Page 260
Chapter 260 of "Tempting Venom" opens with: âMaybe I should,â I whisper as his voice from my phone reverberates in the air.âDonât... See what unfolds next!
âMaybe I should,â I whisper as his voice from my phone reverberates in the air.
âDonât do that.â His voice is brittle. âLive for me, yeah?â
âBut you didnât live for me! I begged you! I fucking begged you to live for me, but you chose to let your demons take you instead of talking to me about them. You promised to stay! You promised me!â
I curse myself when I look to my side, and all I see is air.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I canât even speak to his ghost now. What if he completely disappears on me, then what?
My hand shakes around the phone as I listen to his voice, my nose tingling and my lips numb. I pull up his Instagram and scroll through his pictures.
There are hundreds of themâselfies, pictures from games, photos with Miley, Jude, and Kane.
Some with Hayes, too.
But I scroll to a specific photoâone he posted the night I fucked him for the first time. Itâs a black-and-white slightly blurry selfie, showing only half of his face as he stands in the rain, his hair all but covering his eyes.
The caption saysâJe veux pas partir.
I translated it, and it meansI donât want to go.
Even when he was running away, he wasnât really. Deep down, he wanted to stay with me, he just didnât know how.
âPresâŚâ I mumble in the silence, stroking my finger against the screen. âIf you wanted to stay, why didnât you? Did it hurt that much to be with me? Was the pain so unbearable, you couldnât talk to me? Vent to me? Bare yourself to me? IfâŚif Iâd held on to you tighter, would you have fought for me? For us?â
My voice chokes as a droplet falls on the screen, distorting his face, making my vision blurry. âIf you planned to leave, why did you change my life so drastically that I canât recognize it anymore? How am I supposed to move on now? I canât seem to do that. Everything I had passion for is gone. I donât want hockey or revenge. I donât want anything. Is this how you felt in those last moments? Like you didnât want anything anymore?â
My jaw shakes as another droplet falls on the screen. âNot even me, baby?â
He doesnât say anything, not even his ghost is able to reply. Only his voice from the voicemail echoes in the air.
âYouâve reached emotional terrorist and part-time hockey legend, Preston ArmstrongâŚâ
Again.
âYouâve reached emotional terrorist and part-time hockey legend, Preston ArmstrongâŚâ
Again.
âYouâve reached emotional terrorist and part-time hockey legend, Preston ArmstrongâŚâ
A car rolls to a halt beside me. I wipe the moisture from my eyes with the back of my hand, but I donât pay the newcomer any attention as the door opens, and, instead, keep listening to the voicemail message.
It isnât until a man in a sharp black three-piece suit walks toward me that I straighten, gripping the phone tighter.
He throws a glance at it, listening to Prestonâs voice in the darkness.
Lawrence.
I hang up, my fist clenched. Maybe I should kill him, make him join his mother and give Preston some company.
But then again, he looks like an older version of Preston, and I donât think Iâd ever have the heart to hurt someone who basically has his face.
âHello, Marcus,â he says in a monotone voice, and I canât help recalling how often Preston called him a robot.