The Deal & a Secret Read online

  I bob my head up and down, blinking as my eyes water from the pain in my shins. “Yeah, I think so. Just as long as you’ll get off me.” I lightly shove his chest.

  He slightly lifts his weight off me. “I will, but only if you promise not to walk home. This part of town … it’s not always safe.”

  “I’m not going to let you scare me into staying here.” I push on his chest again, but he doesn’t budge. “Dude, don’t make me put you in a headlock.”

  He chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners. “I’m not so sure that’s a threat.”

  I lift a brow. “Are you questioning my headlock ability?”

  “No, not at all.” His expression is completely serious. “It just wouldn’t bother me as much as you’d want it to.”

  “You say that now, but twenty bucks says you tap out within the first minute.”

  He laughs wholeheartedly this time, and the sight makes him look ridiculously pretty. It’s both irritating and mesmerizing.

  “This isn’t funny.” I pinch his nipple.

  “You’re seriously violent.” He pushes back to rub his chest, laughter still tickling his tone until he sighs. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you, or be the guy pinning you down to the floor—well, for this reason anyway—but I’m trying to protect you. I swear.” His loud exhale sweeps across my face, his breath minty. “There’s a lot about this town you don’t know about yet. And there’re some areas … and certain people who are … trouble. Trust me; you don’t want to go wandering around alone out here.”

  He’s being too evasive. I need more of an explanation.

  “Does this have anything to do with my dad working for your dad?”

  He wavers, studying me. “So, you know about that?”

  “Well, you did just mention my dad to those guys who work for your dad. I can put two and two together.” I’m not ready to divulge that I overheard him talking to Alex.

  “Shit, I forgot I said that.” He lowers his head as he curses under his breath. He’s so close now that his hair is tickling my cheek. It feels weirdly nice, having him this close. And for some stupid reason, it makes me think of that kiss yesterday. That kiss that felt like it burned me up from the inside out.

  Deep down, inside a part I’ll never admit exists, I want to press my lips to his, which is why I lean away from him.

  “Was I not supposed to know my dad works for yours?” I tilt my head to the other side.

  Sighing, he meets my gaze. “Sort of. I mean, your dad asked us not to say anything. Said you wouldn’t understand.”

  “How considerate of him,” I reply dryly. “And I’m sure there’s more to it than that. There always is with my dad.” When he shifts his weight, seeming awfully squirmy, I ask, “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  He shrugs awkwardly as he props himself up on one arm. “If there is, it’s not like I’d tell you.”

  “Well, that’s rude.”

  “Well, isn’t the whole point of not telling someone just that? To not tell them, even if it’s rude? Besides, didn’t you just give me a whole speech while we were in the car about you knowing things you weren’t telling me and that you weren’t obligated to tell me, even if I asked?”

  “It wasn’t a speech,” I correct. “It was a simple statement.”

  He presses back a grin. “I’m starting to realize that, with you, nothing is simple … You’re a very intense girl.”

  “You’re the one who’s lying on top of me. I think, right now, that statement might describe you more than it does me.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not a girl,” he points out amusedly.

  “Huh, could’ve fooled me.” In a sick, twisted way, I’m kind of enjoying getting under his skin, which shit, is something he already accused me of.

  I have no idea what’s wrong with me. I’m not usually this persistent with tormenting guys or anyone in general. Then again, people usually give up more easily. Blaise is as stubborn as me.

  He mockingly scowls at me. “Hey, I’m not girlie-looking.”

  “You’re pretty, though.” I shrug. “Pretty is a girlie word.”

  He shakes his head, gaping at me. “I’m not pretty. I have piercings and tattoos, and the way I dress … none of that is girlie.”

  I struggle not to smile, totally getting off on this. I’m screwed up. I really am. First I smile like this with Rhyland and now Blaise. What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Girlie girls can have piercings and tattoos, so I don’t think that saves your ass. Besides, even if it did, I don’t see any of these alleged piercings and tattoos.”

  His brow curves upward. “You don’t believe I have them?”

  “No, I don’t.” I grin at the look on his face. “It’s amusing how irritated you are about that.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re about to be equally as irritated.” He sticks out his tongue that, sure enough, is glinting with a metallic piercing. “See? Piercing.” Then he dips his head and licks the side of my neck.

  “What the hell?” I squeal, pushing him back. “Why did you do that?”

  He gives a half-shrug, seeming pretty damn pleased with himself. “You wanted proof. I figured that was the best way to give it to you.”

  “By licking me?”

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  I wipe my neck. “Because it’s gross.”

  “Sure it is.” And there’s that smug smile again.

  Screw him and his licking.

  “Fine, if you don’t think so, then I’m sure you won’t mind me doing this.” I raise my head and slide my tongue along his neck, making sure to drool a bit on his skin for good measure.

  Instead of squealing, he curses, then licks my damn neck again.

  “Stop!” I whine, but laughter is bursting from my lips.

  I’m not even sure what the hell is so funny, yet I’m laughing like an idiot. I realize it’s been a long time since I laughed this hard. I’ve been so stressed out lately. For years, actually.

  Blaise is laughing, too, as he wipes his neck off.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I’m crazy?” I work to calm my laughter. “You’re the one who started a licking war. Who does that?”

  “Why are you guys licking each other?” Alex’s exhausted voice drifts from across the living room.

  Blaise tenses then climbs off me, offering his hand to help me up. When I stand up without his help, he frowns, and I feel sort of bad, but I keep my apology to myself.

  Sighing, he turns to Alex, who’s leaning against the doorway, his eyelids half open, his skin pale.

  “You finally decided to wake up, huh?” The playfulness in Blaise’s demeanor is nonexistent as he stares at his brother.

  Alex shrugs, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. “Only because you two were being so damn loud.”

  “Good. I’m glad,” Blaise snaps. “I’ve been here for over an hour trying to wake your ass up. I was one step away from carrying you out to the car.”

  Alex yawns, blinking his bloodshot eyes. “Why are you even here? I thought I messaged you not to come?” His gaze strays to me and narrows. “And why the hell is she here?”

  I narrow my eyes right back at him, causing his lips to twitch in irritation.

  “She was helping me this morning when Dad texted Rhyland to come get you.” Blaise flexes his hands, struggling to keep his cool. “And you can try to text me all you want and tell me not to come get you, but I’m going to every time. You should know that by now.”

  “Only because you love being a pain in my ass.” Alex clumsily strides toward him. “I don’t get why you think you have any control over me. I’m almost eighteen; I can take care of myself.”

  “Yeah, obviously.” Blaise’s tone oozes sarcasm as he burns Alex with a look.

  Alex slams his hands against Blaise’s chest. “Fuck you, man. You don’t know anything about me.”

  Blaise stumbles, the muscles in his jaw pulsating. “I know you’re an addict
.”

  “Fuck you,” Alex seethes, getting in Blaise’s face. “I can quit anytime I want. I just don’t want to.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” Blaise seethes. “And I think deep down you know that.”

  “I’m not an addict,” Alex’s declares, his face reddening as his fingers curl into fists. “I choose to get high.”

  “If that’s the case, then why?” Blaise’s tone marginally softens. “Why are you choosing to slowly kill yourself?”

  “That’s none of your damn business,” Alex mutters lowly. Then he steps back, raising his hands in front of him. “You know what? Fuck this. I’m getting another fix.”

  “Not an addict, huh?” Blaise challenges with a raise of his brow.

  “I’m choosing to do this,” Alex throws back as he hurries for the doorway. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

  “Alex …” Blaise starts, chasing after him.

  They disappear out of the room. Moments later, a door slams, followed by a lot of banging. Then silence.

  I deliberate what to do, whether to go out to the car or not. I’d probably feel more awkward if I hadn’t spent the last handful of years having similar arguments with my dad, sometimes in front of an audience.

  After a minute ticks by, I slowly inch toward the doorway. “Blaise?”

  A pause of silence, and then he mumbles shakily, “Yeah, just a sec.”

  I hesitantly peer around the corner.

  He’s standing just a ways down a dark hallway with his head resting against a door, his eyes shut, his body flowing with tension.

  I almost turn around, let him have his meltdown, but … I don’t know, sometimes, when I’m about to break apart, I secretly wish someone would help me hold it together. Not that I’d ever tell anyone that. Besides, the only people in my life who’d help me are the people I’d rather not see me have meltdowns.

  Sucking in a breath, I start down the hallway toward him. “You okay?”

  He unevenly inhales then lifts his head and faces me. “Yep, just great.”

  “You don’t look great.”

  “I look how I always look.”

  “Then maybe you always don’t look great.”

  “Wow, way to kick me when I’m down, Hadley,” he tries to joke but misses the mark.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” I prop my shoulder against the wall. “I just meant that maybe you always look stressed out because you’re always stressed out.”

  He laughs hollowly. “Stressed out? Is that what this is? Because I thought this constant helpless and irritated feeling festering inside me meant I had the best fucking life in the goddamned world … Shit.” He turns away from me and lightly bangs his head against the door again. “I don’t know why I keep telling you stupid shit. It was probably a really stupid idea to bring you here.”

  “Maybe,” I agree. “But since I’m here, feel free to tell me stupid shit. It’s nothing I haven’t heard, or probably haven’t said or thought myself.”

  He aims a skeptical look at me. “You’ve told a girl who hates your guts that you’re stressed out all the time and secretly wish you lived alone instead of taking care of your brothers?” He whispers the last part.

  “Not exactly.”

  He gives me a see-I’m-right look before lowering his forehead to the door again.

  I drum my fingers against the sides of my legs, feeling restless and sorry for him. It’s kind of annoying how much I want to make him feel better. I don’t know why I feel this way. Maybe because I secretly wish I had someone to make me feel better? Or maybe I’ve just lost my damn mind. Who knows?

  I stare at the cracked wall straight ahead of me that reminds me of so many of our old homes. “Hey, Blaise?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbles.

  A shaky exhale escapes my lips. “I’m stressed out all the time. And I have these rules that … that are going to help me get the hell away from this life the moment I graduate, which is pretty shitty because that means I’m going to leave my sisters behind with our alcoholic, drug addict, con-man of a father who can’t even take care of himself.”

  He gradually turns toward me, moving his head away from the door. He searches my eyes for an unnerving amount of time, so much so that I start to regret my confession.

  “Rules?” he questions curiously. “What sort of rules?”

  I shrug. “Nothing that interesting. Just keeping my grades up, keeping myself out of trouble, no dating—stuff like that.”

  He straightens, facing me fully now. “You have a no-dating rule? How does that help you with your plan?”

  “Because guys are trouble.” I shrug when he blasts me with a joking, dirty look. “What? They are.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “I never said that.”

  He shakes his head, gaping at me. “You’re a really odd girl.”

  “You’ve said that, like, six times,” I tell him. “It’s starting to lose its dramatic effect.”

  He chuckles, his muscles loosening a bit. “Thank you.”

  My brows dip. “For what?”

  “For …” He scuffs the tip of his boot against the carpet. “For making me chill out, I guess.”

  “This is you chilled out?” I tease. “Wow, I’d hate to see you when you’re really worked up.”

  He laughs, then faces the shut door again. “So damn weird.” He plummets back into silence as he stares at the door. “I’m not sure what to do.”

  I push away from the wall and move up beside him. “With Alex?”

  He nods, his gaze flitting to me. “I’m pretty sure he locked himself in there to shoot up again, which means, even if I pick the lock, he’ll be passed out.”

  “Yeah, so? Just carry him out to the car.”

  “I would, but …” He blows out a stressed breath. “I just feel like sometimes I’m enabling him by helping him.”

  “I can understand why you’d feel that way. I feel that way about my father sometimes.”

  He chews on his bottom lip. “What would you do in this situation?”

  “Honestly?” I ask, and he nods. “Well, if it was my dad, I’d probably just leave his high-ass here. But only because he’s really starting to wear on my nerves lately. Plus, he’s been pulling shit like this for almost a decade, and we can’t get him to get some help. If it was one of my sisters, though, I’d take them home, let the drugs wear out of their system, and then do whatever I could to either get them in rehab or get them some sort of help. But I love my sisters.”

  “You don’t love your dad?”

  “That’s a complicated question.”

  “I can understand that. My dad’s a real piece of work, but I’m sure you already know that.” He doesn’t wait for me to comment as he stares at the door again, drifting into silence. Then he mutters something under his breath, crouches, and examines the lock. “You have a hair pin or something that’ll pick this?”

  “Actually, I do.” I reach up, remove a hairpin securing one of my braids, and hand it to him.

  “You come prepared, huh?” he teases as he wiggles the pin into the lock.

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to help someone break into a room.”

  “Again, I’m not surprised.” He twists the hair pin counterclockwise.

  “You know, I feel like maybe I should feel insulted by your lack of surprise in my knowledge of criminal activities,” I tease, slanting back with my boot propped up against the wall.

  “But I doubt you will.” The lock clicks, and then he pushes open the door and straightens.

  “Nah, I probably won’t. If I did, then I’d spend almost all my time feeling insulted.” I reach to take the hair pin from him, but he tucks it back into my hair. Then he offers me a small smile before walking into the room.

  My chest feels sort of weird in that moment. Fluttery. It makes me feel oddly unsettled and restless. Makes me want to smart off to him just to regain control over my body. But watching him cross the small room toward
Alex, who is already passed out on a stained mattress with a band wrapped loosely around his arm, a needle beside his hand, I decide to keep my lips fused together.

  “You need help carrying him out?” I ask as I step over the broken glass and garbage littering the room.

  He shakes his head as he stands beside the mattress, staring down at his brother with pain, anger, and hurt crammed in his eyes. “Nah, I can get him.”

  “What can I do to help then?”

  He casts a quick glance at me, his eyes searching mine, then he rubs his lips together and looks back at his brother. “Open the doors for me?”

  “You got it.” I kick the garbage and glass covering the floor out of the way with the tip of my boot as Blaise crouches and picks up Alex.

  Alex’s eyelids flutter, as if he’s coming to. He mumbles something incoherently then stills again.

  Blaise adjusts his weight then hikes across the room to where I’m standing. Neither of us exchange a word as I back out, head back across the living room, and open the front door.

  Sunlight spills into the dusty room, along with fresh air. I breathe it in as I step out, realizing how damp and murky the air had been inside.

  “Can you get the car door for me, too?” Blaise asks as he exits the house, squinting against the sunlight.

  I nod then hurry to the SUV and open the back door.

  Blaise gently sets Alex down on the back seat, shuts the door, and then we climb in. Again, quietness stretches between us as he starts up the engine and drives back the down the bumpy road.

  “He’s been through a lot of shitty stuffy,” Blaise abruptly says as he pulls out onto the highway. “Alex, I mean.” He flips down the visor then his guarded gaze lands on mine. “I know it’s not an excuse for anything he does, but sometimes I wonder, if some of that shitty stuff never happened to him”—his eyes travel to the rearview mirror, to the reflection of his brother lying down in the back seat—“maybe he wouldn’t be a drug addict who gets in trouble all the time and does crappy things to people who probably don’t deserve it.” His attention returns to the road, his shoulders stiffening. “Then again, maybe he’d still be the same. Who the hell knows?”

  Just what sort of stuff has Alex been through? I won’t ask, and not just because he probably won’t tell me, but because it’s none of my damn business. Not this. No, this is deeply personal, and I can respect his vagueness.