21 Cassius #2
He snorts and points vaguely. “Nah. She wasn’t paying attention. That’s what happens when you skate in a bowl you can’t handle.”
Zae’s hand closes around my wrist. “Cass.”
I barely feel it. My vision narrows, and all sound dips. The bass from the speaker turns into a distant thump in the back of my skull. The BMX guy keeps talking, but I only catch pieces.
“Overreacting.”
“Not my fault.”
“She—”
The panic hits first, hot and fast with fear for her.
Fear that she got hurt and I wasn’t there fast enough, even though I’m already in front of her.
Fear that she slipped one inch the wrong way and this turns into a hospital visit, or something worse.
Then the panic turns, because it always does, and it becomes rage.
I don’t even remember deciding to stand. My body just unfolds from the kneel until I’m upright in front of him, taller, blocking his view of her. The guy smirks when I stand, like he thinks this is posturing.
“Relax, man,” he mutters, gripping his handlebars. “It’s not that serious.”
My eyes drop to the bike. To the chain. To the thing that let him drop in blind and act like it was her fault.
My hand moves before my brain finishes the thought.
I grab the handlebars with one hand and jerk the bike sideways hard enough that he stumbles.
My other hand drops to the chain near the sprocket and yanks.
Metal shrieks, then the chain snaps loose with a violent crack and slaps against the frame, grease smearing across my fingers. The bike jerks in his grip, tension gone. For a split second there’s only silence. Then—
“What the fuck?” he shouts.
And that’s when he shoves me. Harder this time. Both palms slam into my chest, and my body rocks back half a step. I don’t feel it. I step forward again immediately, but Zae moves at the same time.
She rises fast, blood sliding down her elbow, and tries to wedge herself between us before it tips over into something worse. But I’m already turning. My arm swings out instinctively, not even aiming yet, just clearing space, just reacting. And she ducks.
Her movement is quick, sharp. My elbow slices through the air exactly where her head was a second earlier. Time fractures after that. I see her eyes go wide. I see her body fold under the arc of my arm. I see the space where my elbow would have caught her.
The world stutters then. I freeze mid-motion, arm half-raised, breath caught somewhere in my throat. The BMX guy is still talking, still cursing, but his voice sounds far away now. Because all I can see is her and what almost happened.
I almost hit her!
Zae straightens slowly. Her face is pale under the flush of adrenaline. There’s blood on her arm. There’s fear in her eyes that she tries to swallow down immediately. And she still steps in front of me anyway.
She plants herself there, shoulders squared, chin lifted, smaller by a foot but somehow the only solid thing in the bowl.
“Okay,” she starts, voice bright in that wrong-on-purpose way she uses when she’s trying to keep something from detonating. “Everybody breathe.”
Her hand reaches up and cups my jaw, fingers warm and trembling slightly. “Cass. Look at me.”
My chest heaves as my breath drags in sharp. My fingers curl at my sides, then loosen, then curl again. I stare at her face. Her eyes. The way her brows pinch with focus. It takes effort to make my brain stay there and not jump back to him.
“You’re here,” she whispers. “With me. I’m right here. You don’t get to leave.”
My throat works as my teeth grind.
Behind me, Riot’s hands clamp around my upper arms firmly, trying to anchor me. “Easy,” he murmurs close to my ear. “Come back.”
Ghost, who came down at some point, shifts in front of the BMX guy with Maverick at his side, their bodies angled to block him. Maverick’s palm presses to his chest to push him back, and Ghost’s gaze flicks up toward a group of BMX kids nearby.
“Control your friend,” Ghost calls to them, voice calm and sharp.
Two of the BMX guy’s friends jog over, eyes darting. One grabs his arm, trying to pull him back. “Dude, chill.”
“He fucked up my bike!” the BMX guy barks, jerking against the grip, still trying to square up with me over Zae’s head.
Zae’s hand presses harder into my jaw. “Cass,” she breathes, softer now, forcing my focus. “Look at me.”
I force my eyes to stay on hers.
She blinks once, slow, then her mouth pulls into a weak grin. “Wanna hear something fucked up?”
My brow twitches in response because I can’t get words out of my mouth right now.
“My elbow hurts,” she tells me seriously, then her grin flickers. “But I’m mostly mad that my outfit is ruined.”
A laugh tries to break out of my throat and dies halfway.
“That’s it,” she whispers, thumb stroking once along my cheek. “Come back.”
The BMX guy’s friend finally yanks him hard enough that he stumbles back up the slope. He shouts over his shoulder, “He’s paying for my bike!”
Riot’s voice snaps, angry now. “Go cry to your mom.”
Maverick flicks his hand toward the BMX guy’s friends, dismissive. “Get him out of here.”
Ghost doesn’t raise his voice, but it carries. “Before this gets worse.”
The BMX guy’s friends drag him away, still shouting, still throwing threats nobody believes. Everything inside me collapses back into my body all at once, and reality hits hard enough that my stomach lurches.
Zae is bleeding. And I almost hit her.
I step back, and Riot’s hands loosen but he stays close. My arms feel heavy. My head feels wrong, like it’s a second behind my body. I turn and walk up the slope without looking at anyone.
I hear Zae behind me, voice quick. “I’ve got this.” Riot starts to argue, and she cuts him off with a firmer, “I do.”
Footsteps follow me, but I don’t turn to look. Because if I turn, I’ll see her bleeding again, and my brain will jump back to him, and I don’t trust what happens after that.
I hit the flat at the top and keep moving toward the parking lot, past the benches and the speaker and the teenagers who went quiet because they heard the commotion. People move out of my way without thinking about it, instinctive.
By the time I reach my car, my hands are shaking. I stop at my trunk and brace both palms on the edge, breathing hard, then start pacing because standing still feels impossible. My fingers curl into fists and unclench again. My jaw aches from how hard I’ve been clamping it.
I stare at the ground and try to count my breaths the way they told me to.
One.
Two.
Three.
Footsteps approach fast. I know them before I see her.
“Cass,” Zae calls, voice gentler now, careful.
I keep my eyes down. She steps into my space anyway, and my body reacts before my brain catches up. My hands lift, ready to grab, ready to hold, ready to fix.
Then I see her arm. The blood drying along her forearm, smeared around her elbow, dripping slower now but still there. The sight hits me so hard I stop moving.
“Fuck,” I breathe, and the word tears out of me.
Zae’s face shifts, concern flickering, but she tries to hide it behind a small smile. “Hey. I’m okay.”
“You’re bleeding,” I manage, voice rough.
“It’s not even that bad,” she insists, and she tries for humor, because she reads me too well. “I’m dramatic, not fragile.”
I step forward and pull her into me so fast she makes a small, surprised sound. My arms lock around her tight enough that she grunts.
“Cass,” she murmurs, one hand patting my back, the other reaching for my face. “You’re crushing me.”
“Sorry,” I choke out, but I don’t let go. My voice cracks on the next part. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Her body stills in my arms.
“I almost—” I start, then stop because the words taste like vomit. “I almost hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” she replies quietly.
“But I could have.”
She tips her head back to look at me, eyes searching my face. “Cass.”