Chapter 29 HARPER
I'd never seen Tyler this angry—and that should mean something given that I was always at the receiving end of his fury.
I was supposed to feel satisfied, relieved—glad—that racquel was finally getting what she deserved. But all I could feel was pity for her when she knelt before me, eyes pleading with Tyler.
He kept his gaze cold, not wavering one bit as he ordered her to cut her own hair. And despite how much I loved payback, a part of me felt like this was a bit too much.
“Tyler,” I started, wanting to beg on her behalf. But he held up a hand to stop me.
“Don't,” he warned. “Even if you have a change of heart—I'm still going to make her do this.”
“Isn't this a bit extreme?” Racquel nodded desperately, agreeing with me. I didn't spare her a glance, focusing on Tyler. “You're trying to make her pay for her actions, but if we're to be honest, there's not much difference between you and her.”
“I never hurt you.” The image of me running out of his house flashed through my mind just as he added, “At least, not physically.”
I almost argued, but I knew now wasn't the right time to point out his flaws.
“But you're doing this for me. I'm begging you, please don't make her do it. Cutting her hair won't make me feel better. All I ask is that she stays far away from me.”
Tyler watched me like he couldn’t phantom the words coming out of my mouth, but he didn't press any further.
“Fine,” he said, turning to Racquel as he guided her to her feet and pulled her closer to him. Looming over her threateningly, he hissed, “If you so much as breathe anywhere close to her again—I swear I'd be the one to take care of things myself.”
He shoved her back, storming toward me as he took a hold of my hand and pulled me gently with him.
“Come on.”
I didn't argue, letting him lead me to his car. He opened the door for me without bothering to ask if I wanted to get in or not, and waited patiently for me to take a seat.
When he joined me, starting up the engine, I cleared my throat, breaking the silence.
“Thank you.”
He didn't say anything.
“I hadn't expected you to get that angry at someone for hurting me. It's a first.” I smiled, expecting a reaction from him, but he didn't so much as blink. Just revised and pulled onto the main road.
I took the hint and shut my mouth, drumming my fingers on my laps.
Tyler kept his gaze glued to his wheel-screen, jaw clenching and unclenching like he was holding back his words. I wanted to say something again when I felt the sting from one of the scratches on my hand from Racquel’s nails. I hissed, and his head finally turned in my direction.
“Are you hurt?”
“It's just a scratch,” I answered, rubbing my hand softly. “Are you at least going to tell me where you're driving us to? Today was supposed to be my day off.”
“Yeah, but it didn't look like you were having fun.”
I studied him, a smirk playing at the corner of my lips. “So…..you're kinda taking me out?”
He scowled. “If you want to put it like that. I owe you one, after all.”
“Why?”
He side-eyed me, his upper lip twitching, like I'd just asked a ridiculous question.
“You got bullied because of me. And apparently, there isn't much difference between me and your bully.” The last words came out harsher then he probably intended.
I could tell it had hurt him when I said that, and I couldn’t help but smile, glad that my words had finally struck a nerve.
“Yeah. Bullying doesn’t have to be physical.” I shrugged, keeping my gaze straight ahead. “And if we’re counting physical violence, you’ve been rough with me a few times. For example—yesterday.”
I thought he would say something to disagree with me, but his shoulders sagged, and a short, tired breath escaped him.
“About yesterday—it was the reason I came to the party.”
“Oh.”
“I came to return the stuff you forgot at my place.”
“You could've waited until Monday when I come over for the sessions to give it to me.”
His grip tightened around the wheel. “I know that,” he said through gritted teeth. “Do you—” He paused, as if unsure whether to ask the question.
“Do I what?” I pressed.
“Do you really think I'm no different from Racquel? Do you see me as a bully?”
My gaze softened, eyes fixed on his side profile. “Not exactly. You may be harsh, annoying, insufferable, narcissistic, overbearing, rude, inconsiderate—”
“Can we skip the list?”
I laughed silently, trying to keep my expression neutral.
“The point is, I get why you're that way. But bullies like Racquel have no reason to be the way they are. They're just mean and spiteful.”
“Yeah.” He looked lost in thought, like he was pondering my words. I loved when he looked like he actually cared.
“So…” I drawled, getting uncomfortable with the silence. “What happened between you and Racquel? Why did you guys breakup?”
He didn't answer at first, focusing on his driving as he made a turn. After what took like a minute, he spoke, voice measured.
“She didn't respect the relationship.”
“How?” I asked, now genuinely curious. “Did she cheat or something?”
“Not exactly. She flirted with guys in my presence, even though that wasn't the deal breaker.”
“Then what was?”
He inhaled, like he was getting tired of my questions. But I couldn't bring myself to mind my business—not when he'd already told me part of it.
“We were at one of the guys’ party—Kane's, I think—when the DJ played something a little too sensual and people started dancing inappropriately.”
I swallowed, sucking in my cheeks, my lips twitching, threatening to expose my amusement. I hadn't thought of Tyler as one of those guys who minded people dancing ‘inappropriately’—at a party, for that matter.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I didn't feel like dancing, so she got on the dance floor—which wasn't a problem—until a guy got behind her and joined in. I watched her welcome him with her body language, bending over and all that, when she knew I was standing right there.”
“Ouch,” I grimaced.
“The worst part was, when I confronted her, she took sides with the guy, saying it was just a dance—trying to get me jealous.”
“Figured as much.”
He glanced at me then, his face hard and serious. “There’s a difference between trying to make you're partner jealous and disrespect. If you think rubbing yourself indecently on the opposite sex is going to get a reaction other than disgust and secondhand embarrasment out of me—then you're wrong. I don't joke with my girl that way. And I sure as hell don't expect her to think I would.”
I stared at him for a long moment, even after he'd looked away. I shouldn't have, but something in me shifted—and it felt a hell lot like falling.