Fuck no.
I refused to be like him. Not as a father. And certainly not as a husband. Those were two vows I’d made to myself that weren’t negotiable. I would never budge on them. The other stuff like football, college, and a stupid fraternity mattered little in comparison to family.
“Has our guy come back with any information?” Brock asked.
I shook my head, taking another swig. “No, not yet.” It had only been a few days, and as much as I would love to rush him, good dirt took time to unearth, and I wanted something to use against this bastard, something dirty enough to keep him far away from Mads. Sucking in a deep breath, I released it with a heavy sigh. “We need to get rid of those pictures.”
“We will,” Grayson said quietly, his eyes hard.
My fingers tightened around the beer bottle. “If he hurts her…” God only knew what the hell he planned to do with those photos.
“We know,” Fynn assured me, holding my gaze.
And they did. I glanced around. They understood. They were in this with me. And we wouldn’t stop until Sterling was no longer a problem.
Saturday was low-key. We didn’t have much planned other than to recuperate from a night of drinking and hanging out. It was damn difficult to keep my mind from straying to the photos Sterling had of Mads. I wanted to see them, and at the same time, I didn’t. What I should do was march into Chi Sigma and smash his phone repeatedly into the wall. It was either his phone or his face. The phone was less likely to get me expelled from school.
It was difficult to keep my thoughts from being dominated by Sterling and the anger that had yet to die down. I had to find other things to occupy my mind or go mad.
Maybe I should do something special for Mads, plan a date.
Having a group of friends that regularly hung out and then prepping for college, there hadn’t been much time for us to be alone, something I figured we both currently needed.
A sort of reset from the rocky beginning of our college relationship. I wanted to give Mads the best possible four years. These were memories we could reminisce over when we were fifty, sitting in front of the fireplace and preparing to send our first kid to college, because that was what I saw when I looked at her.
A future.
Our future.
Did it scare the shit out of me?
Fuck yes.
Everyone knew I wasn’t husband material. It didn’t matter that I was only eighteen. No one would have believed that I could ever be a one-woman guy. Those were the people who didn’t really know me.
I built my playboy reputation to piss off my father, and it had served me well.
Until the day Mads decided to give me a second chance. That was the day I no longer gave a shit about the persona I’d crafted. Let them believe whatever the fuck they wanted about me, because I didn’t want another girl. I only wanted Mads Clarke, and I would do whatever it took to make her Mads Bradford—to make her mine in every way possible.
The four of us decided to have breakfast with the girls, which would end up being brunch by the time we all managed to get up and ready. Rallying eight people was not an easy task, even when living together. In fact, I think that made it harder. Definitely true for the girls. Sharing one bathroom? No joke.
And that was how Mads ended up in my shower. Her text vibrated my phone on the counter as I towel-dried my hair, steam fogging the mirror. I glanced at the message.
Tell me you have hot water, she said.
Despite the shitty day yesterday had been, my lips twitched as I read the message, practically hearing the vexation of having three roommates come through. I could picture her sitting on her twin bed in the corner, fingers flying over the touchscreen on her phone.
Hot water, two bathrooms, and me. Take your pick,I sent back. I hadn’t slept at all last night, only a few patches here and there as my mind whirled.
Her response came through almost immediately, short and sweet, kind of like the girl herself:I’ll be over in five.
It turned out to be fifteen. I counted each minute, unsure if things would be weird between us after last night. We needed to talk. I needed to apologize for leaving like that, but I hadn’t trusted myself, not when I’d been so enraged.
Memories of my father’s fists and the fear in my mother’s eyes during one of his rants had made me leave. I never wanted to be the cause of that brand of fear, not with her. I kept telling myself that I would never hurt Mads, that I had spent years being the exact opposite of my father, but in the back of my mind, doubts lingered.
And I fucking hated that my father put them there, that he made me feel like I could be anything less than a good man.
I’d never once brought Mads to my house, and I had no plans to bring her around that part of my life. No matter how much it might break my mother’s heart, I couldn’t let my father’s abuse bleed into the only good thing in my life.