Motherfucker.

I gripped the edge of the car. “Get the extractor.”

Madoc leaned back to the tool bench behind him. “No ‘please’ with that request?” He echoed my own words as he grabbed the attachment so I could pry the spark plug out.

It was a bitch to deal with, and he was probably patting himself on the back that he’d called it. “You know…” he started, letting out a sigh. “I’ve kept my mouth shut, but—”

“Then keep it shut.”

Madoc swung the flashlight out from under the hood, and I jerked backwards, out of the way, as he flung it across the room where it shattered against a wall.

Jesus Christ!

His usual relaxed demeanor was replaced with rage. His eyes were sharp, and his breaths were fast. Madoc was mad, and I knew I’d gone too far.

Clenching my teeth, I leaned back down, my hands on the car, and braced myself for his meltdown.

They came rarely, which gave them more impact.

“You’re sinking, man!” he shouted. “You don’t go to class, you’re pissing off everyone, we’re constantly in fights with random shitheads, and I’ve got the cuts and bruises to prove it. What the fuck?” Every word crowded the room. There was meaning and truth to everything he was saying, but I didn’t want to face it.

Everything felt wrong.

I was hungry, just not for food. I wanted to laugh, but nothing was funny. All of my regular thrills

didn’t get my heart racing anymore. Even my own neighborhood, which usually brought me comfort with its familiarity and clean cut lawns, felt barren and void of life.

I was crammed in a fucking jar, suffocating with everything I wanted but nothing that gave me air. “She’ll be back in eight months.” Madoc’s quiet voice crawled into my thoughts, and I blinked, taking

a moment to realize he was talking about Tate.

I shook my head.

No.

Why would he say that?

This wasn’t about her. I. Did. Not. Need. Her.

I tightened my fist around the wrench and straightened my back, wanting to stuff his own words back down his throat.

His gaze dropped to my right hand that held the tool and then back up to my face. “What?” he challenged. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

I wanted to hit something. Anything. Even my best friend.

My ringer broke the stalemate as it vibrated in my pocket. I dug out my cell, keeping my eyes on my friend.

“What?” I snapped into the phone.

“Hey man, I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” my brother, Jax, said, a little muffled.

My breathing wasn’t slowing down, and my brother didn’t need me like this. “I can’t talk right now.” “Fine,” he barked. “Screw you then.” And he hung up.

Goddamn, son of a mother fucking bitch.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 647