren’t going to tell me your name. You were all set to throw that on some poor, unsuspecting bastard who certainly didn’t deserve that piece of you.”

“You didn’t deserve it either,” she hisses icily, glaring up at me with vitriol seeping from her pores.

She’s right. I didn’t deserve it. I wanted it, but I didn’t deserve it. Still, it pinches the nerve that was already open and exposed. The one that was sliced open that day on the field and shredded once again by Tilly.

My face dips until I’m inches from hers. Then I grin like the asshole I am. “Sucks for you that I’ll always be the guy you gave it to.”

Her eyes narrow and her fists ball up. “I’d rather have given it to anyone but you.”

“And I wish Cinderella had been anyone but you,” I counter. “So I guess we’re even.”

It’s true. That night has haunted me for over a year. It’s been harder to get over than almost anything. I’ve weathered storm after storm, heartache after heartache. But Wren Fritz finally managed to break me.

“I hate you.”

I chuckle. “Such a childish response. Are you even legal to be in this bar?”

She straightens her spine, and the act puts us closer. So close I can see every fleck of blue in her eyes and every tiny freckle that dots her nose. So close that I can smell whatever fruity drink she had, along with the hint of her subtle perfume I like so much. Still, she doesn’t shrink back. Not this girl.

“Screw you, Jack. I may be young, and you can call me a child all you want, but I’m not the one throwing a temper tantrum and butting in on business that doesn’t concern me. I am more than adult enough to live my life how I want to, and that includes having sex with any man I choose. And I won’t make apologies to you for it.”

I step to the side and pan my hand back toward the bar. “Screw me, you already did. So go and enjoy your night, Cinderella. Good luck finding that prince to fuck you half as well as I did. I’ll happily stay your villain, and with any luck, I won’t have to see you again for at least another year.”

Or longer, since now I have no plans to return home anytime she’s here.

She slams her shoulder into me as she storms back into that bar, but I can’t turn around and watch her go. Everything sinks. My throat into my chest. My heart into my stomach. My stomach into my feet.

Fuck. Fuck!

The side of my fist pounds the wall.

Why did I say those things to her? Why didn’t I just apologize and tell her… Christ, what could I have told her? She’s ten years younger than me. She lives in Seattle, and I live in LA. Hell, she’s still in fucking college. Best yet, she’s Owen’s little sister, which automatically makes her eternally off-limits.

But more than all those things, I don’t want to be with her. I don’t. Even if she weren’t a total pain in the ass, all wrong for me, and Owen’s sister, those days are done for me. So again, what was I going to say to her? I have nothing to offer her.

My head meets my hands. I can’t handle the feelings stirring inside of me, and I certainly can’t stand to see if she finds some random guy and pulls him into the bathroom just to spite me.

The stubborn, infuriating woman would too.

I walk down the hall, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other instead of going after her the way I want to. I didn’t go after her that night either. I would have kissed her again and brought her home with me, and I couldn’t do either of those things. Doesn’t she realize that?

I’m starting to think that damn drink wasn’t a love potion but a curse.

It’s better that she hates me. I sort of hate her right now, too.

Hate is easy. Hate is safe. Hate doesn’t have me ripping her clothes off and pinning her against a wall again. It doesn’t have me losing control or risking something I swore I’d never risk again.

So yeah. Maybe I hate Wren Fritz. And right now, I have no apologies for being a dick and making her hate me first. Thank God we don’t live anywhere close to each other. Avoiding her ’til death do us part should be easy.