BECKETT
She f*****g hates me.
Stealing that kiss might be the closest I ever get to her again. Not that it was just about the kiss—but hell, it meant something. Whoever took those photos better pray their God’s a crueler bastard than mine. Because I’m coming and I don’t do mercy.
"You okay, man?" Matthews slaps my back, tosses me a bottle of water. I jerk, shove my phone out of sight before he sees the screen. “ You look like you’re about to murder someone.”
Murder? Huh.
I grunt, twist the cap off, chug half like it’ll drown the heat burning in my chest. Five texts. I sent her five f*****g messages the second I woke up. And my sweet little cupcake hasn’t opened a single one.
Not even seen.
Not even delivered.
Since when did she get so cold? So heartless? Used to be, I’d breathe
