Page 44 of Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 4)

I stuff it back, and drop the jeans, making my way to the window. My hands stretch across the frame as I stare out at her.

What other secrets do you hold, Beauty?

“You know, when you were small, you were full of questions.” Maybell’s voice floats inside the room, but I don’t turn, her footsteps indicating she’s moving closer. “You’d hear a word or see something in passing, anything really, and you’d hold on to whatever it was. Hours would go on by and then you’d ask what it was, or what it meant, how it worked. Something. Anything.”

She perches against the frame, holding her long dress in her hands.

“You had this tick where you couldn’t focus on anything, until you broke down what was on your mind in a way you could understand it, and then you’d move on to the next.” She eyes me. “When you were twelve, you stopped asking. You self-trained, developed a natural ability to see things for what they were, to comprehend without asking, to speak without a word.”

My frown deepens and I follow her gaze to Victoria.

“Now you’re in the dark, feelin’ blind, can’t understand, can’t even form the question in your own mind, and it’s frustratin’ the heck out of you, but remember, boy.” She waits for me to look at her. “Closed mouths don’t get fed.”

“You act like she’d tell me the truth if I asked for it.”

“You act like you know she wouldn’t.” Maybell lifts her brows, making me chuckle. She grins. “She’s just like you, you know. Her mind works the same.”

“Closed mouths don’t get fed,” I repeat what she said.

Maybell pulls her lips to the side in a soft smile, patting me on the shoulder. “And that, my boy, is why you both sit starved.”Chapter 12Victoria“The person you are trying to reach is not available, please leave a message after the tone.”

I hang up, dropping my phone in my lap as I look out over the empty field.

Why do I keep trying to call her?

“Gotta say, Friday night was interesting.”

My muscles grow taut at the intruder’s voice, and I squeeze my eyes closed a moment.

Damn it.

Right as I open them Mike comes to stand in front of me, and while his smile is easy, his stare weighs heavy with a critical squint.

My shoulders fall, a heavy exhale leaving me as I look him over. I spot a few small scrapes and already fading bruises, but they’re too subtle to have been given by a Brayshaw, so they must be from his fight.

“Can I sit?” he finally asks.

“Should you?”

His lips twist as he looks away briefly. “Come on, Tor.”

As much as I don’t want to have this conversation, I know I have to.

I pat the metal bleacher at my side and he drops down, sits back and stares out at nothing as I am.

“Bell don’t ring for another hour, why you at school already?” he leads, having already come to his own conclusion.

“Needed some air.”

He scoffs, and I hold in my frown.

“I take it Royce didn’t threaten to cut you at the belt the other night?”

“You mean after you ran out?” he throws back quickly, but I don’t respond, so he answers my question. “He took a different approach.”

I can only imagine.

Mike’s quiet a moment, and then gets right to the point. “Big change from when I left.”

“Yeah... it is,” I admit.

No point in denying, he saw with his own eyes, and I have no intention of hiding what I want from anyone, not even him.

I finally glance his way. “What was that ‘my boyfriend’ shit, Mike? Why’d you do that, why come into their zone, draw attention to yourself?”

He pulls a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket, offering me one as he does, but I shake my head, so he delays, lighting it and pulling in a long drag.

He slowly blows the smoke out. “I was fucking around.”

Tension builds in my gut as I ask, “Were you?”

His eyes swing to mine, resentment front and center.

“I could sense something was up with him and you, he was... watching you watch the fight, didn’t see him look away once, noticed how he got angry when you smiled.” He leans his elbows on his knees, eyes now glued on the burning tip of his cigarette. “He was angry at the entire situation.”

My stomach curls as I stare at his profile.

His jaw tics beneath his caramel skin, giving away his true thoughts.

“I don’t know,” he keeps talking. “Guess I wanted to test him out, see if you were a plaything or, fuck...” He frowns. “More.”

It takes him several seconds to meet my gaze again, and when he does his is full of confusion, indecision, prompting me to ask what I don’t want to.

“Why did you come back here? First the warehouses, now the school?” I whisper, shaking my head. “You made the decision to go. I told you I wanted to make a life in this place. You said you understood, I thought you did.”