Home > Toxic (Ruin #2)(53)

Toxic (Ruin #2)(53)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

He shuddered. “I would never choose her over you.”

“But Gabe…” I felt the tears well in my eyes. “You already have. Even if it wasn’t on purpose — you already have.”

His eyes flashed open. I could tell he wanted to argue with me just by the way his eyes bored into mine as if pleading for me to take it back. But that’s the thing with truth — once you speak it out loud…

It’s out there.

He kissed my forehead. “I could love you.”

“So you keep saying.” I offered a sad smile. “But for what it’s worth. I could love you too.”

We didn’t eat.

We spent the rest of the night kissing, falling asleep, only to wake up kissing again. I had no idea what time it even was. The house felt like a fairy tale. I imagined if we stayed there forever we’d be happy — we’d still be kissing — and we’d be happy, but that wasn’t life.

The universe must have heard my thoughts because Gabe’s cell started buzzing in his pocket.

With a curse he pulled it out. “Hey, Wes, sorry… fell asleep.”

Gabe closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

“What channel?”

Dread exploded all over my body as Gabe slowly rose from the couch, walked over to the large flatscreen, and grabbed the remote.

Color invaded the living room.

The picture on the screen took my breath away. It was one of Kimmy before the accident, so full of life, so gorgeous it hurt to look at her. And then a photo of Ashton Hyde.

And finally a photo of Gabe’s family with the caption. “Devastated Father finally reaches out to long lost son.”

“He’s finally come home!” Gabe’s dad said on the TV screen. “The prodigal has returned after our insistence that he allow us to be a part of his life again. We’re so saddened that he felt the need to go to such extremes to push us and the rest of his beloved friends and fans from his life. But know this, Ashton Hyde.” His dad stared through the TV screen. “Nothing will ever be the same. Now that you’ve returned — we won’t ever let you go.”

Gabe sank to the floor on his knees.

I ran to him, wrapping my arms around him as I rocked him back and forth. “It’s going to be fine,” I whispered. Even though I knew it was a lie. The thing about lies? They only work if the other person doesn’t know the truth. And we both knew.

Nothing. Would ever. Be the same.

Chapter Forty-Five

Life was passing me by. I was alive, but not awake. I hadn’t been awake in a really long time. Funny, I thought the prince was supposed to wake Sleeping Beauty. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that I wasn’t the dragon or the prince. But the one in need of a rescue so epic — that my world shattered. The scary thing about waking up? You’re reminded how much of your life was a nightmare — and again remember why you went to sleep in the first place. —Gabe H.

Gabe

The lights had never bothered me. They flashed in my face, made me feel like I was going to have a seizure, but it was a necessary evil. People had a fascination with pictures — because then they could fantasize about what it would be like to be with me, to see me in the flesh.

I swore to destroy every last picture of myself. But when that didn’t work. I destroyed the perfect image they had of me. It was the only way.

And now I was regretting it.

Because the Ashton Hyde they wanted to take pictures of? He didn’t exist anymore.

But for the first time in four years, I was okay with that. I was okay with myself… who I was.

I gripped Saylor’s hand in mine as we drove toward the group home. After watching the morning news show. I knew things would get crazy with the media. I needed to make sure that everything would be set up to protect Princess from reporters.

Wes, being Wes, said he was already on top of things, which I could only assume meant he’d called his dad and brought in the US Army or something equally huge. He didn’t do anything half-assed. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if the SWAT team was standing outside the group home with Tasers set.

Saylor didn’t say much, but I kept squeezing her hand. I wasn’t sure if it was because I needed comfort or because I was trying to comfort her. Her lips were drawn into a smile, but I could tell she was putting on a face for me.

Which sucked, because how many times had I been on the offering end of that same smile? Giving a fake smile in order to make people feel good? Felt like hell.

“We’re here.” I pulled the BMW into the parking spot. Both of us were still wearing our clothes from the night before. When Wes had called it was five in the morning and I’d wanted to get to the home right away.

“We are.” Saylor looked around.

The sun was just beginning to rise over the Sound. There were only two or three reporters in front of the Home. No doubt, hundreds would be staked out later.

“I want to stay in the car,” I admitted. “I want to turn around and go back to the house and lock myself in there with you.”

Saylor turned and looked at me, her fake smile turning real, revealing her perfect pink mouth. “Let’s pretend.”

“Alright.” I wasn’t sure what she was getting at.

“We met at college,” Saylor began, licking her lips. “We collided in the hallway and immediately hated each other.”

“Because you were snarky.” I smirked.

She giggled. “Only because you were cocky and made fun of me.”

“True.” The sun peeked over the mountains. “And I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

“So days later, when we met again, it was chaotic because we both despised and intrigued one another,” she continued.

“I pursued.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows arched.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I pursued… wanting you, needing you. I went about it all wrong, as most guys do, thinking that if I could just make you hate me you’d leave me alone to wallow.”

“Silly boys, that never works,” Saylor whispered, her eyes welling with tears.

“Never.” I shook my head and clenched her hand. “Because we forget that hate and love are sometimes impossible to tell apart.” My voice went hoarse. “And then I fell.”

“Me too.”

“I took you out on… ten dates?”

“Wow!” Saylor laughed. God, I could listen to her laugh forever. It was deep and sounded real, not fake or high pitched. “Someone’s optimistic.”

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