On her balled up fist instead.

I guess she wanted eye contact.

“Yeah, as far as I could tell with the fucking distance I kept. Jax was sitting against the far wall, holding his knees against his chest and staring at nothing. He didn’t look scared or angry, just like he was a little confused or something.” I narrowed my eyes, trying to imagine what could have been going through his head.

“How do you know they were dead?” she asked softly and swallowed.

“There was blood. They weren’t moving.” I shook the images from my head. “Anyway, I couldn’t get Jax to wake up, so to speak. He just sat there and would only say that he was fine, and that we had to clean up the mess. It was like he didn’t even know it was me in the room.”

Tate looked at me, concern in her eyes, and I hoped she understood. “You feel guilty.” She figured me out.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “It was unbearable, being in that house. Being in that basement. Why wouldn’t he come with me?” I asked more to myself than Tate.

“Have you asked him?”

“Once.” I caressed her hair. “He doesn’t remember, he says.”

“What do you think happened down there?” She asked the question I’d been asking myself for years. My father wasn’t arrested for murder. I don’t even know if the police found bodies when I got home and reported my brother’s abuse.

I thought for a minute, afraid to admit out loud what I knew was ridiculous to suspect. “I think two lowlifes got exactly what they deserved.”

“Are you sore at all?” I whispered into her hair as we walked into school Monday morning.

Her breathing hitched, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “A little.” “Good,” I mumbled and hooked my arm around her neck, pulling her in.

I’d taken her back to her house on Saturday night, after Homecoming, and punished her for keeping me at arm’s length all damn week by keeping her up all damn night.

After spending Sunday with my brother and not being able to talk to Tate—because I’d stupidly left my phone at the Beckman party, and it was stolen—I’d crept into her room last night and fallen asleep with her in my arms.

But I woke her up early. We were both half asleep, but it was still hot. She rolled her eyes at me. “You’re such an ego-maniac,” she complained. I looked down at her, grinning. “And you love it.”

“Do not,” she pouted, and I put my lips to her forehead.

Yes, you do.

I sighed. “Then I’ll change,” I promised. “Damn right you will.”

She stopped at her locker, but I stayed behind her, holding her hips. I was becoming a big-pile-of- whipped, but I couldn’t not touch her when she was close.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 812