“Damn, Riley, been hiding those girls under sweatshirts all winter?”
“It’s a crime to keep those from the rest of us.”
“Give us a little peek.”
Things those idiots said to girls all the time.
Shit that should’ve been stopped long ago. But that hadn’t been what set me off—Savannah had kept a firm hand on me as we’d passed them. Keeping me moving. Grounded. Making sure I wouldn’t react when I’d tried to.
It had been the high five Savannah received when she’d come into one of the classes we shared later. The gossip that followed.
Two of the guys had blocked her path to class while the third had grabbed her ass. She’d turned and slapped him.
Philip Rowe.
I hated that guy.
What’s worse? His family was close to Savannah’s. Their dads had been in the same fraternity in college, and Philip’s dad was the whole reason Mr. Riley took a job near Amber, prompting their move here.
And I got to listen to Mrs. Riley talk about how perfect it would be if Savannah and Philip got married when they grew up. How great of a kid Philip was—so polite and proper and that young boy’s going places . . . just you watch.
Bullshit.
If she only knew.
Savannah had tried to get my attention all throughout class. She’d tried to stop me when the bell rang. But I was already so far gone, racing out of class and down the halls.
No one touched Savannah. Ever.
Especially not perfect, fucking Philip.
“They did something,” I finally answered with a quick shrug before continuing to the house.
Mom let out a sound that shouted all her frustration and sadness.
Dad tried to calm her.
I went inside and climbed the stairs, then hid behind the hallway wall. Waiting for when they would enter the house.
“What do we do?” Mom said through her tears. “What are we gonna do with him, Mike?”
“Wendy, just breathe.”
“I am breathing,” she cried out. “You don’t understand what it’s like having to deal with the calls from parents. What it’s like having to listen to them describe what Beau did to them. Having to apologize and try to explain something I don’t know how to explain.”
“Then I’ll take the calls,” he said calmly.
“And what happens when he puts someone in the hospital?” The last words were said so softly, they almost didn’t make it up the stairs.
But I heard them.
And they cut right into my chest.
When Mom continued, her voice was trembling about as bad as I was. “What happens then, Mike?”
“He won’t.”
“You can’t know that! The principal said he took down three boys before Savannah managed to stop him. Three. It’s getting worse, you know it is.”
There was a long silence before Dad said, “We don’t know that. We don’t know what happened.”
“Mike—”
“He ain’t any worse with his brothers than he’s always been. He’s just stronger.”
“And he’ll get stronger,” Mom argued. “And nothing makes a difference to him. The therapists and doctors only aggravated the situation. Discipline did the same. He accepts groundings and-and-and suspensions quietly. But it doesn’t make a difference.”
“I know, honey. That’s why we gotta respond differently with him. Be open and calm.”
“He doesn’t need open and calm. He needs to go to—”
“No,” Dad snapped.
“Mike—”
“I said no, Wendy. I ain’t changin’ my mind on that.”
I looked toward the stairs when my dad’s heavy steps moved through the house, wondering what Mom had been about to say.
When her soft cries followed after him, I turned and slipped down the hall and into my room. Falling onto my bed and dragging my hands over my face as the jumbled blur of a fight played out in my mind until sleep claimed me.
“Shit,” I hissed when something heavy landed on my stomach and launched the object away from me as I scrambled to sitting on my bed.
My backpack hit the wall next to where Hunter stood inside my room with his arms folded over his chest.
“What’s your problem?”
“You left that in the principal’s office,” he said softly. “I got to hear all about why.”
My chest shook as I thought about what our principal might’ve said to him—how his older brother was a problem. A bad influence. Not someone to look up to.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Couldn’t stay there,” I said instead of explaining myself.
“Yeah. Got that.”
“How long am I suspended for?”
A smirk stretched across his face. “You don’t know?”
“Think I’d be asking if I did?”
“Three days.” He started for the open door and shrugged. “Same goes for the trio of ass wipes.”