by Kylie Scott
He was bent over the engine. But by the time I got out of my car, he'd progressed to throwing a wrench at the ground before really releasing his frustrations by kicking one of the beast's tires. "Fucking asshole."
Whoa.
"Johnny." A man strode out of the house, wrapped up in an opulent green silk robe. His long hair was thrown over one shoulder, face neatly shaved. "Hey, come on. Calm down."
Hands on hips, John glared at the beast. "He's taken the distributor cap."
The man, in his late thirties maybe, put a hand on John's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Whatever the man said next, I stood too far away to hear. He gestured to an aging silver sedan parked alongside the beast and John shook his head, lips pinched white with fury.
Meanwhile, Anders sat on the lawn, just hanging. "Hey, check it out. Edie's here, what a happy coincidence!"
John turned to me with a frown.
"'Morning," I said, pushing my sunglasses up on top of my head.
The heavy frown was redirected to Anders, who just shrugged it off. "What? She goes to our school and we need a ride. Problem solved--you're welcome."
Nothing from John. Guess he hadn't given my number to Anders and asked him to text.
"Hello," said the man, coming toward me with a hand outstretched for shaking. "I'm Levi. John's uncle."
"Edie," I said. "Nice to meet you."
Levi beamed with pleasure, happy crinkles appearing around his familiar blue eyes. "Grab your bag, John. You don't want to keep the lady waiting."
Still looking all sorts of unhappy, John slammed the beast's driver's-side door shut before stomping off into the house.
Uncle Levi offered me a wary smile. "He hasn't had a good morning."
"No. Doesn't look like it."
Once John reappeared, bag on his back, we got moving. He sat slumped in the front passenger seat, staring out the window, his jaw set, while Anders whined about having to take the backseat all the way to a local drive-through coffee place. No matter how mad John was, I needed my fix.
"Want anything?" I asked my passengers.
Anders shook his head.
"Coffee." John fished a ten-dollar bill out of his pocket. "And I'll buy yours."
"That's not necessary."
The tone of his voice hadn't lightened any. "Call it gas money."
"All right."
A few minutes later, John had his Americano and I had my double-shot latte. Hopefully caffeine would cheer him up. God knows I found mornings more bearable with some coffee in hand. The rest of the ride to school passed in silence; even Anders kept his mouth shut for once.
"Thanks," John mumbled upon arrival, spilling out of the car and quickly walking away.
Slowly blowing out a breath, Anders leaned on the back of my seat. He gave my high ponytail a tug. I reached back, swatting at his hand.
"Thanks for coming," Anders said in a quiet voice. "I crashed at JC's last night. We played computer games until way past our bedtime. It was great. But it's really been a suck of a morning."
"Why? What's going on?"
But he'd already cracked the door and climbed out. Gone, just like John. I sipped my still-hot coffee, gathering my stuff. It was all so strange. Despite me delivering him to school, he didn't show in English. I didn't see him again at school that day at all.
The tap on my window came just before midnight, leaving a smear of blood on the glass. For once, due to the rain, it'd been shut.
"John?" I bolted upright, my book forgotten. An earlier storm had made the wood swell a little and I had to wrestle the window open. "Holy shit!"
"Hey." He swayed in the dim light, the darkness of blood on his face. "Hi, Edie. I, ah . . ."
"Get in here."
"Right."
I grabbed at his arm, helping him up and in. Actually, dragging his sorry ass inside onto my bed would be a better description. His clothes were soaked through.
"Lie down," I ordered, more than a little freaked out. Split lip, bloody nose, a black eye. Absolute carnage. I pushed up his shirt, inspecting him for scary black marks. Anything that might indicate internal bleeding or something. Where was a medical degree when I needed one?
"I'm okay," he said. "I just, I-I got into a fight."
"You don't say." My voice wavered from the mini heart attack in process. Christ, he'd scared me. I headed for the door. "We need supplies. Stay there. Do not move."
In the bathroom Mom kept a first-aid box with the basics. I grabbed it and a couple of wet face cloths. Thank God she was at work. For her and John to meet under these conditions would not be good.
"I'm not drunk," he said as I climbed back onto the bed and started cleaning up his face. "Only had a few."
"Yeah? Pity. I bet you're in a lot of pain right now."
A grunt.
Once I got the worst of the blood off, things didn't seem quite so bad. He might be a mess, but he'd live. Off came his Converse. I threw his wet T-shirt, socks, and jeans into the washing machine with plenty of detergent. My laundry skills were minimal. In all likelihood, the bloodstains were there to stay. The dirt, however, could probably be dealt with. It gave me something to think about besides the fact that John lay close to naked on my bed.
"Didn't want to go home," he said, his eyes closed. "Sorry."
"It's fine."
Antiseptic cream went on everything, an ice pack over his eye, and a Band-Aid over the cut on his cheek. His split lip had stopped bleeding, so I just left it alone. Next I moved on to his bloody hands.
"What were you fighting about?" I asked, tending carefully to his split knuckles. "Who were you fighting?"
He groaned. "Nothing. Doesn't matter."
"All right. What do you want to talk about?"
"Don't wanna talk," he said, shivering. "Cold."
Since he lay on top of my bedding, I fetched my old spare blanket out of the closet and covered him up to the neck.
"Better?" I asked.
He nodded. "Dillon, we argued. He's the one that messed with my car. Went to talk to him."
"Your brother? Shit. And I take it the visit didn't go so well?"
"No. It didn't." He yawned, groaning in pain. "Business is fucked. He wants me to start selling again."
"What?" I hissed.
"'s all right. I told him no. That's how we got to fighting."
Holy hell, what a bastard.
Soon enough, John's breathing evened out and his body relaxed. I sat there, staring at him, unsure of what to do. God, the swelling on his face looked horrible. Due to my recent adventures in insomnia, I knew Mom had been getting home later recently. More odd behavior from her, though I had enough on my hands to worry about right now. Also, I knew she didn't check on me when she got home. Not if my door had been closed. We both knew me getting some decent sleep happened rarely enough not to risk making a noise. The boy in my bed was safe from maternal drama.
I waited until his clothes were finished in the washer then transferred them into the dryer. At that point, I'd done about everything I could. No way would I sleep after all this excitement. And with my brain buzzing, concentrating on my book would be equally unlikely. So I lay down beside him, watching his chest rise and fall.
Next thing I knew, morning light blinded my eyes.
"Edie? Hey, wake up."
"Hmm?" Squinting, I slowly woke.
Gentle fingers pushed the hair from my face, dreamy blue eyes gazing down. "Hey."
"'Morning," I said, not quite believing. But it really was. I'd slept. For hours and hours, with no waking up in a panic from freaky nightmares or bad dreams. Wow. I hadn't felt this rested in forever.
"I need my clothes," he said.
"Um. Okay. We'd better be quiet--don't want to wake Mom." I swallowed. "You don't look so good."
"No. Probably not." He half attempted a smile.
I rolled out of bed, needing to put some space between me and the evidence of just how much the morning light adored John's skin. Last night, I'd undressed
him. I'd put him in his current state of near nakedness. But last night, I'd been too upset by how hurt he was to appreciate the scenery. To feel the hot thrill of lust running through my veins.
All was quiet. I crept through the house on tippy-toes, grabbing his clothes before dashing back to my room. The near-naked boy had started flipping through my current book.
"Be careful," I said, exchanging his clothes for my book. "I don't like the pages getting creased."
"Sorry." He smiled, amused.
Jerk. "Where'd you park your car?"
"I walked here."
"You what?" I exclaimed, then slapped a hand over my too-loud mouth. "How long did that take?"
"What?"
I removed the hand and repeated the question.
He just shrugged, dragging his jeans on and doing up the zipper and button. Sweet baby Jesus. Over and over, like some soft-porn GIF, my mind replayed those ten seconds. I couldn't help it. Or didn't want to. Honestly, it was hard to tell exactly which. Forget bacon on pancakes covered in maple syrup; he made me drool.
For shame. There had to be a special level of hell for people who coveted their beat-up best friend. Though, how could I not have a crush on him? That was the question. Best for all involved if he hurried up and put his shirt on. Put me out of my misery.
Head cocked, he asked, "What's that look? What are you thinking about?"
"Canadian bacon."
He blinked. "I'll buy you breakfast."
"Pancakes at Awful Annie's?"
"Whatever you want."
"Okay, give me five to thirty minutes to quickly get ready."
I got busy rifling through my closet. Clean, neutral, happy thoughts. Not dwelling upon John's pants or what was in them or anything. Not wondering if besides drinking and getting into fights, he'd also used one of his willing naked-fun-time female acquaintances as a distraction from his brother's crap.
Actually, I didn't want to know.
Definitely a ripped black jeans sort of day. Doc sandals, black-and-white-striped tank, underwear, and we were all good. Clothes selected, I turned back to find him checking out my bookshelves.
"I'm not touching anything," he said, holding up his busted hands. "Promise."
"You can touch. Just be gentle."
Another of those secretly amused smiles. Just because he couldn't comprehend my true and enduring love of books. Douche canoe of a boy.
I rushed through a shower, dry-shampooing the crap out of my hair before chucking it up in a bun. Meh, whatever. Given the time constraints, basic makeup would do.
"You'd better go out the window, meet me down the block," I said, shoving the last of my necessary things into a bag. "Be careful. Don't hurt yourself further."
"I'll be fine." He crawled across my bed, careful to keep his still-dirty Converse off the quilt. Once he sat on the windowsill, he stopped, turning back. "Thanks for letting me in last night. For looking after me."
"Of course." Compliments always weirded me out. I couldn't meet his eyes, so I studied my feet. Yep, still ten toes, nails neatly painted black. Amazing. "You'd do it for me."
Because of the split lip, his grin was limited. "See you down the street."
The warmth in my heart lingering after he left, it went well beyond friendship. It felt dangerous.
The week progressed smoothly until after lunch on Wednesday. If ever a day had been created full of ill will, it would be Wednesday. It's like it just sat there in the middle of the week, taunting me with the two days of school yet to go before we'd reach the weekend.
Bastard.
Despite being unable to avoid my incredibly sexually attractive friend John since he and Anders had taken to sitting with us at lunch every day, things were okay. I'd been able to keep a lid on my feelings. Who knows, maybe denial and repression were good for the soul.
The bell for class rang, the hallways crowded with people. Chatter, laughter, all sorts of loud noises. Happily, none of it set off a panic attack. My freak-outs weren't coming on as often these days. I don't know if it was due to therapy or what, but I liked it a lot.
I stood at my locker, switching books, when someone touched my butt. Not a passing, possibly accidental sort of thing. No way, this was a full-on grab a handful of my flesh and give it a good, bruisingly hard squeeze. Followed by male laughter.
I spun, face no doubt full of surprise. "What the hell?"
"If it's good enough for John, hey?" the Neanderthal said. What he lacked in height he made up for in muscles. I think I recognized him from Chemistry. More laughing from his crew of equally athletic-looking idiot friends.
"Go fuck yourself," I said in my most eloquent voice. My hands balled into fists, I wanted to hit him so badly. It didn't matter that he was packing serious muscle. It no doubt wouldn't end well, but whatever. Pain, hospital, detention, suspension. They were all problems for some remote future. What mattered right now was payback, and replacing that smirk on his face with something a lot uglier.
The sudden thought of Mom intruded on my rush of anger. Her picking me up from the hospital. Again. Her disappointment as she related her conversation with the principal. Again.
My fists stayed by my side, knuckles white.
My fury just made them laugh harder. Hell, there were even some chuckles from others strolling past. Rage roared to life inside of me. If ever I'd had the urge to burn things down, it was then. He did not have the right to do that. To touch me however he wanted. Then to treat touching me, and my outrage at his doing so, like a joke.
No way. Not happening.
Maybe I couldn't break his nose without breaking my mother's heart, but I had other options. I just needed some time to think things through. Revenge would be mine.
As it turned out, I wasn't the only one who wound up in detention that afternoon. (I hadn't meant to almost doze off during Math again, honest.) I'd no sooner pulled out a book and pen when the Neanderthal himself slunk through the door. Holy shit. Bloody toilet paper filled both nostrils and his nose looked seriously swollen. Behind him came none other than John.
Coincidence? Not so much.
Ever so calmly, he sat down at the desk beside me, pulling out a textbook.
"You didn't have to do that," I whispered.
"I know."
"I have things under control." A complete lie, though it made me feel better. Capable, even. "And didn't you tell me violence is not the answer?"
"Can't remember."
He hadn't wanted to get dragged into any of my drama at school. He'd definitely said that. And seeing how he'd given up dealing and was putting a real effort into studying, I understood. Besides, I didn't need him to defend me. I might not win every battle, but I was more than willing to fight for myself.
"I mean it, you shouldn't have." I leaned closer to him, talking quietly. "You said you're taking school seriously, cleaning up your act. Not adding to your record because of me, remember?"
"He won't touch you again."
"John."
"Relax," he said, flipping through the pages. "It's fine. You're making too big a deal out of this."
"Bullshit," I hissed. "Why is there one set of rules for you and another for me?"
"Because I never knew a girl I wanted to look after before."
That shut me up.
From the front of the classroom, the teacher watched us with a warning in his eyes. Apparently detention involved less catching up with your friends than I realized. No wonder I used to put more effort into avoiding it.
"We're talking about this later," I said.
One shoulder lifted, all nonchalant. "Sure. Whatever you want, Edie."
He slipped out at the end of detention before we could talk and I didn't get a chance to speak to him for the rest of the school week. He started spending every lunch on the basketball court with Anders, and was the last person to arrive at English and the first to leave. Jerk. Guess he didn't like being told what to do any better than I did.
"If he makes y
ou cry, he's not worth it."
Hang winked at me, setting a pot of rice down on the dining room table. "I don't think he makes her cry, Mom."
"We really are just friends," I said.
"Of course you are." Hang smirked. "He's so unattractive, Mom. Edie couldn't possibly be interested in him. All those yucky muscles and cheekbones like a Rodin sculpture. Disgusting."
"Boys," her mom said, voice full of scorn.
At the other end of the table, her dad kept his head down, ladling a chicken-and-noodle dish called pho into a bowl. There were steamed greens and a spicy dish with fish in it along with the main course. Everything smelled divine and looked amazing. Far superior to the microwave mac and cheese I'd been planning on eating at home.
"This looks delicious," I said.
"Eat," ordered her mother, sounding vaguely pleased with the compliment.
After dinner came a platter of fruit, all while Hang's mom grilled us both on our school grades, social life, and anything else she cared to know about. As long as we avoided the topic of John, I was happy. Meanwhile, her dad barely said a word all evening. I couldn't blame him. With me here and Hang's older brother away at college, the poor man was outnumbered.
"Take these." Mrs. Tran loaded me down with containers of food on our way out. Enough to last for days. Despite my size, she seemed to have serious reservations about how much I had to eat at home. I didn't fight her. Firstly, the food really was delicious; secondly, only a fool would try to say no to the woman. "Home by nine thirty, Hang. It's a school night."
"I will be."
Outside, clouds covered most of the sky. Looked like it would rain later. A pity, but I didn't feel like delaying my mission. "I drove past his place on the way over and the car was out front."
"We're seriously doing this?" asked Hang.
"You don't have to--"
"Oh, no. I have to." She'd been just as outraged by the butt-groping incident. Possibly more. "Keys, please."
I tossed them to her.
"I've never been a getaway driver before," she said, pushing her glasses farther up her nose. It was strange to see her in them; usually she wore contacts.
"I believe in you."