I'm used to getting what I want. I've always taken what I wanted. No apologies. No excuses.
I know what it feels like to be betrayed, when someone else is calling all the shots. I've been down that road, and I'm not going there again. I've got my family, my friends, and the brotherhood. That's all I need.
I believe in Fate. Everything happens for a reason. But what do you do when Fate kicks you in the gut, plays a cruel joke on you?
When I met Quincy Priest, she was a flame I couldn't put out. A freakin' wildfire. She blew in to my life, burned it to the ground, then left me standing in the ashes. Gone as suddenly as she came. I'm not sure if I should love her or hate her… But I don't hate her. I could never hate her.
What do you do when the person who broke you may be the only person who can put you back together?
Can you run from Fate?
Do you even want to?
This is Brody's story.
In my room, I find Quincy asleep, lying on her side, her knees tucked into her body. I have no idea what it is, but something about this girl hooked me and reeled me in. So strong-willed yet so fragile.
Fully clothed, I lay down behind her, tucking her body into mine. I feel her stir as I take her hand and hold her. Our intertwined hands rest against her stomach as we lie in silence, both of us working up the courage to say something.
I speak first. Here in the darkness, I give another piece of myself to her.
“Last night, when I walked in and saw you asleep on his lap, I almost lost it. You were sleeping so peacefully, and it reminded me of how you looked when you were asleep next to me at the cabin. He was touching your hair. And I was pissed. I wanted to kick his ass because he was touching my girl. But you aren’t mine.” My pulse picks up as jealousy rears its ugly head, but just as quickly, it deflates. I feel defeated. "You gave yourself to me, but you don't belong to me." I feel her body tremble as she softly cries. I'm going nuts because she hasn't said anything. Maybe I'm too late. "Talk to me, Quince." I nuzzle into her neck, smelling the delicious scent that is her.
“You hurt me. You say you don’t want to share, but what about me? I don’t want to either.” Her words penetrate my fog. It's at that moment that I realize she's not the only one hurting me. I've been doing a good job of that myself. When she rolls over to face me, my eyes roam over her, this girl who changed me. “Brody,” she whispers my name, her breath warm on my face. I'm studying her face when her eyes widen and she abruptly sits up.
"Oh, no! Jenna!"
She runs her hands through the sheets, searching frantically for her phone. I reach for her, taking her hands in mine. She's so damn cute when she gets flustered. "Baby, I talked to Jenna an hour ago. She knows exactly where you are, and she took care of things with Declan, too.” Saying his name feels dirty.
The party is still raging around us, and all I want to do is lock us away from it all. When I get up and walk across the room, I feel her watching me. I search my iPod for the perfect song, one that says the words I can't. While Maroon 5's Sad fills the air, I realize just how lost I am.
I'm stunned when I turn around. Quincy is kneeling on the bed, watching me, her eyes shrouded in darkness. She slowly slides a leg over the side and to the floor, rising and walking toward me. I know this look. It's the one thing we can agree on.
Sydney Lane lives in Nashville, TN with her husband and children. Growing up in Smalltown, USA, Sydney dreamed of being a writer. After spending an obscene amount of money to go to college, Sydney finally decided to follow her heart. With her babies in bed and husband neglected, she worked by the light of her laptop and wrote Choices. Sydney is very active in charity work for anti-bullying and depression awareness groups.