Laced Steel - M.J. Fields Page 0,87
I vow to myself to do whatever I can to make that happen.
Chapter Twenty Six
Tobias
Her parents came in last night, and neither of us heard them. We had crashed from the stress of the emotional rollercoaster that we had been on for a month. Her legs bridged over my lap, head on my chest, my arm around her, apparently, we were out.
When I hear my microwave beep, I open one eye and see Cyrus standing in my kitchen, pulling food out of the microwave. And when he starts opening and closing drawers, I hear Truth whisper, “Uh-oh.” I look down at her and blow out a breath.
When I look back at Cyrus, he holds up the bowl of pasta that he had left on my doorstep. “You on a no carb thing or what?”
The bathroom door opens, and Tara comes out. She smiles at me and says, “Sorry, I had to use the—”
“It’s fine,” I say as I lift Truth’s legs up and slide out from under her. “No big deal.”
“Very clean.” She smiles.
She looks just like Truth. Well, Truth looks just like her, but curvier.
“So?” Cyrus holds the fork up.
“I eat pretty clean, just wasn’t hungry. But thank you for the food.”
Tara walks past me and pats me on the back as she says, “Food in the Steel family is like a peace offering.”
“Saw the barbecue in the trash.” He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Vegetarian?”
“Dad,” Truth whispers as she stands up and stretches.
“Little bird, what the fuck do you have on?”
“PJs.”
He nods. “Makes perfect fucking sense.” He rolls his eyes and looks back at me. “So, vegetarian?”
“Does he look like a vegetarian?”
“Actually, I—”
“What?” they all say at once.
I feel anxiety rise inside of me like it hasn’t before. These people are supposed to hate me.
“I’m not. Just eat meat before—” I snap my mouth shut.
“Fights?”
“Cyrus,” Tara scolds.
“Birdie, you think I’m gonna change who I am or start pussy-footing now? Too old for that shit.”
“Or just too stubborn,” Truth says, peeking up at him through her thick as hell, jet-black lashes.
“You wanna talk about stubborn? Miss I’m-Not-Gonna-Talk-To-Him-Until-He-Says-He’s-Sorry-Because-I’ve-Been-Fucking-Up-And-Not-Asking-For-Help? Hiding shit because you think we haven’t been through shit before? Newsflash: we have, and we’d like to spare you all”—he looks at me—“the unnecessary pain. And Miss I’m-Not-Going-To-School-Until—”
“Cyrus,” Tara hushes him again.
He waves the fork around. “We get through all this shit being real, or we fall. None of us need skinned knees.” Stabbing the pasta, he pulls it up. “So, you’re a vegetarian?”
I rub my hand up and down my face and shake my head. “I eat meat two days before fights, always lean, and on Sundays.”
“Could have put it in the fridge.”
“You want real and honest? I wasn’t sure you didn’t try to poison it.”
Awkward silence.
I smile, and then they all start laughing like it’s a joke. It wasn’t. But whatever.
Awkward like now, as I walk into school, early for once, taking my time getting to where I need to go, which isn’t my norm, either. But I want to see her, to just look at her. Thinking maybe she decided she wasn’t in it for the slow burn that I am going to need. Knowing if I push past the anxiety that brought on that worry, I’d see the truth.
When I see her walk in, head high, smiling at Justice while she walks down the hall, I step back so I can just watch her. When she looks up, she narrows her eyes slightly as she looks around, past everyone else until she sees me. Then she just stands there, looking like she doesn’t know what to do, and fuck if I do either, so I just wink at her then head to my locker.
All day, we pass each other in the hallway, exchanging glances but never talking. Even at lunch in the gym, she and I don’t say shit, but neither of us are on edge like we have been for a month.
At the end of the day, we end up walking out at the exact same time, and I step a little closer to her the farther we get away from the school. Eventually, we’re walking side by side, not saying a word. When my hand brushes hers, I hook my pinky around hers and glance out of the corner of my eye to see her smile.
“This okay?” I ask.
“Is it okay with you?” she asks back.
“Yeah.”
“Third grade just got so much better,” she says as we get to her vehicle.
I drop her pinky, shove my