I fist a bottle of cheap vodka by the neck. I can’t think straight. My emotions are black. My heart is about there. My lengthy stride is filled with deplorable hate. I don’t run. I walk quickly up the steep driveway, the alcohol clenched in my hand, a million-dollar home staring right back at me.
The door. All I see is that black door and the bronze knocker.
I slam my fist against it, pounding. No one answers. I don’t even hear footsteps. “Open up!” I yell. I pound again and again. Fuck this.
I take the bottle and swing. The glass smashes. The contents shatter, the liquid dripping down the bronze knocker, trailing the black wood and running beneath my soles.
“Fucking hell,” Ryke curses behind me. “Was that necessary?”
The door blows open.
“Yes.”
I told Ryke to wait in the car and I mentioned how the only way Aaron Wells would creep out of his parents’ home （like the rat that he is） is if I started fucking with his things. Starting with that door. I was prepared to move onto his BMW—a shard of glass to decorate the hood. Now I don’t have to go that far.
But I’m not surprised Ryke parked on the curb and followed me up the hill. He likes to do that—tag along and make sure I’m not about to self-destruct. That’s usually Lily’s job, and I’d choose her over him any day of the week. But not right now.
Not when an old prep school prick stands five feet in front of me.
He has dirty blond hair （practically brown）， blue eyes and that smug Dalton Academy smile that I remember so well. He’s the first guy that came to mind when we received the texts. What I did to him back in prep school was fucked up, but our rivalry should have never included Lily. And he shouldn’t be tormenting her now.
Aaron appraises the shattered glass. “I shouldn’t be surprised. The stench smells exactly like you.”
Ryke is about to take a step forward, and I grab his arm to stop him. We’re not punching Wells, as much as I’d like to. This is not that type of fight.
“I’ve met you before,” Aaron says, scanning Ryke from his dark hair to his lean muscles that nearly match mine. “Where was that?” He feigns confusion.
Ryke glares. “I should have smashed your fucking face in.”
When I heard what happened while I was gone, I really wish Ryke had.
Lily’s mother paired her with Aaron at a company party, and he threatened Lily the entire time, basically telling her that he’d screw with her to get to me. （Why? Because he hates me. There’s no other reason for that.） And I just had to hear the news in rehab without doing a goddamn thing. Now that he’s moved to Level 2—somehow learning about her sex addiction and wanting money—I’m here, ready to fuck with him the same way he fucked with her.
“Oh right,” Aaron says without missing a beat, “I was Lily’s date to a Fizzle event, and you showed up like her white knight while this one was in rehab.” He cocks his head at me. And I internally grimace at the reminder that Ryke was there for Lily these past three months. I wasn’t.
But this, right here, is why I know Aaron sent those texts. He’s recently made it clear that he wants to toy with me by going through Lily, stirring up our old rivalry.
Two can play this game.
“Thanks for escorting her,” I tell him. “She said it was painful staring at your ugly face all night, but I think we all know you weren’t there to please her.” My double-edged words even make me cringe. I don’t like to think about any other guy pleasing Lily. Not before we became a real couple. And definitely not after.
My heart beats so fucking fast. I take a step towards him, the glass crunching.
He stiffens, and I wait to see if he has the balls to shove me back.
Nope. I take my chances and squeeze between the door frame and his immobilized body. He stares right at me. Eye for eye. And I invite myself inside.
“Wow, this place hasn’t changed,” I say, walking further in. I stare at the high vaulted ceilings and the marble floors. Ryke follows me, and Aaron closes the door behind us, his lip curled. I point at the cellar door by the kitchen. “Should we crack open a bottle of wine?”
His eyes flash murderously.
“Maybe not then.”
Ryke hangs back, but if Aaron even raises a fist, he’d be right by my side. That kind of support feels good. I’ve never once had that. Growing up, I always took the beating or found an escape. Fights were always me against a million. No one was in my corner. I wouldn’t let Lily be involved, and if she was, it was guys like Aaron that deviously pulled her in, knowing she was my best friend.