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13
Mid-period, I stroll into Brawler’s classroom and tell the person sitting next to him to find another seat. Actually, I don’t have to say anything to the guy at all. I stand there, and he moves. The whole time, Brawler tries to not look at me.
The teacher lectures for only ten minutes more before letting the class do their homework for tomorrow in class today. Students leave the room, so I stand and make my way out, too, hoping Brawler will follow. I head toward my locker. Before I even turn the corner, footsteps thud behind me. I’m almost to my locker when Brawler takes my hand, pulling me into an empty classroom. He keeps the lights off and carefully shuts the door behind us. “Shh,” he says. He steers me around several lab tables and opens a door in the back of the classroom. We step inside, and when he closes the door, he turns the light on, illuminating the tiny room. I look around, only to find an old desk on one side and rows of cabinets on the other. The room is long, but narrow, spanning the length of the classroom.
“I had lab in that room last year. This is where they keep all the slides and specimens.” He turns me around and scans the length of me. “You’re sure you’re fine?”
I nod. The concerned look in his eyes mixes with his badass tattoos until I’m putty in his hands.
He pulls me to him, pressing my head against his chest. I wrap my arms around his waist, savoring the moment. Brawler is—well, I can’t believe I’m saying this—but Brawler is safe. Nice. He doesn’t belong here anymore than I do. If you look at the two of them—Brawler and Johnny—Brawler is the one who looks like he’s the gangster’s son while Johnny is the nice kid from down the hall whose Mom bakes treats for the new neighbors. They couldn’t be more opposite, which is why I don’t understand why I have the same feelings for both of them.
“I wish you weren’t staying with Johnny. Then I could at least see you like before. Or know that you’re okay. I don’t know what the fuck goes on over there, and it kills me.”
“Other than being bored out of my mind, I’m fine there. Johnny’s good to me.”
His jaw ticks. “When someone’s not trying to kill you, you mean?”
“That wasn’t his fault.” Brawler gives me a strange look, so I quickly change the subject. “I miss you too, by the way.”
His gaze softens. He moves his hand up tentatively to cover my cheek, but then his body tenses, as if he’s trying to hold back. “I was so scared after the fight. I thought you were going to end up just like my sister. An innocent caught in the crossfire.”
I squeeze my eyes shut at his words. I’m no innocent. If anything, Brawler’s the innocent one in this duo.
“I was scared, too,” I confess. “I didn’t know how you were. Or Oscar. Or—”
“What’s keeping you here, Kyla?” Brawler asks, interrupting. “You have to tell me. I need a reason why you and I can’t just fucking leave this place right now.”
“Other than the fact that Johnny will hunt us down and kill us?”
“At this point, I would do it. We’d hide. Who’s to say they would find us? Or if they did, that I couldn’t end this?”
I flinch. I don’t want Brawler and Johnny fighting. Not at all. But I also know there’s some deep-seated hatred in Brawler, and I can’t blame him. I’m that way too.
I wrap my hands around his and squeeze, dropping our interlaced fingers in front of us. I just stare at him for a while, not knowing what to say. I never pictured I’d come to the Heights and meet anyone I’d consider a friend let alone someone more than that. Someone I’d trust. Someone I’d care for like this. I didn’t have a plan in place for this scenario.
“You still don’t trust me.”
“No,” I say automatically. “I do. I just know that when I tell you why I’m here…” I shake my head without finishing the sentence. I honestly can’t guess what his reaction will be. My circumstance, my life, it seems so extraordinary. Who would do what I’ve done?
Yeah, so maybe I’m scared to tell him, too. What if he thinks I’m a complete fucking nut job and drops me? I need Brawler. He’s the only sane person keeping me tethered to the normal life I’ll have in the future.
My heart rate kicks into high gear. I’m about to tell Brawler what’s going on. Doubt and anxiety crash together. What if he tells someone? What if he decides he doesn’t want to get mixed up in my shit? “I don’t know if I can tell you,” I say honestly. The corners of my eyes fill with hot tears. I will myself not to cry. I’m fucking stronger than that. I’m braver than that. But I have something to lose now. Before, in my old life, I didn’t have anything that mattered to me. Something I wasn’t willing to give up. Now, I do. I don’t want to give Brawler up, and I don’t want to change my course of action either.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to settle the chaos firing in my body. I start to shake, and Brawler looks on helplessly. He picks me up and sets me on the desk, then moves closer, forcing my knees wide, so he can step inside and place his hands on either side of me. He stoops to eye-level. “I’m one-hundred percent in this, Kyla. Tell me.”
I wipe my hands down my thighs and then squeeze the area above my knees. “You know how you lost your brother and sister?”
He nods.
“I’m going to take a couple leaps of faith here,” I tell him, biting my lip. I’m silently pleading he’ll understand what I’m about to say. “You lost your brother and sister, and you hate the Heights Crew because of it. It makes me wonder if at any time you might have thought about taking your hatred one step further. Like, what would you do if you ended up in a room alone with the person who shot your brother? Or the person who shot your sister?”
“I don’t know who shot them,” Brawler says. His gaze searches mine, and I can tell he’s already trying to put the pieces together just from the tiniest bit I just shared with him.
“Say you did,” I start again. “What would you do?”
He blinks.
“First reaction,” I say, because if I know Brawler as well as I think I do, I think he’d talk himself out of it.