Page 10 of Devil's Kiss
“How about no.”
“Don’t be stupid. You need to get it checked out. Make sure he didn’t fracture your cheekbone.”
As they stepped under a covered walkway, Derek tugged on Finn’s arm and led him to one of the benches in front of a trimmed hedge. “Nothing’s broken.”
“How do you know? Your eye is barely open.”
“I just need some ice.”
“Jesus. When are you gonna pack your shit and get the hell out of there?”
This argument wasn’t new, but he didn’t want to be a burden to the Finley family. They had gone through enough. Mrs. Finley had raised two children on her own, three if Derek counted himself, which he might as well with the amount of time he’d spent there over the years. There was no way he was bringing his father’s wrath to their door. Right now, the only reason his father tolerated him was because he was one hell of a deduction at tax time. But he knew it was only a matter of years before that ran out. “When I can afford to.”
“I’ve told you over and over?—”
“No, Daniel.” His friend shut up then. Finn knew he was serious when he used his full name. It was a rare event, and Derek’s tone said he was done talking about it.
“Then tell me why. He hasn’t touched you in at least…I don’t know…but it’s been a while.”
“A year. At least a year. Ever since I started spending time at the gym, the fucker got smart. Decided it wasn’t a good idea to pick on someone who outweighed him.”
Finn sat down on the bench, and Derek followed suit. When they were side by side, a comfortable silence settled between them, and he marveled at the peace he felt with Finn. He’d often wondered why they didn’t work on a level beyond friends. But he knew deep down this was why. They were like brothers. It might not have been by blood, but it sure as fuck was through choice. He would do anything for Finn and he knew that feeling was mutual. They had each other’s backs, and he knew no matter what happened or where they ended up, they always would.
“Tell me.” Finn’s voice was soft, but his tone firm.
“He called you a…” Derek was unable to bring himself to say it. A large, comforting hand touched his shoulder, and when Finn squeezed, Derek tried again. “He called you a faggot.”
The word lingered between the two of them for a moment, and before he could open his mouth and say anything further, Finn got in first. “And then he hit you?”
“No. I hit him first.”
“Derek.” Finn sighed and got to his feet. Then he gripped the back of his neck as he paced, and it had Derek shooting off the bench.
“He fucking deserved it. He’s a homophobic prick.”
Finn whirled around to face him and poked him in the chest. “You know better than to react to him that way. Especially over me. What do I care if he calls me a faggot or a queer? Iamqueer. But you know what I do care about? I care about my best friend getting a fist in his face.ThatI care about. Who knows what would’ve happened if you’d fallen to the ground unconscious? I’ve seen you after his boot has hit your ribs. I don’t want to see that again, Derek.”
“I know,” Derek said, and cursed under his breath as Finn clasped the back of his neck and pulled him into a hug. It wasn’t awkward, since the two of them were roughly the same height. It actually felt pretty damn good to be touched that way. To be comforted. Then Finn turned his head and whispered in his ear, “Don’t ever let him make you doubt yourself. Not ever.”
He hugged Finn a little tighter then, because while he’d reacted to the words on his friend’s behalf, the both of them knew the pain ran on a much deeper and more personal level.
One that was dark.
One that was damaged beyond repair.
One that made him wonder if he’d ever be able to find peace in his life. And the only thing he knew with exact certainty was that he would never give up trying.
Chapter 4
Two Months Later
JORDAN TIGHTENED THE knot of the purple tie he’d draped around his neck earlier that morning, and gave himself a final once-over in his black BMW Z4’s sun visor mirror. His first class of the day started in—oh…ten minutes,no big deal—and as usual, he was running late.
It was amazing, really, that for someone as bright and gifted as he apparently was, dressing himself and driving across town to be somewhere at a specific time always seemed to be a monumental effort. One at which he usually failed.
He flipped the visor up and then snatched his leather bag off the passenger seat. If he hightailed it he should be able to—Ugh, forget it, there’s no way I’m going to make it on time,he thought, and leisurely got out of the car.Yep. So why bother running and making myself sweat, not to mention mess up my hair?
It was mid-October, and the air was still heavy and humid enough that walking from his car across the lawn would guarantee an uncomfortable first period of dress slacks stuck to his ass and his shirt plastered to his back. Not something he enjoyed in front of a room full of students.