When the Game Changed (Ryan Haywood x OC) (Fake AH Crew)

Chapter 13

Geoff was tired.

He was absolutely, completely, utterly and inexplicably exhausted and tired, and whatever other words define loss of sleep and the feeling of drowsiness, he was all of those words.

The night was long and it was harsh, because the event that unfolded in the conference room didn't sit right with him, and he decided that at this point there was no way he could have controlled what happened or go back in time to make it right, or whatever the hell it was that could have made it not happen whatsoever.

Because it took him all night- staying up in bed, fidgeting around and rolling in the sheets before getting up and trying to find a way to busy himself- to figure out that maybe, just maybe, he had been a serious asshole at the meeting and deserved to get punched in the face. He wanted to punch himself in the face.

Geoff was usually not the kind of person to back down on a decision he made, but he was seriously having second thoughts the more it sat in his mind and sloshed around, facing him to remember every word, every movement, every emotion left inside of that elongated room. Letting a decision down meant weakness, and he hated weakness, but guilt was always a strong thing in his life that caused him to be soft at the most vulnerable times, such as one that questioned his very authority.

He was a people person, it had always been that way, and by that it really meant that he could get very... emotional. He empathized with everyone that he cared about, and to an extent, other people who he knew, which meant Dakota. It's not like he hated the girl. She was funny, bold, brave, skillful, charming. The whole package. He never hated her, unless he counted the Triads incident that caused their paths to cross, but that was a whole other thing in itself.

There were no problems between them, nothing at all that he could think of that made the altercation happen, other than the fact that he concluded to earlier that evening: he just felt threatened.

And it was possible he just didn't want a newcomer to tell him what to do, but thinking back on it, she didn't demand anything of him at all. Dakota simply suggested a resolution to their problem and he just shot her like a dog with immense rabies and-

Geoff, stop, man. You're not getting anywhere looking back on it. You made your decision and you're not going back. What are you saying, trying to take her side? You put yourself here, and you're gonna stay with it, because you run the crew, and you have to put your foot down. No leniency.

He was right. He wasn't allowed to show mercy now, let alone because his more than human thoughts were telling him to start acting like a titty baby, the one that cried during the Titanic. Geoff didn't show emotion when he was set in his ways, and there was no exception now.

Then again, she was just trying to look out for the crew and she wanted to help and-

No, fucking stop it. You're supposed to be ruthless, not a damn pity party.

The tattooed individual sighed, his palms smoothing over his face as he sat on the edge of his bed, clad in nothing but his boxers. His fingers ran over the moustache and the little amount of stubble starting to collect on his chin and the sides of his face.

"I'm gonna have to cut you one day, as much as it pains me," he mumbled, one last touch of his wondrous moustache before groaning and standing. It was time to get ready for the day, whatever the fuck the day had planned because he sure as hell didn't know.

He found his way to the walk in closet across the room, the sliding door still open from using it the day before. The man let himself in and pondered around the spacious little room, shirts on top hangers, pants on bottom, shoes underneath, and hoodies and whatever else on the shelf above all of the other clothing.