Chapter 25
HAILEY
Lively, the idiot in question, jumped, stumbling backward and nearly tripping over his own feet. His hands were reaching for one of the ropes, trying to grip it with nothing but his bare palms like some kind of discount Spider-Man.
“Hey, what are you trying to do?” I demanded, stalking toward him.
He whirled around then, those stupidly blue eyes going wide as they took me in. And then. God help me, that smile. That sunshine-bright, impossibly happy smile that always somehow managed to piss me off.
What's this bastard smiling for? I thought, irritation flaring in my gut.
“Hailstorm! What are you doing here?” He sounded genuinely delighted, as if me showing up to yell at him just made his entire week.
I narrowed my eyes. “I should be asking you that.”
He shrugged, “I'm probably doing the same thing you came here to do.”
“I'm not stupid enough to try to rawdog climbing that, you idiot.” I gestured at the rope course, disbelief coloring my voice.
“Hm, but you still came down here to scope out the course ahead of tomorrow's game, didn't you?” He said, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Seriously, where did he get all this boundless excitement from? Did he really enjoy picking on me that much? “We make such a great team, don't we?”
My lips curled down at the edges. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I mean, it's awesome how much we think alike, right?” He said, eyes bright with expectation.
I snorted. “Think alike, my foot.” I said, gesturing with my jaw to the rope course behind him. “You think I'm gonna be stupid enough to climb that like you? What, were you trying to break your damn back?"
His head tilted, that familiar expression of confusion crossing his features. Then he opened his mouth and said, with all the casual confidence in the world, "Why, are you worried about me, Hailstorm?"
This little shit. I was totally not , but despite my best efforts, heat bloomed at the tips of my ears, spreading down my neck like wildfire. The irritation I'd been nursing all day suddenly blazed into something hotter and much more volatile.
“Don't flatter yourself,” I shot back, the words sharp enough to cut. “I'm worried about myself. If you break your back now, how the hell am I going to compete?”
But even as the words left my mouth, that needling voice in my head whispered, If he breaks his back again , because, you know, he nearly broke his back trying to save your teammate from your own stupid prank . Remember?
My jaw clenched so hard I could hear my teeth grinding. I waited for him to say something about the accident, about how he'd risked his own safety because of my reckless revenge scheme. I expected him to throw it in my face…make me feel even worse than I already did.
Instead, the crazy bastard just laughed. And then winced, clutching at his lower back.
“Hey!” The word ripped out of me without thought. I was moving before I realized it, closing the distance between us in three quick strides. My hand was already reaching for him when I caught myself, snatching it back and shoving it deep into my jacket pocket.
Shit.
“Hey, are you…” I stumbled over the words, hating how much I cared, hating that he could see it. “I mean, does your back still hurt?”
His eyes were wide as he watched me, and then that bright smile broke out again, transforming his entire face. “So, you are worried!”
I hiss. Disgust—or at least what I told myself just had to be disgust—curled my lips downward. “You jerk, does it still hurt or not?”
Something shifted in his expression, a look I couldn't quite place settling in those blue eyes before he said, “Want to see?”
And then, before I could object, before I could even process what the hell was happening , the asshole was lifting his shirt.
My eyes went wide, taking in the bruising splattered across his side, ugly purple and yellow marks that snaked around to his back. It was fading, thank God, but still vivid enough to make my stomach drop. This could've been fatal. A few inches higher, a different angle, and I could've—
“Tell me you went to the hospital for this.” The command came out rougher than intended, but it was something I really wanted to know, so I couldn't quite take it back anyhow.
The silence that trailed my question was not reassuring in the least.
I snapped my head up to look at him, finding his expression suddenly shuttered, all that annoying sunshine glee gone. “What?”
Had I said something wrong? Normal people went to get checkups for injuries like that, didn't they? Especially when there was risk of internal bleeding. Right?
He shrugged, the gesture too casual, too practiced. "I've been using some pain patches."
Ah. I should have known. This bastard wasn't a ‘normal’ person. He was—
“An idiot. You're an idiot.” The words were out before I could stop them, but my eyes had already drifted back down to the bruise. If it still looked like this, then it must have been really, really bad when it happened. And this idiot had wasted all that valuable time making me get him ice cream.
Which you did, remember? Oh crap, was I complicit in this, too?
“Pain patches? Are you serious right now?”
Lively blinked those ocean blues back at me, innocent as a goddamn baby. “Mm hmm.”
That only pissed me off even more. “That should’ve been x-rayed,” I said, my voice coming out rough. “You could have internal bleeding, you know. Or broken ribs. Organ damage. Jesus, Lively, what the hell were you thinking?”
He shrugged again, the casual movement belied by the flicker of pain that crossed his face. “It’s just a bruise.”
“A bruise,” I echoed, disbelief making my voice rise. "That's not ‘just a bruise’, you absolute moron. That’s potential internal damage. That’s—”
I cut myself off, suddenly aware of how worked up I was getting.
I needed to calm down, I was an adult, for God’s sake.
I sucked in a breath then, tracking my body’s over -reactions.
How my heart was hammering against my ribs like it was trying to break free.
How my skin felt too tight, too hot despite the cool night air.
It was weird , but instead of sorting through the panic that was slowly brewing inside me, my brain decided that this was the time to helpfully highlight the fact that his abs were cut like marble blocks, each muscle defined with the kind of precision that only came from years of athletic conditioning.
And not only that, but my traitorous gaze also kept wandering to the defined cut of his obliques, the light dusting of golden hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts, the way those same shorts hung dangerously low on narrow hips.
My pulse hammered in my throat, in my wrists, between my legs —a throbbing reminder that my body was losing the goddamn plot right now.
Ew. No, no, no. I wasn’t supposed to notice things like the cut of his hipbones or the way his skin looked like it would be warm to the touch.
It looks really warm, though. Heat flooded my cheeks. I whirled around, pressing my palms against my burning face. “How the hell do you even live?”
I felt him behind me, close enough that his body heat seemed to wrap around me like a blanket. The soft rustle of fabric as he dropped his shirt back down tickled my ears.
“Aw, are you mad?” His tone was teasing, light, but there was something underneath it. Something that made my skin prickle with awareness.
I cursed myself for ever showing concern in the first place. Hell, I was wondering why I'd shown concern at all . This was Lively freaking Summers. My own personal opp—
“I mean, it'll hurt less if you kiss it better.”
And there it was. He just couldn't go a damn second without picking on me, could he?
I turned around. “Don't cross the line, fuckface . I'm warning you.”
He pouted. “I was being serious, though,” he mumbled, and I almost punched him.
But seeing the extent of the bruise my prank had given him only compounded my guilt, and I couldn't even be properly mad at him. Not when his injury was my fault. Not when he’d taken a hit meant for my teammate.
Grumpily, I rummaged through my jacket pocket until my fingers closed around a piece of candy. Without looking at him, I slammed it against his chest.
“Sorry.” The word came out clipped, uncomfortable. I snatched my hand back when his own brushed mine as he tried to catch the candy, electricity shooting up my arm from the brief contact.
Ugh. Since when did electricity shoot up my arm from touching this asshole? Yeah, so, I was just going to ignore that.
“Oh? What's this?” His voice had gone singsong, and I could practically hear the grin in it.
“What's it look like to you, fuckface?” I snapped, already turning to head back toward the cabins. Distance. I needed distance before I did something even more stupid.
“Candy.” He replied cheekily, his footsteps following behind me. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”
No, I'm trying to shut you the hell up, goddamnit. But I didn't answer, and the crinkle of the wrapper as he opened it was loud in the quiet forest.
“Oh, right,” he continued, and I could hear the shift in his tone, to something more wondering now. “What'd you do with the Snickers bar I gave you before?”
I arched a brow even though he couldn’t see it. “You mean, the one you threatened me with?”
His pouting face filled my peripheral vision as he caught up to walk beside me. “You know that's not what I meant!”
Yeah, right.
“I gave it to Gina.”
The words had barely left my mouth when he froze. I walked ahead a few paces before he seemed to jolt back to life.
“Wait. Seriously?” He was running to catch up, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying the panic in his voice. “You’re messing with me, aren't you?”
Well he'd always taken so much pleasure in pissing me off, so why couldn't I enjoy messing with him, in turn?
“Nope.” He didn't need to know that that Snickers bar was still shut up in a drawer somewhere in my room.
“ Really really?” He pressed, and I groaned.
“Ugh, piss off, you little—” And then I was running, the sudden burst of movement catching him off guard. “Leave me alone!”
Something was wrong with me, and I had a feeling this bastard was the root cause of it. I had to get away. But Lively started running too, his long legs eating up the distance I'd tried to create.
“Come on, Hailstorm!” He called after me. “Did you really give it to Whitehall?”
This bastard really was the weapon fashioned against me. So, what did it say about me that I was trying to suppress a smile?
I seriously didn’t want to know.