Page 5

FIVE

EASTON

Breathe in. Breathe out.

My feet landed on the asphalt with a light tap one after the other, the rhythm steady and constant. My heart maintained its rate as I inhaled and exhaled, resisting the urge to hyperventilate after forty minutes. My T-shirt was drenched with sweat, and my hair was damp, but I persisted.

Staying in the apartment was driving me crazy. Hours had dragged on so slowly that I felt like the night would never come. I had paced back and forth in my small living room as the walls closed in on me. It shrunk with each step I took until the space was so small and oppressive that I had to get out.

I ran along Chestnut Street and beyond my neighborhood. I ran into the sunset and the blessed relief of the night. Not that I hoped I would get much sleep tonight, either. My blood was still boiling from the clash with Kyle. His smug face floated before my eyes, and his threats filled my ears. But that wasn’t what worried me. It annoyed me, yeah, but the thing that chilled me to my bones was the ease with which I had crossed the line.

Dammit, I was a good guy. I didn’t explode like that. I never let my temporary emotions take over my rational mind. It was how I had grown up, especially after I was adopted. I was placed in a home where there was a boy so prone to temper tantrums and lashing out that I had witnessed how dire the consequences could be.

Jace.

There was another thorn in my ass. It was his goddamn fault I’d snapped so quickly. Had he not worn my patience thin today, I never would have lost it with Kyle.

In all the years we’d spent together, Jace had craved attention. The only problem had been the way he’d acquired it. His idea of putting himself on our parents’ radar was to get into fights in school and have the teachers call emergency meetings with our parents. He’d never been able to play by the rules. Those few good times our parents had put together for us had always ended in a disaster. We couldn’t go on picnics because Jace would end up nearly drowning in the lake. We couldn’t go to amusement parks because Jace would stop at nothing to take off Mickey’s head and ruin the fun for all the other kids by revealing the actor behind the costume.

Seeing the way our parents dealt with Jace taught me the most valuable lesson of my life. Think. Think twice before you act. And it was a lesson I had forgotten today.

As my lungs burned on the run back to my apartment, I dared to hope that I was tired enough to sink into the mattress and the depths of sleep as soon as I was out of the shower.

It was dark already, and the streets were empty. I brought my speed down to a canter, then a brisk walk, and my heartbeat echoed inside my skull and throat. My pulse raced, and heat radiated out of my body. I had pushed myself to my limits, the fatigue slowly setting into my muscles.

I had no drills tomorrow to worry about, but I wondered if I would recover before Thursday morning.

Brick buildings towered on either side of the street on this block, and one of the streetlamps was broken down the street. As I neared it, I understood the severity of my mistake. By the time I saw movements in the dark alley, I was too close to turn back, but my legs were so tired of the run that they felt like jelly, even before fear crawled into them.

There were four of them. Each wore a black hoodie and a camo balaclava, their eyes barely discernable in the shadows. They appeared in a row and formed like an arrow pointing in my direction.

I cursed under my breath and stepped off the sidewalk, but the fuckers were quicker. They spread out.

“Hey, buddy,” one said, his voice deep and muffled by the mask.

I balled my fists and steered to the right, thinking I might avoid them. There was no turning my back to them now. If they were getting ready to do something bad, I wanted to see it coming.

And do what? I asked myself angrily. I was so fucking tired I could barely walk. In trying to get my brain to slow down before the night, I had rendered my legs useless and put myself in danger.

“I’m talking to you,” the guy said.

“You got the wrong guy,” I said. I didn’t actually think it would work. Even as I said it, I knew I should have stayed quiet.

“We just want to talk,” another voice said, higher and still as unfamiliar to my ears as the first. “Chill, dude.”

“I’ve got nothing to talk about,” I said. My stomach felt like I’d swallowed icicles. It wasn’t just cold—it was sharp and piercing.

I thought about the contents of my pockets. I’d left my phone in the apartment so it wouldn’t bounce in my sweatpants on the run, but I had my keys. If I could just get them out and between my fingers…

“Get him,” a voice said, and the four figures closed in.

The first punch landed before I could maneuver back. It struck my stomach, pumping air out of my body. It wasn’t so bad, but it was a terrible omen. The pain was dull and instant, spilling through my insides and making me bend forward.

A hand gripped my sweat-drenched hair on the back of my head. Its grip was unbreakable, and the tug yanked my head up for an immediate slap that landed on my face.

I managed to wheeze a breath of air into my lungs. “Let me go,” I rasped as one of the guys pulled my arms from where I had wrapped them around my stomach. As he twisted both my arms behind my back, I knew that my fight was over.

They jerked me upward, and the big, deep-voiced guy let his blow land on the side of my waist. He was precise, hitting me where it hurt and where nobody would see.

A grunt broke out of me at the second punch to the side as this one landed partially on my rib cage. The hurried whispers between them swirled around my head, the excited ideas of where to strike me to make me remember.

When the smaller of the two that stood in front of me slapped me across my face, my head snapped to the side, the taste of blood filling my mouth and putting my body on useless alert. As if I could do anything about it.

Another punch struck my side, making me cry out.

I hated myself for giving them the pleasure.

“You like that?” the third guy asked.

Pain in my left shoulder screamed, but I clenched my teeth and made no other sound. The guy holding my arms behind my back was almost as big as the one leading the punches. Even the smallest moves of my muscles raised the tension and pressure on my shoulders.

The one next to me stepped on my foot, twisting my ankle to make my head rise as I growled in pain.

“Wanna get your ankle broken?” he asked. “I’ll do it.”

I said nothing.

“You’ll be a real good captain then,” he threatened.

Again, I held my tongue and my breath. All I could do was deny them the satisfaction. If they wanted me to break, they would have to work for it.

The pressure on my ankle increased, and I wavered, my body moving down an inch, the pain in my shoulders making me gasp.

“Ask me to stop,” the worst of them said, twisting his foot on my ankle to amplify the pain tenfold.

A shudder passed through me as I saw my career flicker out of my future. He was going to break my ankle. I was certain of it. He was going to ruin my life in a heartbeat or two.

“Ask me, you little bitch,” he said, his voice crackling with excitement.

The big guy who had used only his fists so far stepped closer, shoving the sadist off my ankle and three feet away. “Don’t fuck around,” he snapped in that angry bass at the guy who’d enjoyed hurting me a little too much for his liking.

I exhaled shortly with relief that I couldn’t contain. I could see myself on the ice again. I could see myself leading a rally against the Titans. I could hope, even misguidedly, that they wouldn’t take hockey away from me. Not tonight, at least.

The big guy turned around and slammed me so hard in my left side that I dropped out of the other guy’s hold and fell flat onto the sidewalk with another grunt. A kick followed, bruising my left leg.

Someone’s hand grabbed my hair again, and the side of my face pressed hard against the concrete’s rough surface. I cried out more from panic than pain and felt the sting of scratches along the side of my face. Maybe I was vain, or maybe I was afraid, but I struggled harder against having my face dragged against the sidewalk, even though another kick found my stomach.

It seemed to last an eternity. Every punch, kick, and scratch was a year, a century. My mind located each and acknowledged it when it should have detached itself from the body altogether. It would have been easier if I had found a way to escape the vessel of meat and bones that carried me around and let it hurt independently from me. But I couldn’t. I clung to it so completely that I didn’t know where my body ended and where I began. We were one and the same. Inseparable.

We say “me” and “my body” as if there is a difference. Where is that line? If I lose a limb, it’s not me. It’s only my arm that is gone. Yet, who am I when all of my body is gone? I am just the sum of its parts . My thoughts ran away from me as darkness narrowed my vision.

I heard myself huffing, panting for hair, saying nothing to the commands. “Lick it,” the bass said. “Lick the sidewalk.”

“And remember this,” cackled the sadist.

I wouldn’t. I would never be reduced to that. I was willing to let go of whatever was holding me here before I licked the sidewalk. But I would remember. How could I not? And that was the point. Alone, I could overpower him, but I could never escape him. Kyle was a cocky coward, but he had the money and the connections to hunt me down on the same day I belittled him.

He wouldn’t win this, though. None of them would. It was my last battleground, and I would hold on to it until my last breath if I had to. They would have to pry my mouth open before my tongue touched the filth of the sidewalk.

“Shit,” someone whispered. “He’s passing out.”

“Stop.”

“What do we do?”

“ Hey !”

The voices echoed and blurred. I didn’t know who said what or who called out. My gorge was rising at the thought of all the feet that had stepped on this sidewalk, the trash, the rats…

I was going to be sick.

The scattering around me was so quick that I didn’t realize it was happening. It was only the absence of pain that told me the guys had stopped beating me.

“No,” I said, my voice as rough as I could make it. “Can’t. No.”

Their hands were still on me, turning me around. One hand slapped me, but not hard like before. It was not one slap but several, done in quick succession.

As my consciousness slipped away from me, light shone into my eyes. Were they open? Was I going to die with my eyes open? Mother was going to be heartbroken.

The light disappeared, and the slaps continued. They didn’t ache at all. Perhaps I was above and beyond pain. Perhaps I’d managed to divest myself from my body. There. I didn’t need to worry about it anymore. Except…

I coughed hard, wheezing as I inhaled. The surface wasn’t so hard under my head. I was on something soft. But the relentless little taps of a hand against my scratched face woke up a flare of fury deep within me. For fuck’s sake, would it ever stop?

I jerked. My arms were free, and I slapped the annoying hand away.

“There you are,” the voice said clearly.

The fury that had pulled me back from the brink of the abyss of unconsciousness faded only to be replaced by such profound shame that I wished I’d passed out.

“Whoa,” he said as I lifted myself to a sitting position with a grunt, facing away from him. The entire street tilted, and my left eye was wet, my vision blurry. “Easy.”

I was glad my back was turned to him. I couldn’t stand anyone seeing me like this, least of all him. But the spinning, tilting, swaying world around me wouldn’t stop. It was like I had been catapulted to the deck of a ship in the middle of a vicious storm.

“One step at a time,” he said in an infuriatingly gentle tone. I hated it. I hated the pity in his voice. “Don’t get up right away.”

The swaying steadied a little. Now, I needed something to wash out the taste of blood. And I needed him to disappear, to leave me alone in my shame. But, of course, the universe had sent him here to witness me at my lowest. “Are you…” I croaked and cleared my throat. “Are you following me?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate.

Perfect. Fucking perfect . “Why?” I huffed.

He was silent for a little while, scooting closer. “You made some enemies.”

I snapped my head around to face him, the world falling out of focus. “And what’s that to you, Jace?”

He held his gaze on my eyes for a few moments as if reading the fury from my face. Then, the fucker smirked. “See, I believe a lot of disagreements can be settled with fists,” he said in an almost lazy drawl. “But four masked guys against one in a dark alley? Nah, bro. I don’t stand for shit like that.”

I would have laughed, but my throat was sore, and my lip was split. “How did you…?”

“You need to stop talking,” Jace said, his decisive tone enough to make me sit up straight.

“I was running,” I said bitterly. “Are you fucking following me everywhere I go?”

“Of course not,” Jace said as if I was the crazy one. “I was waiting for you to come back, and I heard you cry out.”

Oh, fucking wonderful , I thought desperately. My knight in shining armor had heard me crying and came to rescue me.

“Let’s get you inside,” Jace said, getting up and offering me a hand.

I brushed his hand away and pushed myself to my feet. Dizziness worried me, but my body reacted poorly to all movements, pain flaring up angrily everywhere at once.

When I stumbled, Jace remained still, probably sulking that I wouldn’t accept his help. His arms were wrapped around his torso, straps of a backpack cutting into his shoulders, and his T-shirt was oversized, just like his baggy pants.

I paused and steadied myself before pushing on. I limped, my ankle burning under the weight of my body, and Jace stepped closer. He didn’t touch me. I almost found it in my heart to be grateful to him for not touching me. Now was not the time to push my buttons.

Jace walked alongside me as I neared the entrance of my building. I slipped a hand into my pocket, and my heart sank. My keys. I’d dropped my keys. Not on the run, I hoped, but when they toppled me on the ground. Even those twenty paces seemed like too far to return and look for them.

A jingle sounded from Jace as he lifted his hand. “You dropped these.”

“Of course.” My lip stung from speaking. I rolled my eyes, although my left was still bloodied and shut.

I snatched the keys off Jace’s finger and unlocked the door. He followed me upstairs to the top landing and waited at the door as I pushed the key into the lock.

I held a breath for a few moments, holding my hand on the key. “I’m fine now.”

“Sure you are,” Jace said.

Silence. We stood there, me at the door, Jace behind my back, and waited for something to break. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“Good. I’m not a babysitter,” Jace said.

I swallowed and turned the damned key. This was my space. This was my home. Letting him enter was like surrendering it to him completely unless I played my cards right.

Part of me knew that I owed him. Those guys would have gone on for much longer, trying to get me to lick the sidewalk, unless Jace had scared them off. How he had done it, I had no clue, but I suspected that their priority had been stealth. Jace’s presence put them at risk.

I pushed the door in and flicked on the lights in the living room. They were so bright that pain slashed through my skull for a moment. I stumbled and leaned against the wall, but the wall slipped away from me.

Jace grabbed me under my arm, shut the door with his foot, and led me through the open door into my bedroom.

“Easton,” he said, his voice dark and low, seething with anger. “I know a vet who owes me. I could get him to come over here and check you out.”

“Fuck off, Jace,” I said, too tired for his bullshit.

He helped me sit on the edge of the bed and leaned in, taking my face in both hands. I had avoided looking at him, but he forced me. Typical. “I’m not kidding, fuckface,” he said roughly. “He’s done a lot for some friends of mine.”

My lips curled in anger. “I don’t want to be a part of your zoo.” Blinking through the blood in my eyes, I added, “I’m fine.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilted his head and looked at me. “Then stop bleeding all over my hands.” Anger flared in Jace’s eyes, but he stayed still for a moment. It was odd to see someone remaining so forcefully calm. Was that what I looked like? “Fine,” he said, his tone and facial expression clearly telling me it wasn’t fine at all. “Be like that.” He straightened and turned away from me. In a matter of moments, he was gone.

Nausea was passing slowly, but I still worried I might be sick. I didn’t think they hit me anywhere so hard that I needed to worry except, maybe, my head. I’d slammed against the concrete hard enough to revere the word “concussion.” But I put it out of my mind.

I yanked the sweaty, bloody T-shirt off my torso and threw it on the dark hardwood floor, thankfully missing the armchair with cream upholstery. I looked at the right side of my rib cage and found an angry red bruise spilling above my ribs. It didn’t hurt to breathe in and out. If a rib was fractured, it wasn’t broken.

Jace walked briskly into my bedroom without an announcement, finding me where he had left me. “That’s a nasty one,” he said, dropping some things onto the bed. “But I can’t do anything about it. You’ll just have to suffer.”

I expected no less.

“Your supplies are shit,” he pointed out, unscrewing an old bottle of iodine and pouring some of the hospital-smelling liquid over makeshift pads he’d fashioned out of toilet paper. He set the messy stuff on the side and lifted a white towel. “Stay still,” he commanded, his voice telling me he wouldn’t tolerate an argument. The towel was wet and no longer white after the first touch with my face.

Jace’s hand was surprisingly light as he wiped the blood off my face. He didn’t bother telling me to bite my teeth before he lifted the iodine-soaked pad and pressed it against the cuts. My left eyebrow stung the worst, and I jerked my head back.

“Grow a pair,” Jace muttered, cupping the back of my head and pressing the tissue against my eyebrow. It was a deep and bloody cut, and the stinging reached deep into my head. It felt like a tree sent its root through my brain, but the root was on fire.

When he was satisfied with it, Jace removed the tissue and winced at the sight of my face.

“There’s a scar in the making,” he said. “But I don’t think it needs stitches.”

He unpacked a wound strip and pinched my brow, applying the sticky strip without much care. Not that I expected any pampering from Jace.

Part of me thought I had hallucinated him. Perhaps I had hit my head hard enough to form fake memories of his visit and this entire evening. It had all the makings of some frustrating, erotic dream. I was all sweaty and barely clothed, and Jace had his hands all over me, examining the places where I hurt. His gentleness at the beginning had to be fictional, but the roughness towards the end had all the trademarks of a fantasy.

“What is it?” Jace squeezed through his teeth.

“Huh?”

“You’re breathing all weird,” he said. “Does it hurt?” He put a hand near the bruise on my right side, feeling my ribs. The heat of his hand mixed with the pain of contact left me thoroughly confused about what I felt.

I pushed his hand away. “I’m fine.”

He nodded and stood straight in front of me.

I hesitated before looking up, touching a nerve somewhere in Jace. He pinched my chin and lifted my head, forcing me to look into his eyes. He was a mean guy. All the most beautiful ones were. With that messy hair and dark, long eyelashes, he could have fooled you into thinking there was something sweet there. But the cold fury in his eyes revealed his soul.

Jace glared at me, his hand trembling slightly as he held my face. He examined it and gave the smallest nod. “Now,” he said in a low, threatening voice. Couldn’t he see I had no more space left for conflicts? Couldn’t he just leave me alone? No. Of course not. He inhaled calmly and cocked his head. “Who did this to you?” he asked.

Chills ran down my spine. This wasn’t a conversation for the sake of wasting our breaths. “No one,” I said. “I don’t know.”

“Which is it?” Jace asked, not letting me move my head back.

I took his wrist and yanked his hand away from my chin. “Thank you, Jace,” I said shortly. “But I don’t think the rest is any of your business.”

“Oh?” He crossed his arms on his chest again. The T-shirt he wore had rips and small holes in places. I didn’t think they were an aesthetic choice in his case. It was well-worn, and the black had faded in places. “Because I just saved your ass, Easton. The way I see it, I have an invested interest in seeing this through.”

My eyes drooped with tiredness, but I focused on his face, staring at him as clearly as I could. “I don’t want to be part of whatever thug life you think you’re living, Jace. I appreciate the help, but that’s the end of your involvement in this.”

He said nothing, but his gaze told me plenty. He wasn’t letting this go. Had he acquired this silly notion somewhere along the way that I needed his protection? Or, sillier still, that he could offer it to me?

I shook my head. “You need to stop following me.”

“You’re tired,” Jace said. “Get some sleep.”

He turned around and examined the room, then walked over to the armchair and sat down. The way he occupied a chair hadn’t changed in the seven years of separation. He slid low and deep into it, his legs spread wide and his elbows resting on the armrests, hands folded on his stomach.

“No,” I said with alarm. “You’re not watching me sleep.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Jace said. “I’m monitoring you in case you have a concussion.”

“Out of the question,” I said. I couldn’t let him stay in the room while I slept. Not that I thought he would do something. Hell, I didn’t think he was that lowly to mess with someone who’d just gotten a thorough beating. Besides, I didn’t think he had ever been interested in more than making me visibly uncomfortable. Me being asleep would give him no satisfaction when I couldn’t squirm and fidget for his entertainment.

But it felt too intimate to be watched by those dark brown eyes all night long. What if I dreamed? What if I spoke in my sleep? It wouldn’t have been the first time my mind concocted disturbingly vivid scenes of Jace and served them in the middle of my sleep. Although he had been away for much of my life, I still dreamed about him sometimes. I dreamed about what he was like now, older and infinitely more dangerous, and what I came up with in the depths of my sleep didn’t come close to reality.

“If you’re so sure, then drag me out,” Jace said. “I won’t resist.”

Yet I could barely lift my arms, let alone stand up.

With a grunt of protest, I yanked the bedsheet away, lay down in my damp, dirty sweatpants, and pulled the sheet all the way up my bare torso and out of Jace’s sight. By the time I tucked the bedsheet under my neck, Jace’s attention was elsewhere. No, he wasn’t interested in looking at me. He had never been. What amused him was flirting, teasing, taunting. He adored hinting that he knew the truth.

And for that, I hated him the most.