The Destruction You Desire by Tracy Lorraine

7

Luca

The farther I ran, the more clarity I found and the more I realized that I fucked up this morning.

Fuck, not just this morning. I've been fucking up for the last five years.

Ever since my first reaction to her telling me what my dad had done was to call her a liar.

Seeing her dancing with Leon last night lit a fuse that I had no control over.

Flashbacks of him with Letty played out in my mind and I knew I couldn't deal with that again.

Letty was one thing, but Peyton. My Peyton.

Hell. No. Leon wasn't going anywhere near her.

Knowing this morning that by kicking her out of my room I forced her straight into his arms once more was more than I could handle.

With her scent still clinging to my skin, I threw some joggers and a shirt on and I just started running.

I didn't have a destination in mind, but I soon realized that my subconscious had a plan as I got closer and closer to her house.

I thought that maybe by the time I got there, I'd have managed to clear my head and actually knock on the door and have something resembling a sensible conversation. Only, when I came to a stop out in front of the house, the first thing I saw was him.

My twin brother was exactly where I should have been.

I didn't want them to see me but I was powerless to do anything but to stand frozen right in the middle of the front yard, and watch as Leon introduced himself to our… our little brother and sitting beside him, chatting away as if they've known each other forever.

And Peyton, she just stood there staring at the two of them like they were the best people in the entire world.

My heart shattered in my chest as I vividly remember her looking at me exactly like that. Like I had literally just hung the moon in the sky just for her.

My chest heaves as I try to keep control of my breathing as I continue watching them.

My head screams to move, to stop torturing myself more than I already have. But my body… that refuses to cooperate. And that's why, when Peyton does finally look up, she finds me standing there like some kind of stalker watching her every move.

All the air rushes from my lungs the second her eyes find mine.

"Shit," I hiss through clenched teeth.

She says something and looks away for a second. It's my chance to escape, to run and pretend it didn't happen but still, my body remains frozen to the spot as Leon stands and looks at me through the window.

I can sense his anger, his frustration and confusion over all of this even with the distance between us. But he's in there. He's accepted her words for what they are—the truth—and he's being the friend, the brother, the person she expects. Hell, no, it's more than that. He's being the person she needs and it fucking rips me apart that he's taking my place.

I'm still having a silent argument with Leon when she opens the front door.

"Luc?"

Her soft voice sends chills down my spine and when I turn to look at her, the only thing I feel is the ache in my chest.

She's still wearing my jersey, my number. It should mean something. But while she's in there with him, it means nothing. It's just a shirt because she's made her choice. It's why she's with him.

It's my fault. I'm fully aware of that, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.

"You look like the perfect little family," I spit, unable to keep the venom inside.

She rears back like I just slapped her, her arms crossing over her chest.

"What do you want, Luc?"

A shadow falls over her and when I look behind her, Leon steps up, his face set in a stone mask as if he's ready to fight this out again if need be.

I shake my head, a bitter laugh falling from my lips.

"It doesn't matter. It seems he's already slotted in and taken my place," I spit.

"There's no place to take, Luca. You're not a part of my life anymore. You made that decision for the both of us. So, unless you actually want something, you need to leave. None of us want you here."

Her words cut, but I know they're exactly what I deserve.

Ripping her eyes from mine, she turns to Leon, looking up at him like he's someone special.

My fists curl and I take a step forward but the second Leon looks at me, I stop.

The darkness in his eyes, the coldness in his green orbs rocks me to my core.

What the hell?

Before I get to do anything, say anything, I'm forced to watch as Peyton wraps her hand around his upper arm and all but pulls him inside.

Neither of them look back at me, they just dismiss me as if I'm nothing. No one. Insignificant.

It fucking hurts.

Spinning around, my fist finds the trunk of the tree at the end of the yard as an incensed roar rips from my throat and echoes down the deserted street.

Hanging my head, I take a second to revel in the pain that shoots up my arm from the hit, focusing on that instead of the agonizing ache in my chest.

I don't want to do it, but it seems my need to torture myself knows no bounds because before I walk away from the house, leaving Leon inside with my girl, I look back.

Neither of them are there but the older lady from the day before is. She stands in the doorway with her brows drawn together in concern.

Her lips part to say something but she quickly closes them again when I shake my head.

My body aches with exhaustion as I turn away from her worried stare and make my way down the street.

I barely slept last night. After she threw up in her sleep, I was too worried that she might do it again. Well, that's what I told myself. The reality was that I couldn't bear not to make the most of her sleeping beside me.

Just like last weekend in the pool house, I sat beside her and watched her every move. I studied every inch of her, once again noting the differences from the girl I used to know to the woman she’s become. Not that any of those differences matter because I didn't fall in love with what's on the outside—although she is beautiful—what I really fell in love with was the girl on the inside. Her soul. And despite all the bullshit, deep down, I know she's still the same person.

Why couldn't I have just believed her that day? Why did my stupid loyalties have to lie with my cunt of a sperm donor instead of the girl who'd proved time and time again that she would do anything for me?

What the hell is wrong with me that I would spend the last five years convincing myself that I was right, that I did the best thing. That protecting my family—my father—was the right thing to do.

Deep down, I think I knew. But I refused to accept it.

I wanted to believe that there was something redeemable about my father, that the controlling, forceful man that I see, the one who will literally steamroll his way through anyone to get what he wants isn't all he appears to be. I wanted to believe that he wouldn't do something so… something so treacherous, that he would cheat on his entire family, and not just with some random ex-jersey chaser that we all knew followed him around like lost puppies, but a kid. And not just a kid, but Peyton's sister.

My stomach turns over at the thought of him going after her and I heave into the flowerbed beside me, bringing up what little is left over from last night.

My stomach convulses trying to expel the disgust that's rolling through me.

I have no idea what's going to happen next with Peyton. My chest aches knowing that she has every right never to forgive me for not only turning my back on her five years ago, for calling her a liar, but for the past two weeks.

I've been… I've been just like my father.

I heave once more. My throat burns as nothing but bile comes up.

A sob rips up my throat as the reality of the situation slams into me like a truck.

The way I've treated her, the things I've said, the things I've implied.

I'm him.

I get no clarity with that realization, if anything the dark cloud that has already engulfed me only gets darker.

I move, although I don't realize it, and I don't come to a stop until I'm somewhere I know I can make it all go away.

There are a couple of cars here already, so I take that as my invite inside and push through the main door.

The bar is deserted and thankfully, the lighting is low as if it’s evening. The only main difference, aside from the lack of scumbags is that it smells like cleaning products, not alcohol and sex.

With no one behind the bar, I invite myself behind it and reach for one of the expensive bottles of whisky that Dad keeps on the top shelf to show off.

Cunt.

Twisting the cap, I throw it across the deserted bar and listen as it clatters against whatever it hits and finally bounces to a stop on the polished concrete floor.

I take myself to the booth in the shadows where I watched Peyton on her shift Sunday when those men stripped her bare with their eyes all night.

They're not here, yet my fist curls as I picture slamming it into each of their noses.

I'm almost halfway down the bottle before a door slams and footsteps echo across the room.

"Hello?" a familiar voice calls, clearly sensing that there's someone here. "We're not open yet."

"Don't need you to be open. Actually, I prefer it not to be."

"Luca? Fucking hell, man," he says, coming closer and finally finding me cloaked in darkness.

I tilt the bottle in his direction before lifting it to my lips once again.

"Where'd you—" He looks over his shoulder at the bar and stops mid-question, I assumed at finding the empty spot on the shelf. "Right."

He exhales in frustration before sliding into the booth in front of me.

"What the hell is going on, Luc?" He rests forward on his elbows and levels me with a look that tells me I'm not getting out of this easily.

Bry and I aren't exactly friends. Or maybe we are, I have no idea. But since I convinced security to let me in here before I was officially allowed, we've hung out and chatted. I don't know all that much about him, but it's nice to have someone away from the team and the pressure of all of that.

"Sit there silently all you like, but I know this involves Peyton and you can bet your ass that I'm going to do whatever I can to protect her. Me and you might have known each other longer, but that girl needs as much support as she can get."

"Fucking hell, Bry. You don't need to guilt-trip me. I fucked up, I know I fucked up. Okay?"

"You’re here getting drunk on a Sunday afternoon with whisky you've stolen from my bar and not with her, apologizing for whatever it is you've fucked up, so no, it's not okay."

"Fair enough." I think for a minute. "Peyton and I, we go way back."

"Yeah, I got that. I'm also assuming that you were the one to screw it all up."

"Good to know where your allegiances lay, Bry."

"She's hurting, Luc. She's desperate. Why the hell do you think she's working in a place like this? She doesn't belong here and you know it."

"Fucking right, I do. And I need to get her the fuck away before she realizes who her boss really is." A shudder rips through me at the thought of her being anywhere near my dad. It was bad enough last week after he suddenly showed up in town. But now, now that I know the truth. I don't want her anywhere near him.

"Why, what—" I pin him with a look that shuts him the fuck up instantly. "Oookay. Look, she needs the money. You can't just get her the sack and think it'll make everything okay."

"I know. Why do you think she's still here?"

"She's back in tomorrow night, and your father has already been in this weekend. If you want her out and away from him, then you need to act fast, man."

I nod, appreciating that his loyalty seems to be first with Peyton, and then me over my cunt of a father.

"I know."

"And getting wasted here isn't going to help. Especially once Helena turns up and decides to make you her little toy tonight."

"I'm not fucking interested in her and you know it."

"I do, it won't stop her from trying though, will it? She wants her taste of Maddison King's royalty. And the more you turn her down, the more desperate she gets."

Don't I fucking know it. She's like a dog with a bone.

"You've got three hours before she starts her shift. Sit here and drown your miseries if you want but I want you out of here before she shows her face. You've caused enough shit for Peyton already." I hear his warning loud and clear. It doesn't stop me from reaching for the half-full bottle on the table before me though.