🥊 Hate or Fate 💕 {Enemies to Lovers}

.30.

For a hot second, all I could hear was the grind of my internal gears trying to catch up to what Bart had just announced.

"Elijah has a what now?" Gray's expression had scrunched as he eyed his buddy incredulously.

"A new girlfriend," Bart repeated the words. Each dropped on my head to spatter like bird shit. "I mean, I think that's what she is."

My heart took off, pounding so hard and so loud I could barely hear myself think.

Elijah had a new girlfriend already.

Which, made perfect sense as we'd barely been broken up a month.

Why wouldn't he immediately move on to one of the women he'd already been dating? It's not like I expected him to suddenly start having respect for our relationship once it was over.

Also, my palms had grown super sweaty.

"Do you think she's his girlfriend?" Gray was using a measured tone like he didn't want to 'lead' Bart's answer. "Or do you know?"

"Well, he didn't explicitly say, you know, girlfriend," Bart pronounced the word as if it were of the four-letter variety. His wide brow was wrinkled in thought or confusion (or both). "But that's kind of what it looked like."

"Can you tell us what you saw?" Gray was vocalizing all of my thoughts while I sat in stunned silence.

"I went over there on Sunday to check in on him after you called me," Bart reported dutifully. "He had some girl named Kayla there, she'd brought, like, a huge bag. I mean, it looked like she was planning on staying a while."

Each bit of information was a tiny blow to my already battered ego. Even worse, I could feel Gray's stare burning a hole right through me, scrutinizing my reaction.

Clearing my parched throat scratched it up so bad I went into a coughing fit. Gray darted forward to grab my water bottle, rounding my desk to rub my back in concentric circles with his deliciously warm palm while I gulped the last of my room-temperature water.

I temporarily sagged against his touch, regulating my breathing to his tender but firm motions. Well, at least Gray and Bart looked as shocked as I felt.

Bart watched the scene play out quietly. His sweet eyes were working overtime to understand what was happening right in front of him.

"Hey," Bart's voice waivered as he shoved a brawny hand through his cropped hair. "Are you two-"

"When did he start dating Kayla?" I interrupted in a wheezy tone. "Not that it matters."

"I have no idea," Bart replied, shaking his head with a perplexed expression.

"Oh, come on, Bart," I snapped. "You don't have to keep lying for him. I'm not his girlfriend anymore, and it's honestly none of my business, so, never mind."

"No, really, Isla," his face fell into genuine concern. "I didn't know about any of this until you did."

"It's true," Gray's deep timber rang through my shoulders and throbbed in my pelvis. "Bart's never been good at lying, so, Elijah didn't tell him. Grady and I were under threat of violence if we talked to either of you."

"Jesus," I muttered disdainfully, more for my own benefit than theirs. "Why bother with all the secrecy and lies? I mean, was any of this worth it?"

Maybe, just maybe, Elijah got some kind of sexualized kick out of the fear of getting caught. To me, it just seemed like too much hassle (for everyone involved) to get your rocks off.

"Well crap," I sighed, completely oblivious to the fact that Gray was still stroking my back supportively. "I still have a lot of things at his condo, and I don't want to go there now that Kayla's going to be there."

"I can get your stuff," Gray whispered. "I'll have Elijah box it up and I'll drop it off at Rebecca's apartment."

"How do you know where she lives?" I asked, twisting around to interrupt his pleasant rubbing as Bart's chin tipped upward to stare at Gray accusingly.

It was borderline adorable that he was already crushing on Rebecca enough to get jealous like that. Though, I'm sure any guy would be more than a little wary if Gray were anywhere near his girl.

"I don't, sheesh, you two," Gray held up his hands like it was a stickup. "I'm just trying to help!"

"You know how you can help?" I leaned over my desk to rest my forehead in my hands. Kneading my temple to help release the pressure of my burgeoning headache, I kept going. "You can stop trying to clean up his messes. Both of you.

"I'm sure Rebecca would be more than willing to help me get my things," I continued. "At a date and time that I will pre-arrange with Elijah to avoid any sort of drama."

No one spoke, giving me a moment to collect my thoughts, which felt like they were pouring from my brain like a sieve.

"Oh, and Elijah says he wants to talk to you, dude," Bart's voice cracked as he parroted the message.

"Speaking of drama," Gray snorted resentfully. "Did he say what it was about?"

"Some question his mom had about Thanksgiving, I guess," Bart shuffled and shrugged. "I didn't write it down because I'm not your fucking secretary, or his."

"Sorry you're in the middle of this shit-show, brother," Gray exhaled, a little taken aback at his friend's words. Bart was normally a pretty easy-going guy (unless you were engaging in a conversation about the Seahawks or the Mariners, then all bets were off). "I'll give him a call."

"I'm sorry too," I murmured into my hands, my back to them both. "I shouldn't have gotten mad at you or asked you about Kayla."

I twisted around to get out of my chair and join them, smiling up into Bart's face.

"Can I say?" I confessed, leaning in as if it were our little secret. "I'm a little relieved that you found out when I did?"

"Can I say?" Bart let out a heavy breath. "I'm really fucking sorry any of it happened at all? I miss the way things were, in the before-times."

"Sure," I chuckled, opening my arms to offer him a hug that he accepted with athletic gusto. It felt a little like being slowly smothered to death by a friendly python. "Bart? Bart!"

"Hey, buddy?" Gray said lightly, tapping Bart's shoulder to steal his focus. "I don't think Isla can breathe anymore."

"Oh! Shit! Sorry!" Bart set me down while I tried to hide the wheeze that was clawing its way out of my bruised windpipe. "Sometimes I forget my own strength!"

An urgent rapping at the door made all three of our heads swivel in unison, much to Rebecca's amusement. She'd been enjoying our little pantomime through the glass wall of our office that faces the creative pit.

I gestured for her to join us while swallowing gulps of my own spittle to line my damaged throat.

"How's it going in here, you crazy kiddos?" She asked, slinking over to us with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Do we have any more of that peppermint schnapps?" I replied bleakly. "Mama needs a drink or a full-frontal lobotomy. Whatever's easier."