Page 52

NYLAH

“Is everything okay?” Sienna appears behind me, munching on a carrot stick.

“Here.” I hand Zoey over and rush up the stairs, not sure how to reply to Sienna, because I have no idea what’s going on.

Carson looked completely wrecked, which means something awful happened this afternoon. I need to find out what it is.

I need to help him.

My knee catches as I try to rush up the stairs, and I’m forced to slow down and take my time up the last five.

Damn leg.

Gritting my teeth, I hobble over to Carson’s door, knocking once before turning the handle.

Carson’s on the other side of the room. He’s staring out the window, his feet planted, his arms crossed. A wave of something dark and dangerous is pulsing off him.

“Uh… Carson?” I flick my hair over my shoulder and inch forward.

“Don’t.” The word is short and snappy, making me stop.

Licking my lips, it’s hard not to feel like a lion tamer as I work to keep my voice soft and soothing. “What happened?”

He sniffs.

“It’s okay. You can talk to me.”

He shakes his head as I creep a little closer.

I don’t think he hears me coming because he doesn’t say anything. So I keep going until I’m just behind him. Close enough to smell the leather of his jacket and the… I silently sniff and get a whiff of alcohol.

Okay, so he’s drunk.

But I heard his bike come up the driveway.

He drove drunk?

Oh, we are so having words about that.

Anger jumps through me, but I tamp it down in order to deal with whatever maelstrom he’s currently caught in.

“Carson,” I softly whisper. “Talk to me.”

“Why?” He grounds out the word. “What difference will it make?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not good for you, Nylah. Everybody knows it.”

I balk. “I don’t.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just because you’re too blind and stupid to see it!”

His words cut through me, harsh and unrelenting. That better be the alcohol talking, because this is bullshit.

“You’re not better than me.” I reach for his arm, but he flicks me off as soon as my fingers brush his jacket.

“Yeah, right.” He scoffs. “When was the last time you tried to choke a guy?”

“What?”

“When was the last time you got kicked off the field, huh? Shouted at in front of everybody? Told you’re not good enough to play?”

I shake my head, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. “Did my dad kick you off the team or something? Why?”

“Because I’m not good enough!” he roars, flicking his hands wide and spinning to face me.

Unfortunately, I shifted in at the same time he was turning, desperate to hug him, hold him, let him know it’s okay.

But instead, his hand clips the side of my head and I stumble back, tripping over his bag and landing on my side with a thud.

Thankfully, it’s not that painful.

Thankfully, my bad leg isn’t wailing.

Thankfully, I can get up and calm Carson down.

It’s time to sort this shit out.

I look up, about to tell him exactly that, but the words dry up in my mouth because he’s staring down at me like he just pulled a trigger.