On His Face - Tabatha Kiss Page 0,95

his lie.

Football, my ass.

He doesn’t slow his stride. “Your ex,” he fires back without even looking at me.

My ex, meaning Drew. Ex. I hadn’t put that label on him just yet. To hear Seth do it so casually...

I straighten up and shake it off.

Seth knows we broke up. Is that what they fought about?

Don’t know, don’t care, I tell myself again. It’s not my problem anymore.

I wait for him to exit the stairwell before continuing upward. When I reach the landing, annoyance stabs my gut again. Looks like Seth parked his giant orange truck right next to my car.

Prick.

I beeline for my car. I keep my head down, refusing to acknowledge his existence as I search my purse for my keys. All I have to do to make it through this day is get in my car and drive out of here. Crank some music. Hit the gas. Move out of the way, world, because it’s Heidi 2.0, and she’s got herself a brand-new vision board.

Thunder rolls outside as I lower into the driver’s seat. My nose twitches, another tickle just begging to take hold, but it fades just as quickly. Better get home before this weather gets worse.

I slide my key into the ignition and turn it.

Click, click, click.

“No,” I whisper, my heart plunging toward my toes.

There’s no way I left the lights on this time. Just no freaking way. The battery itself must be on its last legs. Great. Another fucking thing I have to worry about. Gone goes another paycheck on a stupid, new battery for my stupid, old car.

I say a prayer. Maybe not. Maybe it’s just a wild fluke. Maybe I’ll turn the key again and the clouds will part and a miracle will fall from the heavens.

I turn it again.

Click, click.

Or maybe the heavens don’t give a shit.

“Please...”

Click, click, click.

“Dammit!” I slam my fists against the steering wheel. “Dammit! You stupid piece of—”

Tap, tap, tap.

I flinch. Ah, fuck.

Seth lingers outside the car window. He motions for me to roll it down. I reluctantly grab the crank and give it a few quick tugs as I die a little more inside.

“Need a jump?” he asks.

I exhale every molecule of air out of my lungs. If I stay like this long enough, it’ll kill me.

Not quickly enough, though.

“Yeah,” I say.

Seth opens the door for me. Before I step out, I reach down to yank the lever near my foot to pop open my hood.

“Got cables?” he asks.

“No. You?”

“Yeah, I got some.”

He walks back to his truck. As I wait for him to return, I prop my hood up and go over the process in my head again. We attach the red clip to the plus sign and the other end on his battery...

My bottom lip trembles. I bite it into submission as I swallow the tears building on my lashes. Nope. Not in front of Seth. Never in front of Seth.

Seth returns with jumper cables, his hood fully open and ready to charge. “Okay,” he says as he looks over my engine. “We take the red one and—”

“Yeah, I know how to do it,” I say, taking it from him.

Seth goes quiet and watches as I walk back and forth between the cars, clipping the cables in all the right spots. Pluses and minuses. Smiles and dimples.

Once I’m finished, he starts his engine and returns to stand by me and my car. Silence fills the cold space, interrupted only by the occasional sounds of traffic outside or the crack of thunder in the distance.

Despite my best efforts, I glance at Seth. He didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to stop to help me and yet, here he is. He definitely didn’t have to come to my defense at lunch, either.

My big brother. My enemy, sometimes. But always my big brother.

I clear my throat. “You know, freshman win prizes at the Art Fest every year,” I say.

Seth looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, I know,” he says.

“There’s, like... whole categories just for freshman artists.”

“And he was being an ass, so I made that shit up to help you out.”

“I don’t need your help, okay? I can handle Dad by myself.”

“Okay! Fine.” He sidles a step away. “Next time I won’t bother.”

“Never bothered before.”

Seth doesn’t respond. His shoulder sink even further as he flexes his jaw and looks at my engine again.

I bite down as guilt seeps in. “Thank you, though,” I murmur. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” He