“You just let me lie to you, because not having to tell you the whole truth made me feel better somehow. That’s why I called you today.”
“So, what’s the whole truth?” He wrestles his hands together and fidgets side to side. A nervous Breaker is endearing.
“You never put your hands on me,” I explain. “Never once, in all of this, with the exception of the time I gave you permission.” I lean forward in a daft attempt to force him to look me in the eye. “You had the opportunity to join the mob, but you never did.”
He cuts his eyes to the door. The signs of him bolting are there. Bouncing leg, erratic breathing, but most of all, the exposed soul. Boys like Breaker don’t like to be seen.
“It’s not because these”— he inspects his hands— “aren’t capable of harm, Palmer.”
“I know.” I force a smile.
Barrett ‘Breaker’ Davenport is a broken soul, torn between who he wants to be, and who he sometimes becomes. There’s always been something about him that brings comfort and a sense of safety, even on that rooftop. He happened to choose Marek over me, and even as fucked up as it is, I find his loyalty admirable.
“You aren’t afraid of me,” he states.
“You made it so I didn’t have to be.” I grab my taco and motion for him to continue eating.
“I didn’t stop them.” He takes a bite, as if this conversation is completely normal.
“No, you didn’t, and I intend to hold it against you for a long time.” The laugh that bubbles up from my belly is almost too much. I grab at my stomach, feeling the edges of the bandage under my shirt, and wince from the ache.
“Are you okay?” He falls to his knees in front of me and lifts my shirt, inspecting the bandage. “We need to get this changed.” With his hand offered, I take it. He leads me to the bathroom and tells me to sit on the toilet lid. He leaves for a second, coming back with the supplies the hospital sent home for me.
I watch as Breaker sets everything up on the countertop. Memories of Marek take over, and I have to shove them away. When Breaker turns to me, his eyes say it all. I’m here to help. I hold my shirt up, and he peels back the bandage, slowly to insure he doesn’t rip any of the stitches. His fingers are soft and caring, like a brother when his little sister skins her knee on the playground. I try to hold them back, but it’s too late. They’re here, present, proving Weston girls do break.
“What’s with the tears, sweetheart?” He finishes replacing the dirty bandage and throws it into the garbage pail. He stands to his full height, and overcome by insanity, or maybe fear, I wrap my hands around his waist, hugging his body close to mine. Reluctantly, he does the same, his hands barely registering against my skin. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Chapter Sixteen
Marek
Three weeks.
Do you know how much you can accomplish in five hundred and four hours? What have I done with that time? I’ve won three football games, solidifying our place in the state championship game, finished several tests, completed handfuls of college essays, and barely kept my head above water. I’m fucking drowning.
None of those things matter. She’s still not talking to me.
She’s talking to him though.
“That’s brutal, man.” Dixon slips into the seat across from me.
I drop my fork to the plate and sit back, watching Breaker and Palmer across the cafeteria. They’ve been inseparable. Luckily, after the first week of her release from the hospital, he stopped staying the night at her dorm. He only gives me what I deserve, which is nothing. I have zero clue as to how she is doing.
This is the first time she’s stepped foot in here since everything went down. Breaker has taken her lunches to her dorm, or she’s eaten an apple on the way to class. Her absence has helped me hone my stalker skills.
Palmer’s head falls back as she laughs. The angelic sound reminds me of woven gold until it hits me in the chest. Her hair brushes the blazer of her uniform, and she swoops it to the side, tying it up into a braid. What I wouldn’t give to hear her say my name again. At least then I’d know she remembers I exist.