Page 83

CHAPTER 83

KING

STITCHES

I knew Elijah was fine for the same reason I knew every football player was fine after I tackled them to the ground. I knew how much pressure it took to really hurt someone.

I fucking hate that I knew that.

Behind the wheel of my truck, I could see Willow’s face every time I closed my eyes. Those dark whiskey eyes were so wide, it made my stomach drop. She was afraid. Of me .

Blood dripped from my forehead, and I wiped it away, focusing on the road. I couldn’t focus on anything else. Especially my phone, buzzing in the seat next to me.

JUNE CELL

MOBILE

The bleeding had to stop and I couldn’t go to a hospital and risk Coach Lawson finding out about this. I beat Elijah Contractor…how could I be so stupid? Did I really have no self-control? My knuckles ached, bruised to hell.

"Fucking focus," I croaked.

I had a go-bag at my mom’s place with everything I needed and needles and thread. It’d been a couple of years since I sewed myself up. I tried not to think about it.

"Focus," I repeated, my voice hoarse. "Keep?—"

A weird clicking noise came from the engine.

Oh, fuck.

The engine stalled.

The truck jerked underneath me and I stared as the gauges dropped. I wasn’t far from my mom’s house but not close enough either, the old hunk of metal was breaking down underneath me.

Shit, shit, shit ? —

I made it off the highway, but the truck didn’t do much better than that. Of all the fucking times to do this. I swore under my breath and tried to pull on to the side of the road but the truck rolled past the pavement, sinking into deep grass.

I wiped away the blood again. My phone wasn’t connected to the charger, my car was dead, I scared the shit out of Willow, there was no worse point than this. I slipped off my shirt and pressed it against my forehead, walking the familiar route to my mom’s place.

My vision swam at Willow’s messages, asking what hospital I went to. With a deep breath, I typed up my reply.

Me

Elijahs telling the truth

Im so sorry

How angry at Elijah could I be? I was angry at myself.

I should’ve been the one to tell Willow instead of sitting on it for so long it ate away at me. I didn’t know how to tell her and now I was paying the price for it.

My hand shook trying to get the house key from my car keys. I finally pushed open the front door.

The house was silent. At ten o’clock at night, my mom and my little sister were asleep. I couldn’t wake them up. Especially like this.

I staggered to the bathroom in my room and the fucking sight— Jesus . I peeled the shirt away, sticky with blood.

The go-bag was easy to find, and I fished out the needle and thread.

Here we go again.

I was dripping with blood. Covered in bruises. The scars, my size, I looked like a bastard you didn’t want to meet in a dark alley. But this wasn’t me backsliding.

This was a mistake that would never, ever happen again. My body ran cold every time I thought about Willow’s face, but she would never see me like that again.

I doused my face with water—flinched—and started cleaning up.

"King?" a sleepy voice asked.

I froze.

With a deep breath, I forced all of my concentration on keeping my voice steady. "Hey, baby."

"What are you doing?"

My hands shook. "You have to stay in the bedroom, okay?"

"Okay." I could hear Jasmine yawn through the door, cracked open. "Where’s Willow?"

"She—she—" I fought to keep the tremor out of my voice. My forehead throbbed. "She couldn’t come tonight."

"Is Mom okay?"

"Yeah. I promise."

"What are you doing?"

I wiped away more blood. "Just wanted to sleep at home."

"Oh." There was a poignant pause. "Can I see pictures please?"

I breathed out a sigh of relief. Willow and I started coming to the house more often and Jasmine loved swiping through the pictures on our phones. I was so relieved that was all she wanted.

"Yeah, baby. I just need to take a shower. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes."

I flipped on the shower and worked in front of the mirror with the needle and thread. With stitches, you can’t go too deep, or you make the problem worse, but you can’t go too shallow, or you’re not doing anything at all, but my hands were shaking so much. I had to keep stopping. Each new puncture was so painful. At least the bleeding stopped.

Fuck, it hurt.

"Hey, Jazz," I whispered when I opened the door again. She sat on the bed, but I couldn’t sit with her, my head hurt too much, so I laid down in my jeans and rolled back to the pillow. Gingerly, I slipped out my phone.

Jasmine laid down next to me and swiped through a few before she giggled. "That’s a funny hat, I like that hat."

She tried to show me the photo, but the headache hurt too much with the bright light. "I know what hat you're talking about. I can’t look at the phone right now, okay?"

"Okay. Did you know Mr. Dan is married to Willow’s mom?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Willow’s so pretty."

"Mm-hmm."

"I like this one, this one’s my favorite, Willow has pink hair. I like this one too. You went to Kate Kate’s Ice Cream without me?"

"We’ll take you next time."

She was quiet for a moment. "King?"

"Mm?"

"You’re not a spit image anymore."

"What?"

"A spit image? Of dad?"

I froze. My eyes flickered open. "What do you mean?"

"You don’t look like dad anymore."

I had no idea what to say. While Jasmine hummed and swiped through more photos, I couldn’t believe it.

"What do you mean I don’t look like dad anymore?" I hesitated. "What, is it the haircut? The clothes?"

"No. Dad didn’t smile in pictures."

My heart thudded with my pounding headache, and I kept my eyes trained on the ceiling while Jasmine scrolled through my phone. I swallowed.

"Hey, Jazz?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I don’t tell you this enough. You’re my favorite."

Jasmine shimmied down until she laid close and I wrapped an arm around her. Still swiping through pictures, she nodded. "You’re my favorite too." There was a pause before she added. "Willow’s my first favorite but you’re number two."

My stomach twisted in knots as I saw Willow’s terrified face. That was fucking awful. I’d have to live with that look on her face. How could she stomach me after what I did to Elijah?

"She’s my favorite too," I whispered.