Chapter 12
Twelve
ANDREA
I crane my neck, tracking the blonde boy retreating through the chainlink gates without a sulking football player in tow. The entire thing, from the altercation with Grant to Seba stomping off behind the bleachers to Cade slinking back there too, doesn’t sit right with me.
I gnaw on the inside of my lip.
“Drea!” Coach Mindy barks.
I’m a count behind. Again. But focusing on line dance choreography is impossible when I have no idea what turned reserved, brooding Seba into a raging bull. Or why he didn’t go to the locker room. Or why Cade showed up, then left alone.
“Six-seven-eight!”
Melissa shoots me a concerned look as we switch lines.
I flash a sheepish grin.
One last count and I’m out of here.
Step. Kick. Clap. Spin—
A tall figure wearing a Kingsbury football practice jersey emerges from behind the bleachers, his shoulders slumped as he trudges toward the Senior lot.
Shit, shit, shit. I need to go. Now.
“Alright girls! Practice tonight. I don’t want a repeat of this sloppy mess tomorrow!” Coach calls. Ignoring the annoyed glares thrown my way, I dart for my cheer bag.
A hand grasps my arm.
“What’s your deal?” Melissa hisses, snatching her duffel from beside mine.
“I gotta go.”
“Where?” She asks, borderline jogging to keep up as I take off down the track.
“To talk to him.”
“Is this about that weird blonde guy?”
Not doing this with her right now. Seba is almost to the far end of the lot by the time I reach the gate.
I pick up the pace.
“Hey, slow down!”
Not a chance.
“I’ll meet you in the locker room later!”
“What the fuck, Drea!” Melissa whines, finally letting me go.
Panting, bag smacking my side, shoe lace unravelling and one of my pigtails loosening— I’m so fucking close.
He opens the door of his truck.
“Seba!”
Pauses.
I skid to a stop. My heart slams. My lungs scream.
He arches a brow. It’s swollen and cut, a trail of blood drying on his cheek.
“Shit, Grant got you good.” Oh hell, that’s not what I meant to say. “I mean, what happened earlier?” He should just run me over with his truck. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Are you ok?”
A soft chuckle. "Yeah, I’m alright.”
He leans on the open door of his truck, drumming his fingers as his gaze drops to his cleats. “I take it you saw that mess earlier.”
“Grant’s a dick.”
“If that ain’t the truth,” he mutters. Shakes his head. Sighs. “He was talking shit about Cade. And yeah, he’s a pain in the ass but…”
All of it slots into place.
“He’s your pain in the ass,” I finish for him.
Warm brown eyes snap to me— wide and panicked. Maybe I misunderstood him?
“I mean, he’s your brother, it's ok for you to have issues with him, but when other people do, it’s not cool.”
He breathes out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Exactly.”
“I get it. I’m the same with my sister. And Remy.
And pretty much everyone I care about. I have no problem defending them to the death even if they drive me insane,” I ramble.
Unfortunately, the uncontrollable word vomit isn’t done dribbling out.
“But what's worse is when it’s not a person hurting them. When it’s something I can’t protect them from. ”
Me and my big mouth. I’m about to slap a hand over it to shut myself up.
“It’s so much worse.”
My heart leaps into my throat. He’s looking at me with agony etched into every line of his face. The same agony I've seen reflected at me in every mirror and every window all summer. A jagged knife-wound I know all too well. It makes me do something reckless.
“If you ever need someone to talk to… when it gets too much, you can always text me.”
His lips curve into a shy smile. “I’d need your number.”
“Yeah, I guess you would,” I muse. He chuckles and hands me his phone.
His finger brushes mine— rough and warm and gone too soon.
That fleeting touch is all I can focus on, my skin tingling as I add myself to his contacts and send myself a message.
It takes entirely too long to get my thumbs to cooperate under the weight of his quiet attention, but eventually, I return the phone.
He studies the screen. “First vent sesh is free, huh?”
“Therapy is expensive,” I shrug.
Nodding, his brows knit. “So what’s it gonna cost me to just talk to you?”
“Hmm… a ride home from practice tomorrow might suffice.”
Laughing under his breath, he tucks the phone in his pocket. “You’ve got yourself a deal, sweetheart.”
“Me? Sweet? That’s a stretch,” I snort. “I’m more of an acquired taste.”
He slides behind the wheel, grinning. “You’re something, alright.”