Letting My Brother's Best Friend Take My V-Card

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I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached, but I didn't loosen my hold. The tension had taken over my entire body, and no amount of tightening or clenching seemed to release it. My jaw throbbed from how tightly I'd been grinding my teeth. My head spun, replaying the moment over and over again. The sound of her pained gasp, the way her body stumbled back, the blood on her face - all of it burned into my memory.

I hit Laura.

Sure, I didn't mean to. It wasn't intentional. I was in the middle of a fight, and she got caught in the chaos, but none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the fact that I hurt her. She'd tried to stop the fight, tried to pull me out of my rage, and I repaid her by hurting her. My foot pressed harder on the gas pedal, the engine growling beneath me as if it shared my anger. Anger wasn't the right word, though. I wasn't just angry. I was fucking furious. At myself. At the whole situation. At Tim. But mostly, at myself.

"Fucking idiot," I muttered, slamming the heel of my hand against the steering wheel. The sound of the impact didn't satisfy me. It wasn't enough. Nothing was enough to match the storm brewing inside me. I hit the steering wheel again, harder this time, and then again. Each slam echoed in the confined space of the truck, but it did little to ease the pressure building

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in my chest.

scared. Of me. That's what gutted me the most. The way she'd pulled back when I tried to check her injury. The way her eyes darted to mine, wide and unsure. It was like she didn't know

ready to fire

wheel, and I let out a guttural growl, hitting the wheel again for good measure. "Fucking hell, Josh." My voice was raw, frustration spilling out with every word. "You' re no better. You just

make her feel unsafe.

I could think about was Laura. Her face. Her tears. The ice pack pressed against her nose. The way she'd looked at me, trying to reassure me

stitches? What if... God, I hated myself right

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and blinded me to everything else.

I slammed my palm against the wheel one last

myself. My voice was harsh, filled with determination and desperation. But how the hell was I supposed to fix this? How was I supposed to make up for what I'd done? She said

the shame - it was all still there, bubbling under the surface, ready to boil over at any second. My mind flashed back to her words. "It's

through to make her react like that? What kind of pain had she endured for her

pedal again, my truck lurching forward as I drove through the intersection. I couldn't stop thinking about it. About her. About the look on her face when I reached