Page 28 of Burning Demons (Burning Torments #1)

Chapter 28

Wren

If only I could’ve said the time since I woke yesterday morning until now was a blank haze of confusion, but no, I’d felt every miserable second of it. From the moment Momma’s screaming yanked me out of the best sleep ever to the thousands of ticks in time that had left their mark on me. Some were painful bites, and others were irritating itches, but the worst were the hollow echoes Tate left behind.

My arms missed him. My toes missed curling against his calves. My lungs missed breathing in his shampoo. My lips missed the soft hair on the back of his neck. My heart missed the beat of his keeping it in rhythm.

Sunday had been a new torture I didn’t know how to define. Sam took Tate from me, the one person I needed right then. I was left alone, unable to bury my head in his presence until Momma’s disappointment eased off my conscience. And in those long hours of loneliness, of solitude, the horror and anger in Momma’s face haunted me, weighed on me.

As if I’d submerged into old memories of the very first day Spencer called me World War, the day he had the whole class laughing about how my face resembled raw meat, the day I’d ducked my head, curled in on myself, I found myself at the bottom of that same pit once again.

This time, it wasn’t the Wolf Pack taunting me from the edge but Momma. All those expressions of hers, the denial, the disgust, the hurt, the disbelief, the betrayal, the disillusionment, the frustration, swirled in my mind like a demented tornado hell-bent on holding me prisoner.

And it did.

At the center, at the eye of the storm, was me, captured and suffocating with—shame. And even giving in to the shame only made me feel more of it. For letting Momma down, for going behind her and Sam’s backs, for hiding what I felt for Tate, for sneaking around with him as if he were a dirty secret, for not showing the world how he lifted me up, for thinking that concealing the brightest point of my life was a good idea, and for not telling Tate I loved him the first moment I knew it.

I isolated myself in the guilt.

When Tate tried to talk to me that night, when we left for school the next morning, in class, at lunch, I couldn’t see my way out of this self-inflicted blindness because I didn’t deserve the chance to make it better.

Hadn’t I learned my lesson the first time? When the school bullies pushed me down, made me regret living when Dad hadn’t, when they’d intimidated me, harassed me, hounded me, and I’d believed all their words because I was too weak to think for myself. Had I not learned that lesson? The lesson that I allowed the humiliation? That if I didn’t stand up for myself, then I wasn’t worthy of it from anyone else?

Life had given me two chances to prove I deserved the good things it kept throwing at me, and I’d failed at both.

First, when I’d had the chance to stand up against Spencer and his gang, to show anyone who cared that I wasn’t ashamed of my physical appearance, that I wasn’t ashamed of the scars showing I had lived through some bad shit, that the man who helped raise me for the first part of my life taught me to be a better person, to love our differences instead of being defined by them. And second, when Tate had been shoved into my path. When the center of my universe smiled at me, I shouldn’t’ve turned from it. I shouldn’t’ve held Tate with one hand and pushed him away with the other.

Hindsight.

Would life give me a third chance? Would I see it for what it was if it happened?

I couldn’t see the answers on the ground, and I couldn’t lift my head to find them anywhere else. Maybe they weren’t out there. Maybe they were in my head, but there was so much shit covering them. So much shit, in fact, that I made it to my last class on Monday without remembering a damned thing that happened in any of the others.

“Wren, wait up,” Alex called as Spanish let out.

I slowed and allowed him to stop me with his hand pulling at my hoodie. “What’s up?”

“Not a damn thing. It’s been ages,” Alex said as he turned for our lockers.

I lowered my brows. “I saw you at lunch, dumbass.” At least, I was sure I did. I usually did.

“Yeah, but I mean since we hung out.” He bounced a hand between him and me. “Us guys.”

Those times had been few and far between for a while now. Once I stopped playing football, that small connection we’d shared evaporated, and Sienna was the only reason Alex hung around. I cocked my head, trying to wade through the junk in my brain to figure out why he was being so weird right now.

“Dude, what is this?”

He blinked and snapped his chin back as if I’d honestly stumped him. “What do you mean?”

I glanced around the hall. Students were hurrying in all directions to leave. Sienna was nowhere in sight. “We don’t ‘hang out.’”

Alex put a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt, Wren. That hurts. Of course we hang out.”

I rolled my eyes and turned for my locker. As much as the need to snap at him for interfering with my self-loathing time scratched inside my head, I just added it to all the other things I couldn’t quite put words to.

“We do.” He followed and slumped a shoulder into the metal door next to the one I opened. “At the catacombs, Cody’s, the Beach.” He kept rattling off places, and yeah, maybe I’d been to them a time or two, but it wasn’t as if we’d hung out. That’d all been group shit with the football team or other classmates, and always because Sienna had dragged me there.

Still, all of this was so out of place and sending awareness tingles down my spine, but I couldn’t quite understand the warning.

“You’ve been up Tate’s ass since he got here. I think he’s well past the point of adjusted. How about we hang out this weekend, do somethin’?”

Uh … “What?”

Alex went on like he wasn’t picking up on my continued confusion. “We could head to the movies or go play some pool. Maybe bowling.” He laughed. “You still suck at bowling, right?”

I slammed my locker and hoisted my backpack over my shoulder. “Yeah, probably, since I haven’t been since middle school.”

Alex laughed and turned with me as I headed for the exit. He hadn’t even gone to his locker. He kept his steps small and slow and yacking about something that faded into one continuous mumble. I didn’t have time for this. Not that I had anything specific to do right now. At least, nothing I had the courage to do.

I needed to confront Momma and find out how to correct this. I should talk to Tate too. He’d tried, and I shut him out. I needed to apologize to, like, everyone for something.

A few students rushed past us near the door. One of them bumped into my shoulder, jarring me out of my thoughts.

“Don’t be mid, brah,” Alex said, but I didn’t ask him to catch me up on whatever he was going on about.

Michael barreled toward us with a dark scowl on his face and a wide-eyed Jamie trailing behind him. Something about the pair caught my attention. Maybe it was how in sync they always were, reminding me of how Tate and I had grown into that. Or maybe it was the threat glaring in Michael’s eyes.

“I think you’re needed in the parking lot, Wilkerson,” Michael growled as he slammed out the metal door.

“Shit’s about to go down,” Jamie said as he followed his brother.

“Huh?” I made to go after them, but Alex stopped me with a hand around my forearm.

“Dude. This has been a long time comin’. Spencer’s been stewin’ since that video, and now that football is over, there’s not much stoppin’ him.”

I jerked out of his grasp. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Way I hear it, Tate’s got a big mouth. He started it, so maybe just let Spencer finish it?”

“What? Fuck that. I’m not leaving him to the wolves.”

Alex stepped between me and the door as I tried to follow behind Michael and Jamie. When I took a step to the side to go around him, Alex shoved me back.

“You know, I just don’t get you two,” he said, stepping closer as I regained my balance.

“Who? Tate and me?”

“Yeah. You guys are close. I mean”—he shrugged—“you’re brothers, so I guess it makes sense, but I just can’t see what you two have in common.”

He kept coming closer, and I stepped back. Not that he intimidated me. Alex was a bigger guy, but I just didn’t want him in my space. Something about this whole thing was throwing me off more and more.

“Stepbrothers.” For some stupid reason, I made the distinction. Alex waved that away, so I went on. “We don’t have to have a ton in common to get along.”

“I dunno.” Alex threw his hands up, then crossed his arms and glanced around for a second. “He’s a bit full of himself, you think? I mean. He’s always dressed up, like he’s better’n everyone else.”

When he stopped, I did. “Because he cares about his appearance, you think he sees himself as better?”

“He’s a fuckin’ Yankee.”

I snorted. “You’re crazy, man.”

“That right there.” He pointed at me.

“What?”

“The Wren I know doesn’t laugh like that.”

“Then maybe you don’t fuckin’ know me, man.”

“Bullshit. I’ve known you our whole lives. You dodge, and when you can’t, you hide behind someone else. You don’t laugh, you sulk.”

My brows lowered. “Are you serious with this shit? ’Cause I’m laughing, Tate’s a bad guy?”

“You’re different because of him.”

“You mean better?”

“Different,” he snapped.

“Man.” I shook my head, but it must’ve rattled something loose because, yeah, this was my third chance. This right here. Now was the moment, probably the first of many, to prove I was worthy of love, of Tate. With my next words, I could show Alex and everyone I wasn’t gonna back down, that I was ready to live.

“Since Tate got here, I feel better about myself,” I said. “I don’t need your shadow or any fuckin’ shadow to hide in. Is that what you mean? Tate helped me see my own worth. He showed me I matter. That I can do anything I want. That I can hold my head high, no matter how much this fuckin’ scar wants to weigh it down. Is that what you mean? ’Cause if that makes me different, then thank you for noticin’. I am different, and Tate is the reason why.”

Somewhere along the line, we’d gotten closer and stood toe to toe.

“No. I don’t mean that at all, and you don’t have to kiss Tate’s ass. He’s not even around to hear it.”

“I ain’t kissin’ his ass. I’m in love with his ass.”

Well, shit. That just happened. I sighed. Perfect. The first time I admitted out loud that I was in love with Tate, and he wasn’t even here for it.

Alex laughed, then froze, then frowned. “What?”

“I’m in love with Tate, Alex. We’re—together.”

“Dude. You’re not gay.”

I crossed my arms and tilted my head to one side. I didn’t answer, just let him figure it out.

After long seconds of silence between us, Alex found his voice. “You’re gay?”

The look of disgusted disbelief that twisted his face hit me harder than I’d imagined it might.

“That’s … That’s …”

“That’s what?” I snapped.

“Gross.”

I growled and lunged but only used the shock of it to move him out of my way, then busted out of the school doors to find Tate. And fuck if fate wasn’t going to make me suffer before I could have a moment to breathe in the enormity of what I just did.

A crowd gathered at the side of my truck. Shouts of fight and stop chanted between the grunts and thuds of unmistakable fists on body parts. I raced to the group and forced my way between, not stopping until I got to the center.

Michael shoved Cameron and Rory, keeping them back while Davey and Spencer whaled on Tate, who was pinned against my truck.

“The fuck,” I yelled, tossing bodies to get to Tate.

Cameron and Rory shuffled back. Michael turned for Jamie and stuffed his smaller brother behind him, which cleared the way.

I pushed Davey in the back, not even caring I caught him unaware, and sent him face-first into my truck. His nose gave a sick crunch, and he bounced off the metal, screaming and holding his face. Spencer swung around, fist raised and ready. He caught my cheek before I could duck, and then I plowed into his middle, sending him against the fender.

Tate slid sideways without the pair holding him and fell to the asphalt. I spared him a glance as Jamie rushed over and helped him up. Blood gushed from a cut over his eye, so I gave Spencer the same.

I didn’t know how many times I let my fists fly. I didn’t know what all I hit, and I might have even hit my truck a time or two. All the shit that had been building met its boiling point, and Spencer was the outlet. Hands and arms eventually pulled me off him.

“Enough,” Michael shouted. “You’ve proved your point. You’re already gonna get in trouble, Wren, stop.”

I shrugged him off and scanned everyone, now staring, gawking at me in an entirely new way. No praise or words of empathy sounded around me this time as it had been at Cody’s. Shock and fear duplicated on the silent faces.

“He’s a fuckin’ fag,” someone shouted, and all eyes turned to Alex.

“How the fuck is that your business?” Cal spat.

More shouts, some in agreement and some in outrage, rang out, but I shoved the noise out and everyone in my way to get to Tate.

“Are you okay?” I asked as I reached for his face. A red mark on his jaw was already on its way to swollen and bruised, but the cut over his eye wasn’t too bad, at least.

“Yeah.” He swatted my hands away. “I’m fine.” Tate dusted himself off, brows low and his lips in a tight line. “I’m fucking great,” he forced past gritted teeth.

“Shit, it’s Coach,” Cameron barked, and the crowd fled like ants from a knocked-over hill.

I shoved Tate into the passenger side of my truck on reflex. And as soon as I peeled out of the parking lot, I realized how monumentally fucked we were. Fighting at school was bad enough, but running from the punishment was even worse.

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel and yelled at the injustice of—everything.

“Fuck. Fuck.” I glared at Tate, then back to the road. “The fuck, Tate? What happened?”

“Do you really fucking care, or do you want to just shout about it?”

“Don’t. Just don’t. Okay? We’re already in a truckload of shit, and now you’re picking fights at school? Just how mad do you want our parents to get?”

“Wait. This is my fault?” he yelled right back.

“I know you’ve got a smart mouth. What? Did you egg him on?”

“Fuck you, Wren. You freeze me out all day, you won’t talk to me about this ‘truckload of shit’ we’re in, and now I’m the root of all that’s going wrong? Aw, poor you.”

The balls on him. I had never in my life been so fucking pissed, and he just kept poking at me like a scab.

“We could get expelled over this shit. Momma already won’t talk to me, and now … I know you don’t get it, but I love my momma. I actually care when she’s pissed or when I’ve disappointed her.”

When nothing snappy was aimed my way, I glanced at him. Tate sat frozen, staring, banged up, but those new wounds were nothing compared to the hurt brimming in his eyes.

“Tate—”

He didn’t give me a chance to finish, just opened the passenger door and jumped. Granted, I was already slowing in front of the house, but still, fuck, he just jumped out of my moving truck.

“Tate,” I yelled through the open door.

He stumbled as his feet worked to keep up with his momentum, then ran across the front yard to the house. Before I could skid to a stop and turn off the motor, he’d unlocked the door and slammed it shut.

“Tate. Fuck,” I roared.

He wasn’t anywhere to be found once I’d gotten inside myself. Not his room or the bathroom. He wasn’t on the deck or even the side of the house where he smoked sometimes. He was just fucking gone.