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The Problem With Forever
Jennifer L. Armentrout


From #1 NY Times bestselling author Jennifer L. Armentrout comes a deeply powerful and emotional story about struggling to overcome your past and find where you belong.When Mallory was a kid, she was bounced from one horrible foster home to another. At thirteen, a terrible accident got her removed from the group home where she was living to a hospital where she met the parents who would adopt her. But when she starts a new school and encounters an old friend from the foster system sparks start to fly







From #1 New York Times bestselling author Jennifer L. Armentrout comes a riveting new story about friendship, survival and finding your voice

For some people, silence is a weapon. For Mallory “Mouse” Dodge, it’s a shield. Growing up, she learned that the best way to survive was to say nothing. And even though it’s been four years since her nightmare ended, she’s beginning to worry that the fear that holds her back will last a lifetime.

Now, after years of homeschooling with loving adoptive parents, Mallory must face a new milestone—spending her senior year at public high school. But of all the terrifying and exhilarating scenarios she’s imagined, there’s one she never dreamed of—that she’d run into Rider Stark, the friend and protector she hasn’t seen since childhood, on her very first day.

It doesn’t take long for Mallory to realize that the connection she shared with Rider never really faded. Yet the deeper their bond grows, the more it becomes apparent that she’s not the only one grappling with lingering scars from the past. And as she watches Rider’s life spiral out of control, Mallory must make a choice between staying silent and speaking out—for the people she loves, the life she wants and the truths that need to be heard.




The Problem with Forever

Jennifer L. Armentrout





www.miraink.co.uk (http://www.miraink.co.uk)


For everyone who is still finding their voice and to those who have found theirs.


Contents

Cover (#u50f0f227-be51-5ddd-bffc-f510a540b778)

Back Cover Text (#ucede8534-b02c-5b61-b63c-871f8ec8249a)

Title Page (#ud69a3c00-2ec1-57fa-b63e-e382080de4f4)

Dedication (#u447f6abd-b859-50cf-86f3-9917740a4726)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#ud65d43ad-343b-5da6-b0b1-0606b03bd957)

Dusty, empty shoe boxes, stacked taller and wider than her slim body, wobbled as she pressed her back against them, tucking her bony knees into her chest.

Breathe. Just breathe. Breathe.

Wedged in the back of the dingy closet, she didn’t dare make a sound as she sucked her lower lip between her teeth. Focusing on forcing every grimy breath into her lungs, she felt tears well in her eyes.

Oh, gosh, she’d made such a big mistake, and Miss Becky was right. She was a bad girl.

She’d reached for the dirty and stained cookie jar earlier, the one shaped like a teddy bear that hid cookies that tasted funny. She wasn’t supposed to get cookies or any food by herself, but she’d just been so hungry that her tummy hurt, and Miss Becky was sick again, napping on the couch. She hadn’t meant to knock the ashtray off the counter, shattering it into tiny pieces. Some were shaped like the icicles that clung to the roof during the winter. Others were no bigger than chips.

All she’d wanted was a cookie.

Her slender shoulders jerked at the sound of the wall cracking on the other side of the closet. She bit down harder on her lip. A metallic taste burst into her mouth. Tomorrow there would be a hole the size of Mr. Henry’s big hand in the plaster, and Miss Becky would cry and she’d get sick again.

The soft creak of the closet door was like a crack of thunder to her ears.

Oh no, no, no...

He wasn’t supposed to find her in here. This was her safe place whenever Mr. Henry was angry or when he—

She tensed, eyes peeling wide as a body taller and broader than hers slipped inside and then knelt in front of her. In the dark, she couldn’t make out much of his features, but she knew in her belly and her chest who it was.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped.

“I know.” A hand settled on her shoulder, the weight reassuring. He was the only person she felt okay with when he touched her. “I need you to stay in here, ’kay?”

Miss Becky had said once that he was only six months older than her six years, but he always seemed so much bigger, older than her, because in her eyes, he took up her entire world.

She nodded.

“Don’t come out,” he said, and then he pressed into her hands the redheaded doll she’d dropped in the kitchen after she broke the ashtray and rushed into the closet. Too frightened to retrieve her, she’d left Velvet where she had fallen, and she’d been so upset because the doll had been a gift from him many, many months before. She had no idea how he’d gotten Velvet, but one day he’d simply shown up with her, and she was hers, only hers.

“You stay in here. No matter what.”

Holding the doll close, clenched between her knees and chest, she nodded again.

He shifted, stiffening as an angry shout rattled the walls around them. It was her name that dripped ice down her spine; her name that was shouted so furiously.

A small whimper parted her lips and she whispered, “I just wanted a cookie.”

“It’s okay. Remember? I promised I’d keep you safe forever. Just don’t make a sound.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Just stay quiet, and when I...when I get back, I’ll read to you, ’kay? All about the stupid rabbit.”

All she could do was nod again, because there had been times when she hadn’t stayed quiet and she’d never forgotten the consequences. But if she stayed quiet, she knew what was coming. He wouldn’t be able to read to her tonight. Tomorrow he would miss school and he wouldn’t be okay even though he would tell her he was.

He lingered for a moment and then he eased out of the closet. The bedroom door shut with a smack, and she lifted the doll, pressing her tearstained face into it. A button on Velvet’s chest poked at her cheek.

Don’t make a sound.

Mr. Henry started to yell.

Don’t make a sound.

Footsteps punched down the hall.

Don’t make a sound.

Flesh smacked. Something hit the floor, and Miss Becky must have been feeling better, because she was suddenly shouting, but in the closet the only sound that mattered was the fleshy whack that came over and over. She opened her mouth, screaming silently into the doll.

Don’t make a sound.


Chapter 1 (#ud65d43ad-343b-5da6-b0b1-0606b03bd957)

A lot could change in four years.

Hard to believe it had been that long. Four years since I’d set foot in a public school. Four years since I’d spoken to anyone outside a very small, very close-knit group of people. Four years of preparing for this moment, and there was a good chance I was going to hurl the few bites of cereal I’d been able to force into my mouth all over the counter.

A lot could change in four years. The question was, had I?

The sound of a spoon clanking against a mug pulled me from my thoughts.

That was the third spoonful of sugar Carl Rivas had tried to inconspicuously dump into his coffee. When he thought no one was looking, he’d try to add two more. For a man in his early fifties, he was fit and trim, but he had one mean sugar addiction. In his study, the home office full of thick medical journals, there was a drawer in his desk that looked like a candy store had thrown up in it.

Hovering near the sugar bowl, he reached for the spoon again as he glanced over his shoulder. His hand froze.

I grinned a little from where I sat at the huge island, a full cereal bowl in front of me.

He sighed as he faced me, leaning back against the granite countertop and eyeing me over the rim of his mug as he took a sip of the coffee. His dark black hair, combed back from his forehead, had started to turn silver at the temples just recently, and with his deep olive-tone skin, I thought it made him look fairly distinguished. He was handsome, and so was his wife, Rosa. Well, handsome wasn’t the right word for her. With her dark skin and thick, wavy hair that had yet to see a strand of gray, she was very pretty. Stunning, really, especially in the proud way she carried herself.

Rosa had never been afraid to speak up for herself and others.

I placed my spoon in the bowl, carefully, so it wouldn’t clang against the ceramic. I didn’t like to make unnecessary noises. An old habit I’d been unable to break and that probably would be a part of me forever.

Glancing up from my bowl, I found Carl watching me. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Mallory?”

My heart skipped unsteadily in response to what felt like an innocent question, but was really the equivalent of a loaded assault rifle. I was ready in all the ways I should be. Like a dork, I’d printed off my schedule and the map of Lands High, and Carl had called ahead, obtaining my locker assignment, so I knew exactly where everything was. I’d studied that map. Seriously. As if my life depended on it. There’d be no need to ask anyone where any of my classes were and I wouldn’t have to roam around aimlessly. Rosa had even made the trip with me to the high school yesterday so I got familiar with the road and how long the drive would take me.

I’d expected Rosa to be here this morning since today was such a big deal, something we’d been working toward for the last year. Breakfasts had always been our time. But Carl and Rosa were both doctors. She was a heart surgeon, and an unplanned surgery had called her in before I’d even pulled myself out of bed. Kind of had to give her a pass for that.

“Mallory?”

I gave a curt nod as I pressed my lips together and dropped my hands to my lap.

Carl lowered his mug, placing it on the counter behind him. “You ready for this?” he asked again.

Little bundles of nerves formed in my stomach and I really wanted to puke. Part of me wasn’t. Today was going to be difficult, but I had to do it. Meeting Carl’s gaze, I nodded.

His chest rose with a deep breath. “You know the way to school?”

I nodded as I hopped up from the bar stool and grabbed my bowl. If I left now, I would be fifteen minutes early. Probably a good idea, I guessed as I dumped the leftover cereal in the trash and placed the bowl and spoon in the stainless-steel dishwasher.

Carl wasn’t a tall man, maybe around five foot eight, but I still only came up to his shoulders when he moved to stand in front of me. “Use your words, Mallory. I know you’re nervous and you’ve got a hundred things going on in your head, but you need to use your words. Not shake your head yes or no.”

Use your words.

I squeezed my eyes shut. The therapist I used to see, Dr. Taft, had said that phrase a million times over, as had the speech therapist that had worked with me three times a week for two years.

Use your words.

That mantra contradicted everything I’d been taught for nearly thirteen years, because words equaled noise, and noise was rewarded with fear and violence. Used to equal those things, but not anymore. I hadn’t spent nearly four years in intensive therapy only to not use my words, and Rosa and Carl hadn’t dedicated every moment of their free time to erasing a past full of nightmares only to watch their efforts fail.

Words weren’t the problem. They flew through my head like a flock of birds migrating south for the winter. Words were never the problem. I had them, always had them, but it was plucking the words out and putting a voice to them that had always been tricky.

I drew in a breath and then swallowed drily. “Yeah. Yes. I’m...ready.”

A small smile tipped up Carl’s lips as he scooped a long strand of hair back from my face. My hair was more brown than red until I stepped outside. Then I turned into a living, breathing crimson fire engine of auburn awkwardness. “You can do this. I completely believe in that. Rosa believes in that. You just have to believe in that, Mallory.”

My breath hitched in my throat. “Thank you.”

Two words.

They weren’t powerful enough, because how could they be when Carl and Rosa had saved my life? Literally and figuratively. When it came to them, I’d been at the right place at the right moment for all the wrong reasons in the universe. Our story was something straight out of an Oprah special or an ABC Family movie. Unreal. Saying thank you would never be enough after everything they had done for me.

And because of everything they had done for me, every opportunity they’d given me, I wanted to be as perfect for them as I could be. I owed that to them. And that was what today was all about.

I hurried to the island and grabbed my book bag and keys before I broke down and started crying like a kid who’d just discovered Santa wasn’t real.

As if he read my mind, Carl stopped me at the door. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Show us.”

I started to nod, but stopped myself. “Right,” I whispered.

He smiled then, crinkling the skin around his eyes. “Good luck.”

Opening the front door, I stepped out on the narrow stoop and into the warm air and bright sun of a late-August morning. My gaze drifted over the neatly landscaped front yard that matched the house across the street, and was identical to every house in the Pointe subdivision.

Every house.

Sometimes it still shocked me that I was living in a place like this—a big home with a yard and flowers artfully planted, with a car in the recently asphalted driveway that was mine. Some days it didn’t seem real. Like I’d wake up and find myself back...

I shook my head, pushing those thoughts away as I approached the decade-old Honda Civic. The car had belonged to Rosa and Carl’s real daughter, a high school graduation gift given to Marquette before she’d left for college to become a doctor, like them.

Real daughter.

Dr. Taft had always corrected me when I referred to Marquette that way, because he believed it somehow lessened what I was to Carl and Rosa. I hoped he was right, because some days I felt like the big home with the manicured yard.

Some days I didn’t feel real.

Marquette never made it to college. An aneurysm. There one minute and gone the next, and there had been nothing anyone could do. I imagined that was something Rosa and Carl had always struggled with. They saved so many lives, but couldn’t save the one that meant the most.

It was a little weird that the car belonged to me now, like I was somehow a replacement child. They never made me feel that way and I’d never say that out loud, but still, when I got behind the wheel I couldn’t help but think about Marquette.

I placed my bag on the passenger seat. My gaze crawled over the interior, landing on the reflection of my eyes in the rearview mirror. They were way too wide. I looked like a deer about to get slammed by a semi, if a deer had blue eyes, but whatever. The skin around my eyes was pale, my brows knitted. I looked scared.

Sigh.

That was not how I wanted to look on my first day of school.

I started to glance away, but the silver medallion dangling from the rearview mirror snagged my attention. It wasn’t much bigger than a quarter. A bearded man was engraved inside a raised oval. He was writing in a book with a feathered pen. Above him were the words SAINT LUKE and below was PRAY FOR US.

Saint Luke was the patron saint of physicians.

The necklace had belonged to Rosa. Her mother had given it to her when she entered med school, and Rosa had given it to me when I’d told her that I was ready to attend public school my senior year. I guessed she’d given it to Marquette at some point, but I hadn’t asked.

I think there was a part of both Rosa and Carl that hoped that I’d follow in their footsteps, much like Marquette had been planning to. But becoming a surgeon required assertiveness, confidence and a damn near fearless personality, which were three adjectives literally no one would ever use to describe me.

Carl and Rosa knew that, so they were pushing me more in the direction of research since, according to them, I’d displayed the same aptitude in science in my years of homeschooling as Marquette had. While I hadn’t protested their urging, spending forever studying microbes or cells sounded as interesting as spending forever repainting the walls in my room white. But I had no idea what I wanted other than to attend college, because until Rosa and Carl had come into my life, college had never, ever been a part of the equation.

The drive to Lands High took exactly eighteen minutes, just as I expected. The moment the three-story brick building came into view beyond the baseball and football fields, I tensed as if a speeding baseball was heading for my face and I’d forgotten my mitt.

My stomach twisted as my hands tightened on the steering wheel. The school was enormous and relatively new. Its website said it had been built in the nineties, and compared to other schools, it was still shiny.

Shiny and huge.

I passed the buses turning to do their drop-off in the roundabout and followed another car around the sprawling structure, to the mall-sized parking lot. Parking wasn’t hard, and I was a little early, so I used that fifteen minutes to do something akin to a daily affirmation, and just as cheesy and embarrassing.

I can do this. I will do this.

Over and over, I repeated those words as I climbed out of the Honda, slinging my new bag over my shoulder. My heart pounded, thumped so fast I thought I’d be sick as I looked around me, taking in the sea of bodies streaming toward the walkway leading to the back entrance of Lands High. Different features, colors, shapes and sizes greeted me. For a moment it was like my brain was a second away from short-circuiting. I held my breath. Eyes glanced over me, some lingering and some moving on as if they didn’t even notice me standing there, which was okay in a way, because I was used to being nothing more than a ghost.

My hand fluttered to the strap of my bag and, mouth dry, I forced my legs to move. I joined the wave of people, slipping in beside them. I focused on the blond ponytail of the girl in front of me. My gaze dipped. She was wearing a jean skirt and sandals. Bright orange, strappy, gladiator-style sandals. They were cute. I could tell her that. Strike up a conversation. The ponytail was also pretty amazing. It had the bump along the crown of her head, the kind I could never replicate even after watching a dozen YouTube tutorials on how to do it. Whenever I tried, I looked like I had an uneven growth on my head.

But I said nothing to her.

As I lifted my gaze, my eyes collided with a boy next to me. Sleep clung to his expression. He didn’t smile or frown or do anything other than turn his attention back to the cell phone he held in his hand. I wasn’t even sure if he saw me.

The morning air was warm, but the moment I stepped into the near-frigid school, I was grateful for the thin cardigan I’d carefully paired with my tank top and jeans.

From the entrance, everyone spread out in different directions. Smaller students who were roughly around my height, but were definitely much younger, speed-walked over the red-and-blue Viking painted on the floor, their book bags thumping off their backs as they dodged taller and broader bodies. Others walked like zombies, gaits slow and seemingly aimless. I was somewhere in the middle, moving at what appeared to be a normal pace, but was actually one I’d practiced.

And there were some who raced toward others, hugging them and laughing. I guessed they were friends who hadn’t seen each other over the summer break, or maybe they were just really excitable people. Either way, I stared at them as I walked. Seeing them reminded me of my friend Ainsley. Like me, she’d been homeschooled—still was—but if she wasn’t, I imagined we’d be like these kids right now, hopping toward one another, grinning and animated. Normal.

Ainsley was probably still in bed.

Not because she got to goof off all day, but because our mutual instructor did summer break a little differently. She was still on break, but once her year got going again, her homeschooling hours would be as strict and grueling as mine had been.

Shaking myself from my reverie, I took the stairwell at the end of the wide hall, near the entrance to the cafeteria. Even being close to the lunchroom had my pulse spiking, causing my stomach to twist with nausea.

Lunch.

Oh, God, what was I going to do about lunch? I didn’t know anyone, not a single person, and I would—

I cut myself off, unable to really think about that right now. If I did, there was a good chance I might turn around and run back to the safety of my car.

My locker was on the second floor, middle of the hall, number two-three-four. I found it with no problem, and bonus, it opened on the first try. Twisting at the waist, I pulled out a binder I was using for my afternoon classes and dropped it on the top shelf, knowing that I was going to be collecting massive textbooks today.

The locker beside mine slammed shut, causing me to jump and tense. My chin jerked up. A tall girl with dark skin and tiny braids all over her head flashed a quick smile in my direction. “Hey.”

My tongue tied right up and I couldn’t get that one, stupid little word out before the girl with the short hair spun and walked off.

Fail.

Feeling about ten kinds of stupid, I rolled my eyes and closed my locker door. Turning around, my gaze landed on the back of a guy heading in the opposite direction. My muscles tensed again as I stared at him.

I didn’t even know why or how I ended up looking at him. Maybe it was because he was a good head taller than anyone around him. Like a total creeper, I couldn’t pull my eyes away. He had wavy hair, somewhere between brown and black, and it was cut short against the nape of his bronzed neck, but was longer on the top. I wondered if it flopped on his forehead, and there was an unsteady tug at my chest as I remembered a boy I used to know years ago, whose hair always did that—fell forward no matter how many times he pushed it out of his face. A boy it kind of hurt my chest to think about.

His shoulders were broad under a black T-shirt, biceps defined in a way that made me think of someone who either played sports or did a lot of manual labor. His jeans were faded, but not in the expensive way. I knew the difference between name-brand jeans that were designed to look well-worn and jeans that were simply old and on their last wear. He carried a single notebook in his hand, and even from where I stood, the notebook looked about as old as his pants did.

Something weird moved through me, a feeling of familiarity, and as I stood in front of my locker, I found myself thinking of the one bright thing in a past full of shadows and darkness.

I thought about the boy who made my chest hurt, the one who’d promised forever.

It had been four years since I’d seen him or even heard him speak. Four years of trying to erase everything that had to do with that portion of my childhood, but I remembered him. I wondered about him.

How could I not? I always would.

He had been the sole reason I survived the house we’d grown up in.


Chapter 2 (#ud65d43ad-343b-5da6-b0b1-0606b03bd957)

One thing I quickly learned after my first period was that the row of seats in the back of the classroom was prime real estate. Close enough to see the chalkboard, but far enough away that there was a good chance the teacher wouldn’t call on you.

I got to each of my AP classes before anyone else and snagged a desk in the back, blending in before I was even seen. No one talked to me. Not until just before lunch, at the start of English, when a dark brown–skinned girl with sloe-colored eyes sat in the empty seat next to me.

“Hi,” she said, smacking a thick notebook on the flat surface attached to the chair. “I hear Mr. Newberry is a real jerk. Take a look at the pictures.”

My gaze flickered to the front of the classroom. Our teacher hadn’t arrived yet, but the chalkboard was lined with photos of famous authors. Shakespeare, Voltaire, Hemingway, Emerson and Thoreau were a few I recognized, though I probably wouldn’t recognize them if I didn’t have endless time on my hands.

“All dudes, right?” she continued, and when I looked back at her, the tight black curls bounced as she shook her head. “My sister had him two years ago. She warned me that he basically thinks you need a dick to produce anything of literary value.”

My eyes went wide.

“So I’m thinking this class should be a lot of fun.” She grinned, flashing straight white teeth. “By the way, I’m Keira Hart. I don’t remember you from last year. Not that I know everyone, but I think I would’ve at least seen you around.”

Sweat covered my palms as she continued to stare at me. The question she was throwing out was simple. The answer was easy. My throat dried and I could feel heat creeping up my neck as the seconds ticked by.

Use your words.

My toes curled against the soft leather soles of my flip-flops and my throat felt scratchy as I forced the words out. “I’m... I’m new.”

There! I did it. I spoke.

Take that, everyone! Words were totally my bitch.

All right, perhaps I was exaggerating my accomplishment since I technically only spoke two words and repeated one. But I was not going to rain on my own wow, because talking to new people was hard for me. Like as hard as it would be for someone to walk naked into the class.

Keira didn’t seem to notice my internal dumbassery. “That’s what I thought.” And then she waited, and for a moment I didn’t get why she was looking at me so expectantly. Then I did.

My name. She was waiting for my name. Air hissed in between my teeth. “I’m Mallory...Mallory Dodge.”

“Cool.” She nodded as she rocked her curvy shoulders against the back of the chair. “Oh. Here he comes.”

We didn’t talk again, but I was feeling pretty good about the sum total of seven words spoken, and I was totally going to count the repeat ones. Rosa and Carl would.

Mr. Newberry spoke with an air of pretentiousness that even a newbie like me could pick up on, but it didn’t bother me. I was floating on a major accomplishment high.

Then came lunch.

Walking into the large, loud room was like having an out-of-body experience. My brain was screaming at me to find a quieter, easier—safer—place to go, but I forced myself forward, one foot in front of the other.

Nerves had twisted my stomach into knots as I made it through the lunch line. All I grabbed was a banana and a bottle of water. There were so many people around me and so much noise—laughter, shouting and a constant low hum of conversation. I was completely out of my element. Everyone was at the long square tables, huddled in groups. No one was really sitting alone from what I could see, and I knew no one. I would be the only person sitting by myself.

Horrified by the realization, I felt my fingers spasm around the banana I clenched. The smell of disinfectant and burnt food overwhelmed me. Pressure clamped down on my chest, tightening my throat. I sucked in air, but it didn’t seem to inflate my lungs. A series of shivers danced along the base of my skull.

I couldn’t do this.

There was too much noise and too many people in what now felt like a small, confined area. It was never this loud at home. Never. My gaze darted all over, not really seeing any detail. My hand shook so badly I was afraid I’d drop the banana. Instinct kicked in, and my feet started moving.

I hurried out into the somewhat quieter hall and kept going, passing a few kids lingering against the lockers and the faint scent of cigarettes that surrounded them. I dragged in deep, calming breaths that really didn’t calm me. Getting farther away from the cafeteria was what calmed me, not the stupid breaths. I rounded the corner and jerked to a stop, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a boy not much taller than me.

He stumbled to the side, bloodshot eyes widening in surprise. A scent clung to him that at first I thought was smoke, but when I inhaled, it was something richer, earthy and thick.

“Sorry, chula,” he murmured, and his eyes did a slow glide from the tips of my toes right back up to mine. He started to grin.

At the end of the hall, a taller boy picked up his pace. “Jayden, where in the fuck you running off to, bro? We need to talk.”

The guy I assumed was Jayden turned, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped dark hair as he muttered, “Mierda, hombre.”

A door opened and a teacher stepped out, frowning as his gaze bounced between the two. “Already, Mr. Luna? Is this how we’re going to start this year off?”

I figured it was time to get out of the hallway, because nothing about the taller boy’s face said he was happy or friendly, and the deep scowl settling over the teacher’s face when Jayden kept walking made him look like he wanted to cut someone. I hurried around Jayden and kept my chin down, not making eye contact with anyone.

I ended up in the library, playing Candy Crush on my cell phone until the bell rang, and I spent my next class—history—furious with myself, because I hadn’t even tried. That was the truth. Instead I’d hidden in the library like a dork, playing a stupid game that only the devil could’ve created, because I seriously sucked at it.

Doubt settled over me like a too-heavy, coarse blanket. I’d come so far in the last four years. I was nothing like the girl I used to be. Yeah, I still had some hang-ups, but I was stronger than the shell of a person I’d once been, wasn’t I?

Rosa would be so disappointed.

My skin grew itchy by the time I headed to my final class, my heart rate probably somewhere near stroke territory, because my last period was the worst period ever in the history of ever.

Speech class.

Otherwise known as Communications. When I’d registered for school last spring, I’d been feeling all kinds of brave while Carl and Rosa stared at me like I was half-crazy. They said they could get me out of the class, even though it was a requirement at Lands High, but I’d had something to prove.

I didn’t want them stepping in. I wanted—no, I needed to do this.

Ugh.

Now I wished I had employed some common sense and let them do whatever it was that would’ve gotten me excused, because this was a nightmare waiting to happen. When I saw the open door to the class on the third floor, it gaped at me, the room ultra-bright inside.

My steps faltered. A girl stepped around me, lips pursing when she checked me out. I wanted to spin and flee. Get in the Honda. Go home. Be safe.

Stay the same.

No.

Tightening my fingers around the strap of my bag, I forced myself forward, and it was like walking through knee-deep mud. Each step felt sluggish. Each breath I took wheezed in my lungs. Overhead lights buzzed and my ears were hypersensitive to the conversation around me, but I did it.

My feet made it to the back row and my fingers were numb, knuckles white, as I dropped my bag on the floor beside my desk and slid into my seat. Busying myself with pulling out my notebook, I then gripped the edge of my desk.

I was in speech class. I was here.

I’d done it.

I was going to throw myself a freaking party when I got home. Like an eat-fudge-icing-straight-out-of-the-freaking-can kind of party. Hardcore.

Knuckles starting to ache, I loosened my death grip as I glanced at the door, sliding my damp hands across the top of the desk. The first thing I saw was the broad chest draped in black, then the well-formed biceps. And there was that tired notebook that looked seconds from falling apart, tapping against a worn-denim-clad thigh.

It was the boy from this morning, from the hallway.

More than curious to see what he looked like from the front, I raised my lashes, but he had turned toward the door. The girl from the hallway, the one who stepped around me, was walking through it. Now that I was sitting and sort of breathing, it was my turn to check her out. She was pretty. Very pretty, like Ainsley. This girl had pin-straight, caramel-colored hair that was as long as mine, past her breasts. She was tall and the tank top she wore showed off a flat stomach. Her dark brown gaze wasn’t focused on me this time. It was on the guy in front of her.

The expression on her face said he gave great full frontal, and when he laughed, her pink lips split into a wide smile. Her smile transformed her from pretty to beautiful, but my attention swung away from her as tiny hairs rose all over my body. That laugh... It was deep, rich and somehow familiar. A shiver crept over my shoulders. That laugh...

He was walking backward, and I was rather amazed that he didn’t trip over anything, actually somewhat envious of that fact. And then I realized he was heading toward the last half circle. Toward me. I glanced around. There were only a few seats open, two on my left. The girl was following him. Not just following him. Touching him.

Touching him like she’d done it a lot.

Her slim arm was extended, her hand planted in the center of his stomach, just below his chest. She bit down on her lower lip as her hand drifted farther south. Golden bangles dangling from her wrist got awful close to the worn leather belt. My cheeks heated as the boy stepped out of her reach. There was something playful about his movements, as if this dance was a daily routine for them both.

He turned at the end of the desks, stepping behind the occupied chair, and my gaze tracked up narrow hips, over the stomach the girl had touched, up and up, and then I saw his face.

I stopped breathing.

My brain couldn’t perceive what I was seeing. It did not compute. I stared up at him, really saw him, saw a face that was familiar yet new to me, more mature than I remembered but still achingly beautiful. I knew him. Oh my God, I would know him anywhere, even if it had been four years and the last time I’d seen him, that last night that had been so horrible, had changed my life forever.

It was too surreal.

Now the reason why he’d popped in my head this morning made sense, because I’d seen him, but hadn’t realized it was him.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t get enough air into my lungs and couldn’t believe this was happening. My hands slipped off the desk, falling limply into my lap as he dipped into the seat next to me. His gaze was on the girl who took the seat next to him, and his profile, the strong jaw that had only been hinted at the last time I’d seen him, tilted as his eyes moved over the front of the room, across the wall-length chalkboard. He looked like he had back then, but bigger and with everything more...more defined. From the eyebrows darker than the mix of brown and black hair and thick lashes to the broad cheekbones and the slight scruff covering the curve of his jaw.

Goodness, he’d grown up in the way I’d thought he would when I was twelve and started to really look at him, to see him as a boy.

I couldn’t believe he was here. My heart was trying to claw itself out of my chest as lips—lips fuller than I remembered—tilted up, and a knot formed in my belly as the dimple formed in his right cheek. The only dimple he had. No matching set. Just one. My mind raced back through the years, and I could only think of a handful of times I’d seen him relaxed. Leaning back in the chair that seemed too small for him, he slowly turned his head toward me. Eyes that were brown with tiny flecks of gold met mine.

Eyes I’d never forgotten.

The easy, almost lazy smile I’d never seen on his face before froze. His lips parted and a paleness seeped under his tawny skin. Those eyes widened, the gold flecks seeming to expand. He recognized me; I had changed a lot since then, but still, recognition dawned in his features. He was moving again, leaning forward on his seat toward me. Four words roared out of the past and echoed in my head.

Don’t make a sound.

“Mouse?” he breathed.


Chapter 3 (#ud65d43ad-343b-5da6-b0b1-0606b03bd957)

Mouse.

No one but him called me that, and I hadn’t heard that nickname in so long, I never really thought I’d hear it again.

And I never in a million years dared to hope that I’d see him again. But here he was, and I couldn’t stop staring. None of the thirteen-year-old boy he’d been remained in the guy in front of me, but it was him. It was those warm brown eyes with golden flecks and the same sunbaked skin, a trait from his father who’d possibly been half white, half Hispanic. He didn’t know where his mother or any of her family had come from. One of our...our caseworkers had thought that his mother might have been a mix of white and South American, maybe Brazilian, but he would most likely never know.

Suddenly I saw him—the him from before, from when we were little and he’d been the only stable thing in a world of chaos. At age nine—bigger than me, but still so small—he’d stood between Mr. Henry and me in the kitchen, like he’d done too many times before, as I’d clutched the redheaded doll—Velvet—he’d just retrieved for me. I’d held her close, trembling, and he’d puffed out his chest, legs spreading wide. “Leave her alone,” he’d growled, hands curling into fists. “You’d better stay away from her.”

I pulled myself out of the memory, but there were so many of him coming to my rescue for some reason or another until he couldn’t, until the promise of forever had been shattered, and everything...everything had fallen apart.

His chest rose deeply, and when he spoke, his voice was low and rough. “Is that really you, Mouse?”

Vaguely aware of the girl on his other side watching us, I saw her eyes go as wide as mine felt. My tongue was useless, which for once was strange, because he...he had been the one person I’d never had any problem talking to, but that had been a different world, a different lifetime.

That had been forever ago.

“Mallory?” he whispered. Turned completely toward me, I thought for a second he might climb out of his chair. And that would so be him, because he wasn’t scared of doing anything. Never had been. As close as we were, I saw the faint scar above his right eyebrow, a shade or two lighter than his skin. I remembered how he’d gotten it and my chest ached anew, because that scar symbolized a stale cookie and a shattered ashtray.

A guy in front of us had twisted around on his stool. “Yo.” He snapped his fingers when he didn’t get a response. “Hey, man? Hello?”

He ignored the guy, still staring at me like a ghost had appeared right in front of him.

“Whatever,” the kid muttered, twisting toward the girl, but she, too, ignored him. She was focused on us. The tardy bell rang, and I knew the teacher had entered, because the conversation in the room was quieting.

“Do you recognize me?” His voice was still barely above a whisper.

His eyes continued to hold mine, and I spoke what turned out to be the easiest word I’d ever said in my life. “Yes.”

He rocked back in his chair, straightening as his shoulders tensed. His eyes closed. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, rubbing his palm against his sternum.

I jumped in my seat as the teacher smacked his hand on the stack of texts piled on the corner desk, forcing my gaze forward. My heart was still acting as if an out-of-control jackhammer had gone off in my chest.

“All right, all of you should know who I am since you’re in my class, but just in case some of you are lost, I’m Mr. Santos.” He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “And this is speech class. If you’re not supposed to be here, you probably should be somewhere else.”

Mr. Santos continued to speak, but the blood rushing through me drowned out his words, and my thoughts were too caught up in the fact that he was sitting next to me. He was here; after all these years, he was right beside me like he’d been since we were three years old, but he hadn’t seemed happy about seeing me. I didn’t even know what to think. A mixture of hope and desperation swirled inside me, mixing with bitter and sweet memories I’d both clung to and longed to forget.

He was... I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed against the lump lodged in my throat.

Textbooks were handed out, followed by a syllabus. Both sat on my desk untouched. Mr. Santos went over the type of speeches we’d be writing and delivering throughout the year, everything from an informative speech to one that would be based on interviewing a fellow classmate. While I’d been seconds away from full freak-out mode when I’d walked into the class, the prospect of having to give multiple speeches in front of thirty people was now the furthest thing from my thoughts.

I stared straight ahead, realizing that Keira was also in this class, sitting in front of the guy who’d tried to get his attention at the beginning. I wasn’t sure she’d noticed me when I entered the class. Then again, maybe she did and didn’t care. Why would she have? Just because she spoke to me in one class didn’t mean she was lining up to be my BFF.

My lunch fail seemed like it happened years ago. Each breath I took I was aware of. Unable to stop myself, I tucked my hair back as I glanced to my left.

My gaze collided with his, and I sucked in an unsteady breath. When we were younger, I could always read his expression. But now? His face was completely impassive. Was he happy? Angry? Sad? Or as confused as me? I didn’t know, but he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was staring.

Heat infused my cheeks as I averted my gaze, and somehow I ended up looking at the girl beside him. She was staring straight ahead, lips pressed in a thin, firm line. My gaze dropped to where her hands were balled into fists, resting on top of the desk. I looked away again.

Maybe five minutes passed before I caved and peeked at him again. He wasn’t looking in my direction, but his jaw was working, causing a muscle to thrum in his cheek. All I could do was gawk at him like a total idiot, incapable of much more.

When he was younger, anyone could tell he’d grow into someone with heart-stopping looks. He had the framework for it—big eyes, expressive lips, and defined bone structure. Sometimes that had been a...a really bad thing for him. He had received all kinds of attention. It seemed like Mr. Henry had wanted to break him like he was fine china. Then there were the men that roamed in and out of the house. Some of them had... They had been too interested in him.

Mouth dry, I shut those thoughts off. I shouldn’t be so shocked by how attractive he’d turned out, but as Ainsley would say, he was stupid-hot.

While Mr. Santos was passing out index cards for some reason I’d missed, the guy in front of us turned around again, his sea-moss-colored gaze direct. “You good for after school?”

I couldn’t help it. My gaze flickered to him. Lips taut and arms folded across his chest, he nodded curtly.

The guy raised dark brows before he glanced in Mr. Santos’s direction. “We need to talk to Jayden.”

Jayden? I thought about the boy I’d almost plowed over in the hall.

The girl looked over, head cocked to the side.

“Got it, Hector,” he replied, voice clipped, and I was struck by how deep his voice was now. A moment passed as his chin tilted toward me.

Flushing, I looked away, but not before I caught Hector’s curious green gaze flicker to me. The rest of the class was an exercise in stealing glances at him, as if I needed to see him to remind myself that he was seriously sitting there. I wasn’t really good at being furtive, because I was pretty sure the girl on the other side of him, the girl that had been touching him quite familiarly on the way into the class, caught me about half a dozen times.

As the minutes ticked by, my stomach began to churn around the ever-increasing knots that were forming. Anxiety circled like a viper waiting to attack with its crippling venom.

Pressure closed my throat, a steel vise squeezing until it eked every last breath out of me. An icy burn crawled up the back of my neck and then splashed across the base of my skull. My next breath hitched, and I felt it—the flash-flood feeling of losing all control.

Breathe.

I needed to breathe.

Curling my fingers into my palms, I forced my chest to rise and fall evenly and willed my heart to slow down. When I had been in therapy, Dr. Taft had drilled into me the fact that I wasn’t losing control of my body when this happened. It was basically all in my head, sometimes triggered by a certain loud sound or a scent that would throw me back in time. Sometimes, I wasn’t even sure what was triggering it.

Today I knew.

The trigger was sitting right beside me. This panic was real, because he was real, and the past he symbolized wasn’t a product of my brain.

What would I say to him when the bell rang and school was over? Four years had gone by since that night. Would he even want to talk to me? Or what if he didn’t want to talk to me?

Oh, God.

What if my being back here wasn’t something he’d hoped for or even thought about? He had... He had taken a lot of crap for me, because of me. While there were good moments over the course of our ten years together, there had been a lot of bad. A lot.

And it would... Yeah, it would suck if he got up and walked out of class without saying another word, but that would be better in a way. At least now I knew he was alive and appeared to be physically unscathed, and he seemed to be familiar with the girl on his other side. Maybe she was his girlfriend. That meant he was happy, right? Happy and whole. Knowing he was okay meant I could officially close that chapter of my life.

Except I’d thought I’d already closed the chapter. Now it was reopened, flipping all the way to the beginning.

When the bell rang, protection mode kicked in, like it had oh so many times in the past. I wasn’t even aware of what I was doing. An old instinct reared its head like a sleeping dragon, an instinct that I’d spent four years beating into submission, but had already caved to once today.

Standing, I scooped up my book and grabbed my bag off the floor. My heart slammed against my ribs as I darted around our seats, and I didn’t look back, didn’t give him a chance to walk away first. My sandals smacked off the floor as I hurried down the hall, easing past slower-walking students as I shoved the textbook into my bag. I probably looked like an idiot. Well, I felt like an idiot.

I burst outside and into the hot sun. Chin down, I followed the path to the parking lot, hands trembling as I opened and closed them, because it felt like the blood had stopped at my wrists. The tips of my fingers tingled.

The silver Honda gleamed up ahead, and I drew in a ragged breath. I would go home and I would—

“Mallory.”

My pulse spiked at the sound of my name, and my steps faltered. I was feet from my car, from escape, but I turned around slowly.

He stood beside a red truck that hadn’t been there when I parked this morning and that I hadn’t even noticed on my mad dash to my car. In the sunlight his hair was more brown than black, and his skin deeper, his features sharper. There were so many questions I suddenly wished I could ask. What had he been doing for four years? Did someone finally adopt him? Or was he moving from one foster home to the next?

Most important, was he safe now?

Not all group homes were bad. Not all foster parents were horrible. Look at Carl and Rosa. They put the awe in awesome. They’d adopted me, but before them, this boy standing before me and I had not been lucky. We’d been fostered by the worst kind of people who somehow managed to pass inspection. Caseworkers were underfunded and understaffed, and most did the best they could, but there were a lot of cracks to slip through, and we’d fallen right through one in the worst way.

Most foster kids didn’t stay in the system or one house longer than two years. Most kids were reunited with parents or adopted. No one besides Mr. Henry and Miss Becky had wanted us, and I still couldn’t figure out why they wanted us and yet treated us so badly. Our caseworkers came and went with the frequency of the seasons. Teachers in school had to have seen what we’d been going through at home but none risked their jobs to step in. The bitterness of being overlooked and stepped on for so long in an overburdened and broken-down system still clung to me like a second skin that I wondered if I’d ever shed.

But there was good and bad in everything. Had he finally found some good?

“Really?” he said, his fingers tightening around the old notebook he held. “After everything, after four years of not knowing what the hell happened to you, you just show up in fucking speech class and then run away? From me?”

I inhaled sharply as I lowered my arms. My bag slipped off my shoulder, hitting the hot asphalt. Shock flowed through me, but in the back of my mind, I wasn’t surprised that he’d caught up to me. He never ran. He never hid from anything. That had always been me. We had been yin and yang. My cowardice to his bravery. His strength to my weakness.

But that wasn’t me anymore.

I wasn’t Mouse.

I wasn’t a coward.

I wasn’t weak.

He took a step forward and then stopped, shaking his head as his chest rose and fell unsteadily. “Say something.”

I struggled to get the word out. “What?”

“My name.”

I wasn’t sure why he wanted me to say that, and I didn’t know how it would feel to say it again after all this time, but I drew in a deep breath. “Rider.” Another breath shuddered through me. “Rider Stark.”

His throat worked and, for a heartbeat, neither of us moved as a steamy breeze tossed strands of hair across my face. Then he dropped his notebook to the pavement. I was surprised it didn’t burst into dust. His long-legged pace ate up the distance. One second there was several feet between us, and in the next breath he was right there in front of me. He was so much taller now. I barely reached his shoulders.

And then his arms were around me.

My heart exploded as those strong arms pulled me against his chest. There was a moment where I froze, and then my arms swept around his neck. I held on, squeezing my eyes shut as I inhaled the clean scent and the lingering trace of aftershave. This was him. His hugs were different now, stronger and tighter. He lifted me clear off my feet, one arm around my waist, the other hand buried deep in my hair, and my breasts were mushed against his surprisingly hard chest.

Whoa.

His hugs were most definitely different than they were when we were twelve.

“Jesus, Mouse, you don’t even know...” His voice was gruff and thick as he set me back on my feet, but he didn’t let go. One arm stayed around my waist. His other hand fisted the ends of my hair. His chin grazed the top of my head as I slid my hands down his chest. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

I rested my forehead between my hands, feeling his heart beat fast. I could hear people around us, and I imagined some were probably staring, but I didn’t care. Rider was warm and solid. Real. Alive.

“Hell, I wasn’t even planning to come to school today. If I hadn’t...” His hand unclenched from my hair, and I felt him draw a strand out. “Look at your hair. You’re no longer a carrot top.”

A choked laugh escaped me. When I was younger, my hair had been an orangey-red mess full of ratty knots and unruly waves, and thank God, the tone had calmed down somewhat. A visit to a hair salon had helped. The knots and waves were still up for debate whenever it was humid.

Rider drew back just enough that when I blinked my eyes open, I found him studying me. “Look at you,” he murmured. “You’re all grown-up.” His hand left my hair, and a fine shiver danced along my spine as his thumb swept across my lower lip. The touch startled me. “And you’re still as quiet as a mouse.”

My spine stiffened. Mouse. “I’m not...” Anything I was about to say died a fiery death, because his thumb had tracked its way across my cheekbone, the pad of his finger callused and rough, but the caress tender.

My gaze tracked up to eyes I’d never thought I’d see again, but he was really here. Oh my God, Rider was here, and so many thoughts bounced around. I could only grab hold of a few of them, but memories surfaced like the sun cresting a mountain.

One night I’d woken up, frightened by the booming voices coming from the dark downstairs. I’d snuck into the room next to mine, which had been Rider’s, and he’d let me crawl in bed with him. He’d read to me then, from a book that I’d loved, a book that Rider called “the stupid rabbit story.” It always made me cry, but he read to me to distract me from the shouts filling up the small, broken-down row home. I’d been five, and from that moment on, he’d become my entire world.

Rider suddenly stepped back and grabbed my right arm. As he lifted it, he turned it over and pushed the sleeve of the thin cardigan up. His brows knitted as he frowned. “I don’t understand.”

My gaze followed his, to where his hand circled my wrist. The skin near the inside of my elbow was a deeper pink, as was the skin on the inside of my arms and both my palms, but it was barely noticeable.

“They said you were burned badly.” Lifting his gaze, he searched my face. “I saw them taking you out on the stretcher, Mouse. I remember that as if it happened yesterday.”

“I... Carl...” I shook my head as his frown deepened, realizing he had no idea who Carl was. I focused, took a few moments and then tried again. “The doctors at Johns Hopkins. They...did skin grafts.”

“Skin grafts?”

I nodded. “I had...the best doctors. There’re...barely any scars.” Well, my backside, where they had grafted the skin, was also a different pink, but I doubted anyone would be seeing that anytime soon.

His thumb smoothed over the inside of my wrist in a slow swipe, sending a bolt of sensation up my arm. He didn’t say anything for a long moment as his gaze held mine. The golden flecks in his eyes were brighter now, making them more hazel than brown. “They said I couldn’t see you. I asked. I even went to the county hospital.”

My heart dropped. “You did?”

Rider nodded as the tension eased around his mouth. “You weren’t there. Or at least they didn’t tell me. One of the nurses called the police. I ended up...” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You ended up...what?” I asked, because it did matter. Everything that had happened to Rider mattered, even when it had felt like the world couldn’t have cared less.

His thick lashes swept down for a moment. “The police and CPS thought I’d run away, which was dumb as shit. Why would I have run away to a hospital?”

Probably because Child Protective Services had a file on us the width of the Honda. And also probably because Rider and I had run away before. More than once. I’d been eight and he’d just turned nine when we’d decided that we would do better on our own.

We’d made it to the McDonald’s two blocks down the street before Mr. Henry found us.

Then there were the other times, too many to count.

Rider laughed then, and there was a tug in my chest, because when I looked up at him, there wasn’t a smile on his striking face. “That night...” He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Mouse.”

Flinching, I stepped back, but he kept ahold of my arm.

“I would’ve stopped him, but I didn’t.” His eyes were darker. “I shouldn’t have tried—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered, sickened by what he was saying. I stared up at him. He seriously believed what had happened was because of him?

His head tilted to the side. “Yeah, I made you a promise. I didn’t keep that promise, not when it counted.”

“No,” I stated, and when he started to reply, I pulled my arm free. Surprise scuttled across his face. “That...wasn’t a promise you should’ve ever had to make. Not to anyone.” He’d promised to be there for me forever, and he’d done everything possible not to break his word. There were things that couldn’t be controlled, especially by a kid.

His brows flew up and then his lips did a slow curl. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me no before.”

I opened my mouth to point out that I’d never had a reason to, but the thump of music intruded. It was a weird wake-up call, reminding us that we weren’t in our own little bubble. There was a world around us. As the music drew closer, the low bass rattling the windows of the truck beside us, Rider’s gaze flicked behind me. Then he stepped closer, so close that his worn sneakers brushed my sandals.

He dipped his chin as he reached around, pulling a cell phone out of his back pocket. “What’s your number, Mouse?”

It was obvious that he was leaving, and I didn’t want him to. I had so many questions, a million of them, but I gave him my number as I smoothed my damp palms down my jeans.

“Yo, Rider, you ready?” came the voice from the thumping car. I recognized it from speech class. Hector. “We’ve got to roll.”

Rider looked past me again and he sighed. Stepping back, he picked up his notebook and then grabbed my bag off the pavement. Moving forward, he draped it over my shoulder, his fingers agile as he scooped the strands of my hair out from under the strap.

A half grin appeared as his gaze moved over my face. “Mouse.”

“Someone is gonna kick your ass,” Hector called, and my heart jumped in my chest. But I relaxed when I realized his tone was light. He was teasing him.

Rider dropped his hand and stepped around me. As though he had some kind of gravitational pull, I turned. The car was idling behind mine, an older Ford Escort with blue racing stripes. Hector was in the driver’s seat, grinning widely with one arm out the window, dark hand tapping along the side of the door.

“Hey, mami,” Hector called out, his grin spreading as he bit down on his lower lip. “Que cuerpo tan brutal.”

I had no idea what he’d just said, but it seemed to be directed at me.

“Shut up,” Rider replied, planting his large hand in Hector’s face and shoving him back into the driver’s side of the car. “No la mires.”

I still had no idea what any of that meant, but there was something about the words he and Hector spoke that didn’t sound like the typical Spanish I heard from Rosa and Carl at home. Then again, it could’ve been Spanish and I wouldn’t know, since they had given up trying to teach me the language a long time ago.

A rumble of deep male laughter rose from inside the car, with Hector kicking his head back against the seat. A second later I saw a younger face I recognized.

Jayden.

He was leaning from the passenger seat, across Hector. “Hey,” he yelled. “I think I know you.”

“You don’t know her,” Rider replied as he yanked open the back door. Twisting into the seat, he looked at me one last time. Our gazes locked for a brief moment and then the door closed, tinted windows shielding him.

The Escort peeled off.

I stood there, vaguely aware of someone climbing into the truck parked beside my car. In a daze, I climbed in behind the wheel and placed my bag in the passenger seat.

“Holy crap,” I whispered as I stared out the windshield. “Holy crap.”


Chapter 4 (#ud65d43ad-343b-5da6-b0b1-0606b03bd957)

I couldn’t recall exactly how I made it home, which was probably not a good thing. The drive had been spent in a daze. By the time I walked into the house, seeing Rider no longer felt real. As if I’d dreamed him up.

I drew in a deep, calming breath.

Four years. Four years of peeling back the frayed and damaged layers. Four years of undoing ten years of crap, of doing what I could to forget everything. Everything except for Rider, because he’d deserved not to be forgotten. But he was the past—the good part of my past, but still a past I didn’t want to remember.

I barreled through the house, skidding into the kitchen. Rosa was there, wearing pale blue scrubs decorated with kitten paws and her hair pulled up in a ponytail. She had made it a point to be home early today. She raised her brows as she turned to me.

“Whoa, speed racer, where are you heading to?” she asked, setting her bowl on the counter. From where I stood, I could smell the Italian dressing.

So many words bubbled up in me, and the urge to tell her about Rider hit me hard, because I needed to make it feel real again, but my throat sealed off. If I told her about Rider, there was a ninety-nine-percent chance she would flip out.

Because Rosa had been there when every frayed and damaged layer had been peeled off me. Even though Dr. Taft had been Team Accept Your Past and they typically agreed with everything Dr. Taft said, she and Carl were Team The Past Is Your Past. They firmly believed that all facets of said past should stay where they belonged. And Rider was definitely the past.

So all I did was shrug as I veered over to the fridge, grabbing a Coke.

“How was your first day?” she asked, even as she frowned at my choice of beverage.

Turning to her, I smiled, even though it felt like there were tiny snakes wiggling around in my stomach. They’d been there since I’d gotten in the car.

Rosa tilted her head to the side and waited.

I sighed as I rolled the can between my hands. “It was okay.”

Her lips curved into a smile, and tiny lines formed around her eyes. “That’s good. Terrific, actually. So, no problems?”

I shook my head.

“Meet anyone?”

Seconds away from shaking my head again, I caught myself. “I... There is a girl in my English class.”

Astonishment flickered over her face. “Did you talk to her?”

That got a shrug from me. “Kind of.”

She looked like I’d sprouted a third arm and was currently waving it at her. “What does kind of mean, Mallory?”

I opened my Coke. “She’s in my class and she introduced herself to me. I said like maybe...seven words to her.”

The look of surprise gave way to a broad smile, and I stood a little straighter, momentarily forgetting about Rider’s unexpected appearance. The smile on her face was full of pride and I basked in the warmth of it.

Show us. That was what Carl had said this morning, and that smile told me I was showing them. Rosa knew, firsthand, how far I’d come and how big a deal it was for me to be comfortable enough to talk to a stranger, even if it was only seven words.

“That is so good.” Walking to me, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed tight. I inhaled deeply, welcoming the weird scent of antibacterial soap and the faint trace of apples from the lotion she used. She brushed her lips over my forehead and then pulled back, clasping my arms. “What did I tell you?”

“That...that it wouldn’t be hard,” I said.

“And why?”

I fiddled with the tab on my soda. “Because I’ve already...done the hard work.”

She winked. “That’s my girl.” She gave me another squeeze. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there this morning. I really wanted to be.”

“I...understand.” My smile grew, stretching my face so much it nearly ached. Rosa might not have been my mother by blood, but she was everything a mother should be, and I was so damn lucky.

Her mouth opened, but her cell went off. Holding up her hand, she grabbed it off the counter, answering it quickly. Her posture grew rigid as she turned sideways. “Dammit,” she said. “Can you hold for one sec?” She hit the mute button. “I’ve got to head into the hospital. There are some complications from the surgery this morning.”

“Oh no,” I whispered, hoping she didn’t lose the patient. If you Googled the word strong, I swear Rosa Rivas appeared beside it, but she felt every patient’s loss like it was a family member. It was the only time I saw her drink. She’d take a bottle of wine and disappear into the study, doors closed until Carl coaxed her out.

I always wondered if it was because of Marquette or if every doctor was that way. Marquette had passed away five years before the night I entered their lives, so they were coming up on a decade since her death, but I knew that couldn’t have made their loss any easier to bear.

“These things happen,” Rosa said with a sigh. “Carl is going to be late. There’re leftovers in the fridge.”

I nodded. Both of them worked at Johns Hopkins, where cardiac surgery was actually created—something I’d learned from them. Hopkins was one of the best hospitals in the world, and when they weren’t in surgery, they were heavily involved in the teaching programs.

She hesitated, glancing down at the still-muted call. “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?” Her dark eyes held mine for a moment and then she sent me a quick, fleeting smile and started to turn.

“Wait,” I said, surprising the crap out of myself as she faced me, eyes wide. My cheeks heated. “What...does no la mires mean?” I’d totally butchered the words like a typical white girl who couldn’t speak any form of Spanish would.

Her brows shot up again. “Why are you asking that?”

I raised my shoulders.

“Did someone say that to you?” When I didn’t answer, because I was no longer sure I wanted to know what it meant, she sighed. “It basically translates to don’t look at her.”

Oh.

Double oh.

She narrowed her eyes at me, and I had a feeling that was what we’d be talking about tomorrow morning. Giving her a wave, I hurried out of the kitchen and hit the stairs two at a time.

My bedroom was at the end of the hall, overlooking the street, and next door to the hall bathroom I used. Rosa had once called it a decent-sized space. I considered it a palace. It fit a full-size bed, a wide dresser and desk. The window seat in the bay window was my favorite. Great for people-watching.

The best thing about this room—and I always felt terrible for feeling this way—was that it hadn’t belonged to Marquette. It was hard enough driving her car and contemplating the college major that had once been her dream. Sleeping in her old bed would’ve been too much.

Dropping my bag on the bed, I grabbed my laptop off the desk and wiggled into the corner of the window seat, placing the soda on the ledge. As soon as the computer popped out of hibernation mode, my instant messenger dinged.

Ainsley.

Her profile icon was from the summer—her blond hair streaked by the sun and oversize sunglasses covering half her face. She was giving the camera some pretty hardcore duck face. Her message read:

You make it out alive?

I grinned as I shot her a short yes.

How was it?

Biting down on my lip, I closed my eyes briefly and then I typed out what I’d been dying to scream from the top of my lungs.

Rider is at my school.

My laptop immediately blew up with a long strand and different variations of OMG that flowed into an endless stream of geeeeeeee. Ainsley knew about Rider. She knew about how I grew up. Not everything, because some things weren’t any easier to type out than they were to speak about, and she also understood that I sometimes wasn’t the most talkative person. But she got what a big deal this was.

You haven’t seen him in 4 years. I’m about to pee my pants, Mal!!! This is so epic. Tell me everything!

Still nibbling on my lip, I typed out a recap and was periodically interrupted by her OMGs and squees. When I was finished, Ainsley shot back:

Tell me you got his #?

Uh. I didn’t get his number, I typed back. He took mine.

That appeared to be acceptable to her and we chatted until she had to go. Ainsley’s online activity in the evenings had been limited after her mom discovered the pictures she’d been sending her boyfriend, Todd, back in July. They weren’t even that bad, just her in her bikini, but her mom had freaked out with a capital F and had, much to my amusement and horror, made Ainsley watch videos on childbirth as a form of sex ed.

Needless to say, Ainsley was positive she would never have children but that hadn’t stopped her and she was still super interested in sex.

She signed off after making me promise we would see each other this weekend. I spent the rest of the night puttering around the house aimlessly, too riled up to eat much of Rosa’s leftover chicken even though it had been baked in slices of orange and lime. I tried not to think about school or Rider or stare at my cell phone because it had been silent all afternoon and evening, but it was nearly impossible to keep my mind off those things because, holy crap, today had not gone the way I’d expected.

I mean, I didn’t end the day in tears, rocking in the corner somewhere, and even though I’d failed at lunch, I’d managed to speak to Keira. Seven words were better than none. I’d passed my first day without any major breakdowns. That was something to feel good about, and I did, but...

I didn’t know what to think when it came to Rider.

Pacing in front of my bed, I idly ran my hand over the slightly raised skin of my inner arm. That overwhelming mix of desperation and anticipation swirled inside me. I was excited to see him, to talk to him again, but I... God, it was hard to even really think about, because when I thought about Rider, another emotion festered inside me.

Guilt.

Stopping in front of the window seat, I squeezed my eyes shut. Rider had taken... He had taken beatings because of me. Time after time, he’d gotten in between meaty fists and me, and the one time he couldn’t stop it, I ended up escaping that life. I got a second chance, had been given a home with doctors for crying out loud, and practically had anything I want within my grasp. And Rider? I had no idea.

In my bones, I knew he didn’t have this kind of life, though, and how was that fair? The acidic burn in the pit of my belly increased. How could he even look at me like he had today and not think of all he’d sacrificed for me?

Ugh.

I shook my hands out as I started pacing again. Okay. I needed to chill out and look at the positive side of all of this. Rider was alive. He was in school, might even be in a relationship with the pretty girl in speech class, and even though I knew worse injuries could be hidden, there weren’t any fresh bruises that I could see. He didn’t appear to hate me. I would count all of that as a win—and ultimately, the most important thing to focus on was the fact that I’d successfully completed my first day of school.

That was what was most important.

Speaking of which, I had to read the chapter assigned in history. I ended up reading ahead, until I heard the garage door open below. Closing the textbook, I rolled over and turned off my light, knowing that Carl or Rosa wouldn’t come in if they thought I was asleep. Too many months of me not sleeping had made them wary of ever risking the chance of waking me up.

Just as I started to doze off, my cell dinged from where it rested on the nightstand. My arm shot out like a bullet and I snatched it up, my heart leaping into my throat.

There were two words texted from an unknown, local number.

Night, Mouse.


Chapter 5 (#ud65d43ad-343b-5da6-b0b1-0606b03bd957)

The following morning I could practically see the wheels of doom churning behind Rosa’s eyes as she quizzed me on why I’d asked her what I had the day before.

I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

Rosa was brilliant and she was as observant as a high-strung cat, and the fact I was asking her to translate what she informed me that morning sounded like Puerto Rican had her little ears twitching.

I’d stared at that text message—those two words—for a ridiculous amount of time. Absolutely paralyzed by...by the infinite amount of things I could’ve texted back that by the time I settled on a similar response, it was past one in the morning, and I was too worried about waking him up to respond.

I was such a dork. Seriously.

Now I was sleepy and I learned pretty quickly that trying to navigate the crowded halls of the high school while half-asleep could’ve been a plot straight out of one of the dystopian novels I’d read.

Dumping my speech textbook into the steel-gray tomb of my locker, I grabbed my first two classes’ texts, knowing I’d have time to swing by to switch out books later. I closed the door, doing everything in my power not to think about seeing Rider while telling myself that if Keira talked to me today, I would totally respond like a normal person. The door got stuck. Sighing, I pulled it out and put a little more effort into slamming it shut. It latched this time. Satisfied, I hitched up my bag and started to turn.

“You?”

Twisting at the waist, I searched out the sound of the voice and then I saw her. The girl from speech class. The girl who had touched Rider in a way that said that happened a lot and Rider was okay with it.

“It’s you.” Her brown eyes narrowed. “I want to live a life of denial right now, but it’s really you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the girl with the tiny braids who’d said hi to me yesterday stop a few feet from us, eyeing the locker this girl stood in front of. She backpedaled and spun in the opposite direction.

Oh, man, that wasn’t a good sign.

The girl in front of me pursed glossy pink lips. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

Slowly, I shook my head.

“I know who you are, and not because you’re in my speech class. I just can’t believe it’s you,” she continued. “I figured you’d be dead or something by now.”

My heart dropped to my feet. Second day of school, and I was already getting death threats?

The strap of her beat-up, olive-green messenger bag slipped an inch on her shoulder. “I’m Rider’s girlfriend,” she said flatly.

Oh.

Oh.

Well, that did explain the touching.

There was a weird sensation in my chest. Wasn’t quite disappointment. More like acceptance. Of course, I figured as much yesterday when I saw them walking into class. And he was gorgeous. This girl was stunning. It made sense, even to someone like me who had no experience with the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing. But I did watch TV. I read books. I had Ainsley. I knew Rider’s relationship with this girl made sense.

She eyed me speculatively, like she was trying to figure something out. “He’s talked about—”

“What’s goin’ on?” Jayden appeared at the girl’s side. Like out of thin air.

Up close this time, I realized he was probably younger than this girl and me. Maybe a freshman or sophomore? His eyes, the same light green color as Hector’s, weren’t as red as they’d been yesterday when I’d seen him in the hall.

The girl glanced down at him, as surprised as I was to see him. “What do you want?”

“Don’t be a puta, Paige.” Those green eyes rolled, but his lips twitched into a grin as he reached over and tugged on her thick braid. “What are you today? The ghetto Katniss?”

She snatched her braid free. “You don’t even know who Katniss is, you little punk. You probably think The Hunger Games is what happens after you get high.”

Um.

“Sounds about right.” Jayden winked at me, his smile sly. “I know you. We ran into each other in the hall yesterday.” He paused. “And I saw you talkin’ to Rider after class—out in the parking lot.”

My gaze darted to the girl—to Paige. Her stare was glacial. “Are you mute or something? You haven’t said one word to me,” she said.

I was so not mute.

Jayden’s brows knitted together as he eyed her. “That’s a stupid question, Paige. I just said I saw her talkin’ to Rider.”

“You know what?” Her face scrunched up and somehow she managed to still look good. She twisted toward him, planting her hands on her hips. “Boy, you have enough shit going on, you don’t need to be all up in my business.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Brave words from the chick who’s always all up in mine.”

They were obviously distracted with one another, and as the two bickered in a way that said this wasn’t the first or the last time they would, I pivoted around and eased into the mass of students heading to class.

Are you mute?

My cheeks were burning by the time I reached my class, and the embarrassment quickly festered into anger—mostly at myself. I could’ve said something to her, anything, instead of standing there like I didn’t have a functioning tongue.

And God. She was Rider’s girlfriend. For real. The girl that asked me if I was mute, the girl I’d just stood in front of like a loser, was his girlfriend.

I resisted the urge to bang my head on my desk.

Mute.

I hated that word with a passion.

Everyone had believed I was mute—Miss Becky and Mr. Henry, group home workers, CPS. Even Carl had thought that when he and Rosa first met me. Only Rider had known that it wasn’t true. That I could talk just fine.

But I didn’t speak today.

Dr. Taft had this fancy phrase for why I hadn’t spoken for so long—post-traumatic stress syndrome, he called it, because of...of everything I’d experienced as a small child. Half of our therapy sessions had been dedicated to working on coping mechanisms and ways to combat it.

It had taken so much to get to where I was today, to a point where I no longer felt like I needed the therapy sessions, and a handful of minutes made me feel like I’d taken twenty steps backward. Like I was the Mallory I’d been at five years old, and then at ten, and at thirteen—the Mallory who did and said nothing. The Mallory who just stood there in silence because that seemed like the safest route.

I hated that feeling.

I clenched the pen tight in my hand, ignoring the way my knuckles ached. Tears of frustration burned the back of my throat, and it was hard to focus in my chemistry class, even harder not to cave to the messy ball of emotion, especially when it struck me that I was sitting in the back of the class again.

Not drawing any attention to myself.

* * *

Keira immediately swiveled toward me the moment she sat down in English class. “Okay. I have a really weird question for you.”

Caught off guard, I blinked as my stomach dipped a little. Was she going to ask if I was mute?

She smiled as she tucked a stray curl back behind her ear. It popped right back out. Bright blue earrings dangled from tiny lobes. “Have you ever thought about trying out for cheerleading?”

I stared at her. This was totally a joke, right? Then I glanced around the classroom. No one was looking at us or holding their phones up, recording this moment for posterity.

“I mean, you look like you’re pretty sturdy. You could be the base or a back spot,” she said, shrugging like she hadn’t just said I looked sturdy. “Look, we’re kind of desperate. Not a lot of girls around here are into it and one of my teammates broke her wrist yesterday in practice, so I thought about you.” She ran her hand down her slim arm, twisting the blue bangle at her wrist. “So what do you think?”

Uh.

“You’re really cute and the blue-and-red uniform would go great with your hair,” she suggested, glancing at the door.

My tongue felt thick and my throat swollen as I reached deep down inside my head and forced myself to live up to all the work I’d done to get to this point. “Um, I’m...I’m not really the rah-rah type.”

One dark brow arched elegantly. “Do I look like a rah-rah type?”

I shook my head, unsure if that was the right answer or not. I had nothing in common with cheerleaders. They were loud and talkative and popular and pretty and about a thousand things I had absolutely no experience with. Then again, I really wasn’t sure if all cheerleaders were loud and talkative and popular and pretty. Keira was the first one I’d ever met, so I was basing my assumptions off movies and books, and Lord knew, the movies and books kind of sucked when it came to stereotyping things.

Wincing, I realized just how offensive my statement could’ve seemed to her. The rah-rah type? Sometimes it was better not to talk.

She laughed softly. “It’s really fun. At least think about it, okay?”

The pen I was squeezing in my hand was seconds away from imploding blue ink all over my fingers. “Okay.”

Her smile spread across her cheeks. “Cool. You have B lunch, right? Next period? Thought I saw you yesterday, but I think you left the cafeteria. And I saw you in speech class, right? Then again, it’s hard to see anything other than Hot Hector.”

Nodding, I wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading.

“Well, if you get bored or anything at lunch, find me.” Flipping her gaze to her notebook, she wrote out the date at the top of the right-hand corner. “I’m usually up front—at the loud table. Hard to miss us.”

Was she inviting me to lunch? Oh my God, Paige and her Katniss braid could suck it. This was major. Like a huge step in the right direction, and as Ainsley would say, if I didn’t speak up, I might as well sew my mouth shut.

“Okay,” I breathed, feeling kind of stupid, but this was equivalent to four Christmas mornings rolled into one.

Keira shot me a quick grin. When the bell rang after forty long minutes of listening to Mr. Newberry wax poetic about dead male writers, she wiggled her fingers at me and then disappeared into the hall.

I made a pit stop at my locker, switched out books and was relieved that Paige didn’t pop out of one of the doors. I wasn’t going to think about her or who she was to Rider.

With a slightly stupid pep talk playing over and over in my head, I headed down to the first floor and past the stacked trophy case. I can do this. I can do this. As I stepped into the busy, crowded cafeteria, my throat tightened, and I decided I should probably get my lunch first.

But I couldn’t help but look at the table I’d seen Keira at before. She was sitting next to a girl but the seat on her other side was empty. My breath caught. I can do this. I started toward the lunch line.

“You’re breaking my heart.”

At the sound of Rider’s voice, I wheeled around, clutching my bag to my side. First thing I noticed was the faded Ravens emblem stretched over his broad chest, and then I forced my eyes up. The slight scruff along his jaw was gone. Nothing but smooth skin today.

No notebook. Hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, a familiar, crooked grin pulled at Rider’s lips, causing the dimple in his right cheek to pop. He stepped forward, and my heart did a backflip as he dipped his chin. I felt his warm breath on the side of my cheek as he spoke.

“You didn’t respond to my text last night,” he said, and there was a light, teasing tone I didn’t remember from before. “I thought maybe you didn’t realize it was me, but that would mean someone else would be texting you good-night and calling you Mouse. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

I shook my head so fast I was surprised the ends of my hair didn’t smack him in the face.

He laughed under his breath. “I’m just kidding. You getting something to eat or...?”

My gaze drifted to the table, and I saw Keira. She was staring at us. So was the blonde beside her. Keira raised her brows at me as her dark eyes moved between Rider and me.

Rider reached down and took my hand in his. The contact sent a jolt through me, and my gaze flew back to his. “Come with me?” he asked.

Thrown by his appearance and by his touch, I let him lead me through the shorter lunch line for pizza. My gaze was wild, bouncing all over the faces of those in line and sitting at the tables. Then I realized why Keira and half of her table were staring at us.

Muscles in my stomach clenched.

I was holding hands with Rider—and he had a girlfriend.

Mouth dry, I tugged my hand free from Rider’s. Even though he’d held my hand a thousand times in the past, it didn’t feel right after what I’d learned about him and Paige. Everything was... It was different now.

Rider glanced down at me, expression curious. I looked away. He loaded up a single plate with two slices. My hand tingled as he grabbed a bottle of water and a milk.

“You still drink milk with everything?” he asked, scanning the drinks with his head tilted slightly to the side, and then he looked down at me. Our gazes met. “Like you need it to survive?”

I nodded as my heart turned into a gooey mess. He actually remembered that I drank milk every chance I got—that and Cokes, when Rosa and Carl let me get away with it.

He held my stare for a moment and then, before I could get to my wallet, he pulled out a series of crumpled ones and paid the cashier. I started to protest, but he sent me that look—the lowered-brows look he’d sent me a million times over when we were younger. The Don’t Argue Look. It was strange seeing the eighteen-year-old version, and I mulled that over as he balanced the plate and drinks in his hands. He nodded toward the entrance of the cafeteria, and I glanced in Keira’s direction. Her head was bent toward the blonde, her tight curls going in every direction. It seemed like she was in a deep conversation, and she didn’t look up.

Tomorrow, I promised myself.

I followed Rider out of the cafeteria, curious about where he was leading us. We passed the gym. Doors were open, and I thought I caught a glimpse of Hector jogging, a basketball in his hands as he shouted something in what sounded like Spanish but was slightly different. Rosa had said it was Puerto Rican, and I was going to have to take her word for it.

“I have A lunch, but I heard you had B,” Rider said, slowing down his walk so I fell in step beside him. “Remember the guy who was sitting in front of us in speech class yesterday? The ass in the car? That’s Hector, and he has a younger brother that you apparently ran into yesterday, Jayden. He was in the car, too. Anyway, Jayden said he saw you in the hallway yesterday during B lunch.”

Even though I already knew that, I didn’t say anything. The whole time he spoke as we walked down the hall, I kept stealing quick glances at him. To the point I was surprised I didn’t walk into anything.

“So in case you’re wondering—” he paused, opening the doors to the outside pavilion “—yeah, I’m skipping class right now.”

My jaw unhinged. “Rider.”

He held the door open, head cocked to the side as I walked through. I stopped, because...well, because he was just standing there, with our plate and drinks. His eyes searched mine. “You know, hearing you say my name isn’t something I ever expected to hear again. I don’t give a shit about missing one class if that means we get to catch up a little.”

When he started walking toward an empty stone picnic set, my tongue finally came unglued from the roof of my mouth. “You...you won’t get in trouble?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he shrugged. “Worth it.”

That didn’t reassure me, but I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t do a happy set of jumping jacks this time. He placed our stuff on the table and then sat, straddling the bench. Patting the spot next to him, he grinned.

I dropped my bag on the tan pavers and as I swung a leg over the bench, I stopped to look at him. He was watching me through thick lashes, head still tilted, grinning so that lone dimple was begging to be touched. I realized that this was the first moment Rider and I had been alone. No prying eyes. No adults watching over us. No one walking past us as there had been in the parking lot yesterday. We were alone, just him and me, like it had been so many times in the past.

I don’t know why I did what I did next, but a decade of emotion swirled up inside me. Maybe it had to do with everything he’d done for me in the past. Maybe it was just because he was sitting right there and we were in the present.

And I never felt more present than I did in that moment.

Bending over, I wrapped my arms around his wide shoulders and I squeezed him. Probably the lamest hug in history, but it felt good. It felt magnificent when he rose up a little and circled his arms around my waist. His hug was better.

When I pulled back, his hands slid off my waist, to my hips, and lingered for a moment. A strange sensation curled low in my stomach. He let go, but the heated awareness remained. “What was that for?”

Shrugging, I sat, tucking both legs under the table. My face was hot. “I...I just wanted to.”

“Well, you can do that whenever you want to. I don’t mind.”

I grinned at him, and when he chuckled, another strange thing happened. I shivered. I wasn’t cold, actually quite the opposite.

“Mouse...”

Our gazes collided, and dammit, it was like suddenly being thirteen again, sneaking food in a world that was just Rider and me, except we were older now, and it wasn’t just him and me against the world. I wasn’t a little girl. He wasn’t a boy. And back then he’d been... Well, he had been mine. It wasn’t like that now. He had a girlfriend who thought I was mute, for starters.

That realization really was like a kick to the stomach.

So I probably needed to stop with the hugs. The weird curling-stomach feelings. And most definitely the shivers. All of that needed to stop. The way my lips curved up at the corners wasn’t going anywhere, though.

“You have to tell me what you’ve been doing all this time.” He pushed one of the slices toward me and then handed over a napkin I hadn’t even seen him grab.

The grin I was wearing like a dork spread as he did what I’d known he was going to. Picked up the pepperoni, eating the slices before he ate the pizza.

He cast me a sidelong glance, voice patient as it had ever been while he finished off the pepperoni. “Mouse.”

My gaze flickered up to the scar above his eyebrow and my smile faded a little. I focused on the slice of pizza and took a deep breath. “That night... Um, the last night, I met someone in the hospital. Carlos Rivas—Carl. He was...is a burn specialist.”

Grabbing the milk, he peeled it open with long fingers. I noticed what looked like red ink on the inside of his pointer finger. He handed the carton over to me, and I continued. “He’s married to Rosa. She’s a heart surgeon. They...both worked at the hospital, and I think CPS told them I was...mute or that something was wrong with me.”

He frowned as he picked up his pizza. “You’re not mute. And nothing is wrong with you. You’re freaking brilliant. Screw that shit.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “They visited me a lot after I...I spoke to them.” Pressing my lips together, I peeled off a huge slice of pepperoni. “When I woke up after surgery, I...I asked for you. I asked Carl.”

It had been the first time I’d spoken to anyone outside that house in years.

His head swung toward me sharply, eyes more gold in the sunlight than brown. “I really did look for you, Mallory. Like I told you, I went to the county hospital. No one would tell me where you were. Just that...” He exhaled roughly. “Just that you weren’t coming back.”

“I wish...I’d had a way to see you. I kept asking, but...” But everything had been scary and overwhelming. “What happened to you?”

His brows lowered. “I was shipped out to a group home.” Folding what remained of the slice, he eyed it. “So, there’s more to this story. Tell me.”

Pressure settled in my chest as I offered him the piece of pepperoni. His lips twitched into a small smile. “I spent a little time in the hospital and then...I was also placed in a group home.”

“Where?”

Talking...talking with him was a release I’d missed. It got easier with every passing second. “The one near the Harbor...not far from the hospital. Carl and Rosa... They visited me, and they eventually were able to foster me.”

His eyes widened as he stopped with the pizza halfway to his mouth. “You were taken in by doctors?”

I tensed, wondering if this was when he was going to demand how in the hell that was fair. I didn’t know anything about what had happened to him. What if he was still in a group home...or worse, because there were worse things. I couldn’t stop the churn of guilt. I nodded.

He dropped the pizza on the tray and his shoulders eased. His mouth relaxed. “Shit, Mallory, I’m so... Yeah, doctors? That’s good.” When he looked at me, I saw the relief in his gaze and wondered where he thought I’d been this entire time. “They’ve really taken care of you, haven’t they?”

I nodded as I plucked off another piece of pepperoni, and he reached over, his fingers brushing mine as he took it. There was another zap to my nerves. I didn’t remember his touch eliciting that kind of response before, but it sure was pleasant now.

“That car you were standing near yesterday? The Honda is yours?”

“It was their daughter’s.”

An eyebrow rose. “Was?”

“She died before I met them. Almost ten years ago. I think that’s why they took me in,” I explained, chewing slowly.

His brows flew up.

“I mean, they never...had any other kids.” A moment passed. “They have been really good, Rider. I was very lucky.”

“I wish you never had to meet them.” Finishing off the slice, he wiped his hands on the napkin and then angled his body toward me. “I mean, I’m glad you did, because, Mouse, you deserve that kind of life, but...”

“I know...what you mean.” Relief poured into me. There wasn’t an ounce of envy in his tone or in the way he looked at me. I took a sip of the milk. “When they got custody of me, I was homeschooled,” I explained. “And then I...I decided I wanted to go to public school.”

His brows rose. “What made you decide that?”

“I want to go to college,” I told him as I glanced up at the cloudless sky. College was ambitious considering talking to a teacher made me want to hurl, but it was a big deal to me. College meant, at least hopefully, that I would eventually get a job and would have a life where I didn’t have to worry about my next meal or have to rely on someone to take care of me. College was freedom. “And Rosa and Carl... They want that, too. I mean, I could still be homeschooled and go to college, but...”

Rider waited.

“But you know how I am—how I was.” My cheeks heated as I lowered my gaze to the milk carton. “I’m not...good with people...and they thought I should try high school first.”

He was silent for a moment, but I could feel his eyes on me. “Well, I’m glad you decided to do this. If not...”

If not, our paths probably never would’ve crossed. My stomach dipped at the thought. I looked at him, and my breath caught. He was staring at me in a way I wasn’t exactly accustomed to, but that I’d seen before. It was the way Ainsley’s boyfriend stared at her. Maybe not as familiar, but definitely as intense.

I squirmed, not uncomfortable, just suddenly overly aware of him. “What about you?”

Dropping his elbow on the table, he propped his chin against his palm. “I’m not in a group home anymore.” When I started to turn to him, he glanced pointedly at my pizza. “You’re gonna eat. Right now.”

My eyes narrowed.

He flashed a quick grin. “I’m with a foster family.” He shifted closer as I took a huge bite of the pizza. “It’s actually Hector’s family. His grandmother has fostered kids for years. Helps with the bills and stuff.”

I thought about the worn notebook and the frayed edges of his jeans.

“Not that she does it only for that reason, you know? She’s really great. A damn good woman. Anyway, that’s how I met Hector and Jayden. Been living with them for a couple of years.” Extending his arm, he placed just the very tip of his finger against my cheek, causing me to suck in a soft breath. “Where did your freckles go?”

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice a strange whisper. “They ran away.”

The deep chuckle came again, coasting over my skin. “You used to have three right here.” He tapped my cheekbone lightly. “And then two over here.” His finger grazed the bridge of my nose and then he lowered his hand. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah.” I wished I could tell him it was okay to keep touching my face, but that would probably be weird. Totally sounded weird in my head. And would be really inappropriate. Totally inappropriate.

His lashes lowered and the lopsided grin appeared. “I always knew you’d be beautiful one day.”

My breath hitched as I sat straighter. What was left of the pizza, just the crust, was totally forgotten. My ears had to be smoking crack or something.

A flush swept across his cheeks as one side of his lips kicked up. “I just never thought I’d get to see how beautiful you’d become.”

Wow. He really had said that. Beautiful. Rider said I was beautiful. The statement floored me, left me staring at him. I knew I didn’t look like the worst thing out there. Ainsley loved my hair and eye combination, a product of what everyone guessed was an Irish background, but I figured I was pretty average. Average face. Average body, neither big nor small. Beautiful wasn’t an option that crossed my mind.

“You’re beautiful, too. I mean, you’re hot,” I blurted out. “But I always knew you would be.” My eyes widened as I realized what just streamed out of my mouth, and his grin turned into a smile. “Oh my God, I did not just say...any of that out loud.”

“You did.”

“Ugh.”

Tipping his head back, he laughed deeply. And he laughed like he had in those rare instances when something truly amused him. He did so with a freedom I’d envied.

I started to place my hands over my flaming face, but he caught my wrists, holding them between us. His eyes were lighter, dancing. “I can pretend you didn’t say that if that makes you feel better,” he suggested.

Oh yes, that would be fabulous. I nodded.

“I won’t forget it, though.”

Embarrassment flooded me, but Rider was grinning as he scooted closer and tugged me over. Before I knew what he was doing, he’d tucked my hips between his thighs and circled his arms around me, holding me tight to his chest.

His really hard chest.

The contact jolted me, like touching a live wire. It took a couple of seconds for me to relax.

He was silent as he rested his chin on the top of my head, and I didn’t say anything as I squeezed my eyes shut against the rising tide of emotion. Being this close to him again was something so powerful the connection was tangible, a third entity.

One hand drifted up my back, a slow slide under the weight of my hair. He curled his fingers around the nape of my neck. His chin moved, grazing my forehead, and the intimacy of the act was so different than any of the other times he’d been this close. An odd warmth settled in my muscles. Like stepping out into the sun for the first time after a long winter. There was a moment when I wasn’t sure if he breathed, because I didn’t feel his chest move under my hands.

In the back of my head, I wondered how...how okay this was. I didn’t want to pull away and break the connection, but I thought that maybe I should. This was innocent. It had to be, but it was also different.

“Do you have someone to eat lunch with normally?” he asked, and his voice seemed off to me. Deeper.

Keeping my eyes closed, I wasn’t sure how to answer that and I also didn’t pull away. I wasn’t sure what that said about me or if it said anything at all.

“Mouse?”

“There’s a girl in my English class. She...invited me to sit with her.”

The arm around my waist seemed to have tightened. “Who?”

“Keira... I don’t remember her last name.”

A heartbeat passed. “I know her. She’s in our speech class. Pretty cool girl. You going to take her up on the offer? If not, I can meet you for lunch.”

But he had a class right now that he was supposed to be in.

Then it hit me. Rider... Wow, he really hadn’t changed. Even after four years, even if he was supposed to be in class and even though he had a girlfriend, he would be there for me if I told him I needed him. Stupid tears pricked at my eyes. “You don’t need to do that. I’m going to sit with her.”

His fingers moved along my neck, searching out the muscles. “You sure?”

My heart was a puddle of mush. “Yes. She invited me... She asked if I wanted to try out for cheerleading.”

Rider’s hand stilled. “Mouse...”

I grinned.

“You’re not considering that, are you?” he asked after a moment. Then he trailed off and suddenly pulled back, arms and everything.

The sudden loss of the closeness forced my eyes open. His profile was to me, jaw taut, and he was staring out over the pavilion, toward the parking lot. There was a car idling in the rows of parked vehicles, some sort of sedan. From what I could tell, the windows were tinted to the point you couldn’t see who or what was inside.

A door shut, and my attention swung toward the exit we’d come out of earlier. I saw Jayden walking out, hitching up his pants as he walked across the pavilion, toward the steel gate.

“Shit,” Rider muttered under his breath.

I stiffened as a sense of wariness slipped over him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He watched Jayden slip out the gate and make his way to the car. The younger boy bent at the waist as the driver’s window rolled down. Rider patted my leg, drawing my gaze. “The bell’s about to ring. Why don’t you go ahead in?”

Something cold and hard was etched into the lines of his face. I didn’t like it. “Rider...”

“Everything is okay. I promise,” he said, tapping my leg again, and then he stood as the double doors opened again. This time it was Hector who was coming outside, and the look on his face said he was not happy. Rider took my hand, pulling me up. “I’ll see you in class.”

Nodding, I gathered up my stuff and stepped over the bench. Hector didn’t look at me as he joined Rider, and neither of them spoke as they pivoted, heading toward the gate. I watched them, knowing deep down that something was up and whatever it was, it wasn’t okay.


Chapter 6 (#ulink_982310ff-3dc2-5628-aee2-f6d0cc426ba5)

I didn’t see Rider in speech class.

His seat was empty, and I couldn’t help but think it had something to do with that car that had shown up. Although we got to spend some time catching up, I knew nothing about what Rider had been doing these four years beyond living with Hector’s grandmother.

Some would probably disagree, but I wasn’t completely naive or sheltered. I’d grown up in a house where I saw a lot of stuff. The month I’d spent in the group home was also pretty educational. Guys would hang around outside the building, recruiting younger kids to run drugs. I’d seen older kids in that house pass out mid-conversation. In a matter of a month, I knew kids who simply vanished, lost to the streets. I also had a good idea why Jayden’s eyes were bloodshot yesterday, and a tinted-out vehicle rolling up into the parking lot probably wasn’t full of people selling Girl Scout cookies.

A niggle of worry formed in my belly as I wondered what kind of stuff Rider could be up to. But under the worry was something else, something I wasn’t sure I should acknowledge. Because Paige wasn’t in class, either, and I wasn’t stupid. Rider had left school. So had Paige. Whatever was going on, they were probably together. A burning sensation hit the center of my chest, and I told myself it was indigestion, that it had nothing to do with Rider holding my hand, telling me I was beautiful when I knew he had to be telling Paige the same and meaning it in a totally different way.

It took effort to focus on Mr. Santos’s lecture about different types of speeches. Santos paced, moving his hands wildly as he spoke. Excitement practically poured from the man. I glanced down at my binder, seeing only a half a page of notes. Not good. I focused, scribbling as much as I could.

When the bell rang, I felt a little better about my notes. I headed out into the hall, busy shoving my notebook in the bag, and I didn’t realize that Keira had been waiting for me until she sidled up beside me.

“So, did you get a chance to think about cheerleading?” she asked.

Closing the flap on my bag, I winced. I seriously hadn’t thought twice about her offer. I shook my head.

She sighed as she wrapped her fingers around the strap of her bag. “Yeah, I figured it was probably a stretch, but hey, doesn’t hurt to try.”

No, it definitely didn’t hurt to try. That whole theory pretty much summed up my life right now.

“Anyway,” she said, catching the door to the stairwell and holding it open. “I saw you at lunch today.” There was a beat as we were crammed onto the steps. “You were with Rider Stark.”

Warning bells went off as I looked at her sharply.

Her smile remained, completely open and friendly. “Do you know him?”

I nodded as I crossed the landing to the second floor, guessing she was going to follow me to my locker.

“Since you’re new,” she said, raising a shoulder as she glanced at me, “how do you know him?”

Part of me felt like it wasn’t anyone’s business, but then again, she was curious, and I probably would be, too, if I were in her shoes. Talking to her made me nervous, but I pushed past it. “We...we knew each other when we were younger.”

“Really? That’s cool.” Keira leaned against the locker next to me as she pulled out her phone, glancing at the screen. “I figured you two had to know each other. He was really...uh, hands-on with you, which is strange.”

Shoving my history text inside, I grabbed my English book since I had homework. I looked at her as I closed the door. “Why is that strange?”

“We’ve been in the same school since we were freshmen, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him hold another chick’s hand, including Paige’s,” she said, grinning. “And they’re together.”

And why did that make me all kinds of warm and happy inside?

“Or something like that,” she added.

What did that mean? And come to think of it, why hadn’t I asked him about Paige during lunch? That would’ve been a normal question. But he had kept me busy answering all of his questions.

She laughed, because what I was thinking must’ve been plastered across my face. “I mean, I don’t get the impression that whatever he and Paige have is really serious.”

The warm and happy started to grow, and I stomped it down. It had no place here in this conversation.

“Anyway, he was in one of my classes last year, and you know, he kind of showed up whenever he wanted to. Me and Maggie—you don’t know her—but anyway, we used to say he was gracing us with his hotness. He wouldn’t take notes or really participate in class. Sometimes I swear he actually slept,” she continued. “But anytime he was called on, he knew the answer. No one could figure it out, especially the teacher. Used to drive her crazy and it entertained the rest of us. One of my other friends, Benny, was in his class last year when we were taking the MSA exams, and he overheard the teacher saying that Rider totally blew the rest of the class away in terms of scores. One of the highest in the entire junior class supposedly.”

That sounded like Rider.

“It’s strange, considering he’s a foster kid and—”

“I’m a foster kid.” Those words burst right out of me.

Her eyes widened as she held up a hand. “Whoa. I didn’t mean anything bad about that. I’m the last person to be judgey. Duh. It’s just that...” She looked around before she continued. “He’s hung out with some shady people and I know shady people. My brother, Trevor? He’s in jail right now, because of the shady people in this broke-ass city. My cousin? Dead because he hung out with people like that.” She paused, wrinkling her nose. “Well, my cousin was also shady, so...”

I thought about that car in the parking lot, and I wondered if Hector and Jayden were included in that shady people definition.

“Anyway, I’ve got to go to practice.” She paused, looking hopeful. “I couldn’t convince you to swing by and see what you think?”

Shaking my head, I bit back a grin at Keira’s dramatic sigh. She wiggled her fingers and started to turn as I forced my tongue and lips to work. “See you...at lunch tomorrow?”

Okay. That was stupid, because I’d see her in English before lunch, but she nodded. “Yep. Bring Rider with you if you want. We could always use some hotness at the table.”

Hopefully, Rider would be in class tomorrow during lunch, but after what Keira said, that sounded doubtful. Part of me wasn’t surprised by the fact that he did what he wanted whenever he wanted. That was so him, but just like when we were younger, that willful side of him always got him in a load of trouble.

* * *

After I got off the computer with Ainsley, dinner was just hitting the table. Four years ago? I hadn’t eaten at a dinner table. Not even once. This table, with its polished wood surface, was the first I ever ate at outside school.

I sat down, smoothing my hands over the surface. When I first came home with the Rivases, I had felt like...like an animal. Wild. Uncomfortable. Caged. Unsure. They had expectations and schedules. They complimented and praised—both me and each other. There hadn’t been a specified dinnertime at Mr. Henry’s house nor had there been a plate of food waiting for Rider and me. We ate whatever was leftover. That was if anything was leftover. More often than not, there hadn’t been.

Sitting down at a table in the evening and listening to Carl and Rosa actually speak to each other instead of yell and curse had been a new experience for me. The kitchen table in my last home had been covered with cigarette burn marks and unread newspapers. Mr. Henry brought one with him every evening after completing his shift at a local packaging and receiving warehouse, but I’d never seen him read one.

But this table was almost always clear and had a centerpiece that changed with the seasons. Now the plastic blue-and-white flowers, along with the glass-encased pillar candle, sat on the counter.

It was rare that during the week both Rosa and Carl would be home for supper, and I knew they’d both be out of the house again in no time. As long as there were no emergency surgeries over the weekend, they always had Saturday and Sunday off.

“I was thinking we could go down to the Harbor on Saturday.” Carl prodded his pork chop apart, almost like he was dissecting it. He loved heading to the Harbor in downtown Baltimore. “I believe there’s some kind of fair being held there this weekend.”

Rosa sipped her glass of water. “Or we could go to Catoctin. It’s supposed to be really nice, a little cooler.” She grinned at her husband. “And we’d spend less money going to a park where people aren’t going to be selling something.”

She was really into the outdoorsy stuff—hiking, mountain biking, sweating. In other words, experiencing some form of pain. I was really into reading, sitting and not collecting sweat in places where sweat should not pool. Carl glanced at me, placing his fingers over his mouth to hide his grin.

“What do you think, Mallory?” Rosa asked.

I shrugged as I speared a piece of broccoli with my fork. If we went to Catoctin, I’d probably end the day with muscles I didn’t even know existed hurting. “Ainsley wanted to get together this weekend.”

“Then definitely the Harbor.” Carl lowered his hand, not even trying to hide his smile. “The last time we took her to a park, I’m sure it was the first and last time she’d been to one.”

My lips curved into a smile as Rosa rolled her eyes. Plans were made to spend the afternoon on the Harbor, which would definitely make Ainsley happy.

“Have you been carving?” Rosa asked, toying with the glass. “You haven’t asked me to pick up any soap.”

My gaze flew to her. I hadn’t done any carvings since July, roughly around the time I mentally began preparing for—aka stressing over—school.

Carl eyed me. “You really should practice. You don’t want to lose that talent.”

I almost laughed. Carving things out of bars of soap with pencils or Popsicle sticks really wasn’t something I’d consider a talent. It was just something I’d done...well, for as long as I could remember, whenever I was alone. Rider didn’t even know I used to do it. Once I finished carving something, I used to destroy it.

Now Carl and Rosa kept most of my creations, over three dozen, in the dining room, stashed away in the glass china cabinet that smelled like Irish Spring.

The funny thing is that the whole odd soap-carving hobby was what really had caught Carl’s attention while I’d been at Johns Hopkins. He’d seen so many burn victims, so many kids, so it wasn’t my winning personality that had drawn him. Even with toasted and sore, bandaged fingers, I’d snuck the soap bar out of the bathroom and, using a tongue depressor I’d snagged from one of the nurses, I’d carved a sleeping cat over the course of a few days.

I don’t know what it was about carving something, but it was always a source of...of peace. I thought the talent was kind of lame, and Rosa and Carl had been trying for eons to get me to move on to wood with no luck.

“Speaking of big accomplishments, you’ve survived your first two days at school,” Carl said, clearly sensing they were getting nowhere on the soap front. “Want to tell us how it’s going?”

Heart turning over heavily, I stared at my plate. Rider suddenly entered my thoughts. Now would be a good time to bring him up. I wanted to. I didn’t like the idea of not telling them and I wanted... I wanted to talk about him. I wanted to share my excitement over reconnecting with him.

This could be a huge mistake. A big one, but I wanted them to know. Lying to them after everything they’d done for me would be so wrong. I folded my hands in my lap. “So...at school, I ran into someone...” I trailed off, because when I looked up, both of them were staring at me. They’d stopped eating and everything. Too much attention. My tongue stopped working. My brain screamed Abort! Abort!

Carl spoke first. “You ran into who?”

I probably should’ve kept my mouth shut.

Rosa leaned forward, placing her glass of water on the table. “Who did you run into, honey?”

When I didn’t answer, they waited and I knew they would wait forever. “I ran...into Rider.”

Silence.

The only thing making noise was the oval clock on the wall, ticking away.

Carl placed his fork on the table. “Rider? The boy you lived with?”

I nodded.

“He’s at your school?” Rosa stiffened.

All I could do was nod.

“That is...unexpected,” Carl stated, and then glanced at Rosa before continuing. “Did you two talk?”

There was no point in lying. I nodded. “He’s in...a better foster home now.”

This time they exchanged long looks with one another, and I could only imagine what they were thinking. “I’m sort of shocked,” Carl said finally. “It never crossed my mind that Rider would be at Lands High.”

The way he said Rider’s name raised the tiny hairs along my arms. Not that his tone held any spite, but the word was spoken with heavy meaning.

A moment passed and then Rosa asked, “How do you feel about that? Relieved, I imagine?” She looked at Carl again. Some of the stiffness faded from her posture. “He meant so much to you.”

I focused on her. “I am. I’m glad to see that...he’s okay. We talked a little at lunch today.” I smoothed my hands along my legs. “It was nice to...catch up.”

Carl nodded slowly and as he took a drink of his water, I still had no idea what he was thinking. “It’s good to know he’s doing okay.”

I forced a smile, and my eyes shot to Rosa. She was watching me closely. After another brief silence, Carl changed the subject, but I felt strangely trapped. I knew they weren’t happy, and I hated that they felt that way. Disappointing them was the last thing I wanted. I tried to think of some way to make up for it, so I ended up cleaning up after dinner. It wasn’t much, but it was something. When I left the kitchen, they were in the study, the door closed, and I had a sinking feeling I knew what they were discussing.

I headed upstairs and opened my laptop. I wanted to tell Ainsley how Rosa and Carl reacted to the Rider news, but she wasn’t online. She was probably with Todd. As I closed my laptop and started to open my bag, there was a knock against my open door. I looked up and saw Rosa.

“Can we chat?” she asked.

My shoulders tensed. “Sure.”

She walked in as I sat on the bed, crossing my legs. “Rider.”

That was all she said, so I nodded.

Rosa perched on the edge of the bed, her body angled toward me. “How are you really feeling about this, Mallory? Rider was a big deal to you. For months when you first came to live here, you asked about the boy. It was, for the longest time, the only thing you would say. So I know this is big.”

I nibbled on the inside of my cheek, wondering if I should shrug the whole thing off, but one quick peek at Rosa told me that wasn’t going to work. She knew better. “I’m...excited,” I admitted. “I’m happy. Mainly because I know he’s okay, and I can see him.”

She nodded. “I get that. I understand feeling that way.”

Exhaling slowly, I grabbed the thick bobby pin off the nightstand and twisted my hair up. I knew there was more coming. I was right.

“Carl and I were caught a little off guard at dinner,” she continued, tone gentle. “Why didn’t you mention him yesterday?”

Ah, good question. “I didn’t... I don’t know. I thought you two might be...worried.”

Her dark gaze searched my face. “Worried about what?”

I shrugged.

Rosa glanced down at where my hands rested between my crossed legs. “Is there something we should be worried about?”

Well, that felt like a loaded question.

She reached over and tapped my leg. “I’m going to be honest with you, like we’ve always been, okay?”

I nodded. Here it comes, I thought.

“We are worried. A little. Your ending up at the same school as Rider never crossed our minds. Starting school is a big enough change, but adding him into the equation? We don’t want you to be overwhelmed.”

“I’m not,” I replied, curling my hands together.

She smiled faintly. “School is a lot to deal with. Rider is a lot to deal with. It may not feel that way right this instant, but honey, he’s from a time in your life we don’t want you focusing on anymore.”

“I’m...not focused on my past.”

Rosa said nothing.

My pulse started to pick up. “Rider is from my past, but seeing him doesn’t make me... I don’t know. It doesn’t make me feel bad.”

“I wouldn’t think it did.” She paused, seeming to choose her next words carefully. “We just worry about how this is going to affect all the progress you’ve made. Nobody’s denying that your past is an important part of who you are. And I’m the first to admit that I’m grateful to Rider for all he did to protect you back then, especially since he was just a kid himself. But you’ve come such a long way from the terrified girl we first met. You’ve worked so hard to become the poised young woman you are now. We don’t want Rider’s presence to...interfere with any of that.”

I opened my mouth, but I really had no idea what to say.

“Maybe it won’t be too much,” she added. “Maybe we’re just worrying about nothing.” There was a pause and then she smiled. “Either way, we’re glad that you told us about him.”

I wasn’t.

“And we want you to keep telling us about him,” she added. Rosa patted my leg and then rose, moving toward the door. “How about some ice cream? I think there’s some caramel left from when Carl picked it up. Sound good?”

Caramel ice cream topping always sounded good, so I nodded.

As Rosa quietly closed the door behind her, I squeezed my eyes shut and flopped onto my back. Staring up at the ceiling, I thought about the tiny bedroom I’d stayed in with Rider. The ceiling here was smooth as snow. In the other house, it had been cracked and splintered, reminding me of a spiderweb.

I bit down on my lip.

Telling them about Rider had been the right thing to do. I made them proud. My lip escaped my teeth. But telling them also wasn’t the brightest idea I’d ever had, because even if Rosa was okay with Rider being back, I knew Carl wasn’t.

Carl wasn’t going to be okay with Rider at all.


Chapter 7 (#ulink_700bd65c-4f5d-5871-9f5c-cbe3207658fb)

Paige wasn’t lurking by my locker Thursday morning. Jayden was as I switched out my books. An act of God held up his baggy jeans. That faint earthy smell clung to his Ravens T-shirt.

His eyes were sleepy as he leaned against the locker next to mine. “Hey.”

Surprised by his presence, I smiled in response.

“I just wanted to stop by and tell you that I know what The Hunger Games is,” he announced, a grin creeping along his boyish face. “I’m not estúpido, even though Paige likes to make it seem that way.” Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he wrinkled his nose. “So I hear you and Rider got an...interesting past.”

I looked at him, brows rising as I closed the locker door. I was unsure of how to respond to that or how much Jayden really knew. Since his grandmother fostered Rider, I imagined both Jayden and Hector knew a lot, but had Rider told them everything?

“I think it’s pretty cool that you got out of that shit. Got adopted. My abuelita—my grandmother—would adopt him, but the state don’t pay for that, you know?” He stared up at the ceiling as he rocked back on his feet. “But yeah, I’ve heard and seen some horror stories. I don’t know how Rider turned out the way he did.”

I stiffened, knowing all about those horror stories, having experienced quite a few of them myself.

“I mean, Rider... He’s cool.” Jayden shrugged as he lowered his gaze. “A lot better than the ones my abuelita had in the house before. Rider got stayin’ power and he never took advantage or anything. Kind of like another older brother I never asked for.” A grin flashed across his face.

“He can be...” Heat started to flow across my cheeks. “He can be very...protective.”

Jayden’s eyes widened as his mouth opened slightly. The flush in my cheeks deepened as I pressed my lips together.

“Huh. That’s the first time I’ve heard you talk.” He pushed off the locker, falling in step beside me. Shorter than his brother and Rider, he was still a couple of inches taller than me, so my neck appreciated not having to look up to see him. “Cool. I’m quiet, too.”

I arched a brow.

He laughed. “Okay. I’m not quiet. I’m sure if you Wikipedia’d my ass, I would show up as the opposite of quiet. But that’s okay. You and I would get along like lime and tequila. You can make up for my nonstop talkin’ and I can make up for your lack of talkin’.” He nudged my arm with his. “We’re a perfect team!”

The smile returned to my face. I didn’t really know him, but I liked him. He was cute in a charming way and the fact that he was nice added about a thousand bonus points. He chatted on about some football game this weekend, and then we parted ways as we hit the stairwell, and I didn’t see him again the rest of the morning. Not even before I hit the cafeteria, but Jayden was the furthest thing from my thoughts as I passed through its open doors.

Keira was at her table, the space empty beside her as it had been yesterday. She’d been late to English class, sliding into her seat just as the tardy bell rang and she rushed out of the room after class ended, so we didn’t have a chance to talk or anything. I hadn’t seen Rider or heard from him, and I wasn’t sure if he was going to pop out of thin air and whisk me away again.

What if Keira changed her mind?

What if I walked over to her table and she laughed at me?

Sounded totally crazy, but also possible, because I felt like anything was possible.

As I headed toward the lunch line, trying to determine what the hell was on the menu, because what I saw a guy carrying did not look like roasted chicken, Keira glanced up and waved.

Relief nearly took my legs out from underneath me. If she waved, she most likely wouldn’t laugh at me when I walked up to her table. My smile was probably really creepy, so I hurried to the lunch line, no longer concerned by the fact that what was being slopped on my plate actually smelled like fish instead of chicken. Still, my hands shook as I clutched the tray.

I faced the cafeteria, wishing Rider would show up and cart me away.

Hope sparked in my chest the moment that thought completed itself. I caught my breath. That was wrong—all of it wrong, the hope and then need that filled me. Relying on him to swoop in instead of doing this myself wasn’t what I wanted or needed. My grip tightened on the tray as I squared my shoulders. Knots took over my stomach, leaving no room for an appetite.

I can do this.

Drawing in a deep breath, I forced my feet to carry me over to the table. I took two steps. I had to walk around it to make it to Keira’s side, and that had to be one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. Eyes lifted from cell phones, landing on me. The stares were curious and confused, and the weight dragged down each of my steps. My chest felt tight with unfurling panic as I heard a girl at the table whisper, and Keira looked up at me.

Time seemed to have stopped.

And then a wide smile broke out across Keira’s face. “Hey, girl, I saved you a seat.” She patted the space beside her.

There was a buzz in my head, like an army of bees had burst from a hive within me. It took every ounce of concentration and effort to place the tray on the table without spilling anything and to sit without falling over. When my butt finally hit the hard plastic of the chair, I felt like I’d just climbed a rock wall.

“This is Mallory Dodge—your last name is Dodge, right?” she asked, dark eyes glimmering in the bright overhead lights.

I nodded, trying to get my lips to form a smile that didn’t make people want to run and hide their kids or something.

“Mallory’s in my English and speech classes. This is her first year here,” Keira continued, leaning back in the seat. She gestured at the girl with green eyes next to her. “This is Rachel.”

The pretty blonde wiggled her fingers in my direction.

“And that is Jo.” Keira nodded across the table at a dark-skinned girl with curly hair like hers. “And this is Anna. She’s the one who broke her wrist. She’s normally a base, but she was showing off. We all know how that ended.”

The brunette next to Jo raised her left arm, showing off a hot pink cast that circled her forearm and half of her hand. “I probably should’ve just let my face break my fall.”

Ouch.

“Yeah, if you broke your nose, you could still cheer.” Jo grinned at her.

Anna flipped her off with her good hand.

Keira laughed.

I rubbed my damp palms along my thighs. I really hoped no one shook my hand. Did people shake hands anymore? I didn’t think so. At least not at school, because that would be weird.

“You think?” Anna replied drily, raising brown eyebrows.

“Anyway.” Keira drew the word out, and then continued to introduce the other people at the table.

Everyone smiled or waved, and I liked to think the grimace on my face was more of a grin. My hands were folded so tight in my lap that my fingers were bloodless. During the flash round of introductions, two guys ended up at the table. One of them, who I recognized from one of my classes and thought was named Peter, draped an arm over Anna’s shoulder. The other sat next to Jo.

“You’re in my history class, right?” Possibly Peter asked, eyes narrowing thoughtfully on me.

My tongue was a lead pipe in my mouth so all I could do was nod.

“Cool,” he replied as he swiped a grape off Anna’s plate. Leaning to the side, he pulled out his phone. “I thought I saw you in there before I fell asleep.”

The other guy snorted.

Anna giggled. “I have no idea how you pass your classes. Seriously.”

He winked at her. “It’s my charm.”

“That’s doubtful,” Keira replied wryly as she looked at Peter. “I saw your picture this morning on Instagram. Did your shirt happen to conveniently fall off?”

Peter looked up from his phone. “This body?” He waved his free hand over his chest. “Needs to be shared with the world. See. Two hundred likes already.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Two hundred likes isn’t something to brag about.”

I didn’t have an Instagram account. Mainly because I had no idea what I’d take pictures of. Soap carvings? That would be lame, but now I felt like I really needed to get on that.

The group fell into an easy conversation that I was ridiculously envious of. The comradeship and joking, the genuine affection for each other, was something I had such limited experience with. I watched them as if I were a scientist studying an unknown species. I mean, I was close to Ainsley, but we didn’t go to school together like this.

I coasted through lunch, picking at my so-called chicken and what I think might have been scalloped potatoes. Chatter surrounded me. Every so often someone would ask a question or make a comment, and I would nod or shake my head in response. If anyone thought it was weird, no one said anything or acted different, but they had to have noticed that I hadn’t spoken a word.

Frustration bloomed inside me, because I knew I could talk, but every time there was the perfect moment for me to speak up, I got too caught up in overthinking what I could say. I remained silent, as if there was a cap plugging my throat closed, allowing only the minimal amount of air through.

Words were not the enemy or the monster under my bed, but they held such power over me. They were like the ghost of a loved one, forever haunting me.

Lunch ended without me talking but also without a major disaster, and I wanted to bound out of the cafeteria total Sound of Music style, with my arms spread wide. I was a complete dork, but as Keira and I parted ways, there was a happy buzz in my veins.

Today was a first.

I might not have spoken, but never had I ever sat at a lunch table with girls before. Years ago, when I attended school with Rider, I’d eaten lunch with him and sometimes with the other kids that came and went from our table, but never like this. Never on my own.

Never without someone there to speak for me.

It was major. There was probably a lame bounce in my step as I headed to class, and a small, almost triumphant smile was plastered across my face. Today was a freaking success. Go me. As speech class rolled around and I walked inside, I saw Paige in her seat, and some of the bounce went out of my step. She didn’t say anything as I took my seat, but I could feel her stare as I busied myself with pulling out my textbook. Once that was on my desk, I took a deep breath and looked up. A moment passed.

“He’s not coming. Neither is Hector.”

I blinked at the sound of Paige’s voice, and my gaze shot to her.

Paige was leaning back in her chair, her long legs stretched out underneath the desk and crossed at the ankles. Her dark eyes were fixed on me. “So, you know, you can stop staring at the door anytime now.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, I opened my mouth to tell her that I wasn’t watching for Rider, but that...that would be a lie. Heat invaded my cheeks.

One side of her lips curled up as she drew her legs in under the desk and leaned over, placing her hand on Rider’s empty seat. Her voice was low when she spoke. “I’m not sure if you realize this or not, but Rider is not available.”

Air caught in my throat as I stilled.

“Like I told you the other day, I’m his girlfriend,” she continued. “And I’ve got to say, sitting here and watching you wait for him to come in here is not cool.”

She was right.

It wasn’t cool.

“And watching you two have the reunion of the century on the first day of class also isn’t going to make the list of top one hundred things I want to repeat in my life,” Paige added, and I could also understand that. This conversation wouldn’t make my own list. “So I’m going to repeat myself just to make sure there’s no confusion. He’s my boyfriend. Stop acting like he’s yours.”

The tardy bell rang.

Paige straightened and flipped open her notebook as Mr. Santos started the class. My gaze crawled over the seats in front of us. No one appeared to have heard what she said to me, but I’d heard it loud and clear.

Message received.

* * *

Thursday evenings meant I fended for myself when it came to dinner since Rosa and Carl typically didn’t get home until nine on Tuesdays and Thursdays, sometimes later, depending on what came in through the hospital. I didn’t have much of an appetite, though.

Neither Rosa nor Carl had brought up the issue of Rider during breakfast, but he wasn’t far from my mind. What Paige had said in class lingered, and every time her words popped into my head, I cringed, but it didn’t stop me from worrying about him. Where had he disappeared to? And was he hurt or in trouble? Of course, my mind went to the worst possible scenario, even though I figured Paige would know if something bad had happened and wouldn’t have spent the time virtually warning me away from her boyfriend.

I barely touched the bowl of microwaveable rice, even though I’d loaded it with so much sodium that Rosa would’ve snatched the bottle of soy sauce right out of my hands.

Giving up on eating, I stowed the bowl in the fridge and headed upstairs. I pulled my phone out of my bag and tapped on the screen. No messages. I opened up the last and only text from Rider. Should I message him? Would it be weird if I did?

Ugh.

I tossed my phone on the bed and then pulled my hair up in a loose knot. Too restless to do my homework, I walked to the linen closet out in the hall and grabbed a bar of soap. I snagged the bag of tongue depressors Rosa had stashed away for me in the closet and carried the little bundle back to the bedroom.

I would need to soften the soap with warm water. I also needed to get a grocery bag or something to trap the shavings, so I didn’t leave a huge mess behind.

Staring at the wrapped bar of soap, I tried to think of something to carve. I’d already done trees, stars, footballs, ducks, boats, and Lord knows what else. Some were pretty simple, taking only an hour or so. Others had taken days if they were more intricate.

I started to peel the wrapping off the soap, but stopped. I didn’t want to get the shavings all over my school clothes, which inevitably would happen. I sat the soap and depressors on the desk then changed into a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top. Grabbing an old shirt out of the dresser, I tugged it on over my head. Too big, it kept slipping off my shoulder.

Turning to my desk, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror hanging on the interior of the closet door. I looked like a hot mess. Stepping closer to the mirror, I exhaled as I turned to the side. Pressing my hand on my lower stomach, I frowned. My belly was soft. My gaze dropped, and I winced.

The shorts were probably not a good idea. They were loose, but my legs were definitely...sturdy. Thighs were thick. Plucking at the hem of my shirt, I lifted it up. The tank top had a built-in bra, but the material was thin, just like the shirt. It didn’t hide any lumps. I was definitely not little. I was sturdy.

The bar of soap sat untouched on the desk.

How many people my age carved soap? Right now Keira was probably just getting home from cheerleading practice, and if Ainsley wasn’t with Todd, she was writing—she was always scribbling down short stories. Or shopping. For someone who didn’t have a job, she did that a lot, too, thanks to a hefty allowance. If she was with Todd, then she was probably making out. Something else she did a lot.

Something I was also kind of jealous of.

Embarrassing factoid I didn’t like to think about was that I’d never been kissed. Hell, I’d never talked to a guy on the phone, and definitely never gone out on a date. Ainsley had tried to fix me up with a friend of Todd’s, but I had totally bailed on that. The idea of meeting him made me want to hurl.

Months shy of turning eighteen, and I didn’t know what it felt like to be kissed or what it was like to be...to be wanted—to be loved in that kind of way.

Was I lacking in something?

I glanced down at myself and wiggled my toes as I narrowed my eyes. Sturdy. My body shape was sturdy, but Rider had said I was beautiful. Without any warning, an image of him formed in my thoughts. Brown eyes with golden flecks, broad cheekbones and incredible lips—lips I bet gave really great kisses.

Oh my God.

I could not, should not, be thinking that.

Shaking those thoughts out of my mind, I opened my eyes. What I was lacking wasn’t thinner thighs or a flatter stomach. It was courage. The fact was, I was a giant scaredy-cat. How could I be thinking about a guy’s lips when I couldn’t even get mine to work to form words?

My gaze drifted back to the soap. I guessed soap carving was a hobby, but it was a silent one and it required no words to complete, no thoughts. How appropriate. I didn’t have to put myself out there. Not like Keira did with the cheerleading. Shopping really wasn’t a hobby and writing didn’t involve getting out there, but Ainsley was outspoken, friendly and talkative. She didn’t just step out of the box, she played happily outside it. Me? I carved soap. Maybe I should’ve—

From my nightstand, my cell phone dinged. Figuring it was Ainsley since I wasn’t online, I headed over to pick it up.

It was not Ainsley.

R u home?

It was from Rider.

My breath caught.

Another text came through before I could get my brain to respond.

Alone?

My eyes felt as big as planets as I stared at my cell. This time I was not going to be crippled by indecision. I sent back a quick yes.

A couple of seconds passed. A minute turned into five, and I began to wonder if I was totally imagining things, but then a new text appeared and my heart stopped.

Two words.

I’m outside.


Chapter 8 (#ulink_c0202eed-695d-5ecd-bc49-45973f6cfce8)

Holy crap.

For a second I was completely frozen as I stared at the text. He was outside? No, he couldn’t mean he was actually outside the—

The doorbell rang, echoing from downstairs, and I whirled around, my lungs expanding rapidly.

Holy crap balls.

My brain sort of clicked off as I darted out of the room and down the hall, my bare feet flying down the steps. I almost barreled right through the foyer, stopping just shy of throwing the door open.

I wasn’t stupid.

Stretching up onto the tips of my toes, I peered through the peephole as I bit down on my lip. All I could see was the back of his head and the breadth of his shoulders.

It was Rider. He was really here.

Still clutching the phone and having no idea how this was happening, I swallowed hard as I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Rider turned at the waist, and I ended up eye level with his chest. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to answer.”

My gaze flicked up, and a strangled sound escaped me. I reached out, gripping his arm and all but dragged him inside. He caught the door with his other hand, closing it behind us.

“Your face.” My grip tightened on his forearm. “What happened?”

His brows furrowed as he reached up, touching the skin around the inch-long gash above his left eyebrow. Blood had dried around the cut and a bluish-purple shade had already begun to spread out around it. “This? Oh, it’s nothing.”

I stared at him. “It doesn’t...look like nothing.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Looking around the foyer, he peeled my white-knuckled grip off his arm. Instead of dropping my hand, he threaded his fingers through mine. “I thought you’d ask how I figured out which one was your house. I’m pretty impressed with my craftiness.”

Yeah, I was curious about that, but he was going to end up with a matching scar above his left eyebrow now. “Rider, your forehead...”

He glanced down at me as he squeezed my hand, grinning. “You told me you lived in the Pointe, so I took the metro to the Center and walked the rest of the way. Wasn’t too hard to figure out.” With his other hand, he ran the tips of his fingers over the fake daisies in the vase placed on the entry table. “I just looked for your car. Lucky me, it was in the driveway. So maybe I’m not that crafty.”

Crafty or not, he was hurt and that made me feel sick. I started tugging him toward the living room.

“What are you wearing?” he asked, letting me pull him along.

My eyes widened. I’d totally forgotten I was dressed for bed and that the sleepwear showcased my sturdy body. “I was getting...ready for bed.”

He arched his brow and then winced. “What time is it? Seven?”

“Seven-thirty,” I murmured, guiding him out of the hall and into the living room.

Taking in the spacious room, his attention lingered on all the potted plants in front of the bay window, then moved over the entertainment center and the built-in bookshelves. Then he turned to me. His gaze dipped, taking a slow slide down the length of my body, and I felt my toes curl against the hardwood floors. A rush of heady warmth followed his gaze and the answering tight shiver did strange things to certain parts of me.

Our eyes locked.

The stare held that same level of intensity from the day before. The temperature in the room zipped up several degrees and my breath suddenly felt short. He shifted closer.

He was still holding my hand. “I probably shouldn’t have come here.”

“You shouldn’t?”

His head cocked to the side, and I saw then that the collar of his shirt was torn. My heart dropped, and he shook his head as he let go of my hand. I thought he might leave, so I stepped forward, practically closing the distance between us. “Sit.”

Rider looked down at me, his expression indecisive.

“Sit,” I repeated. “Please?”

He looked behind me, seemed to have shuddered, and then he moved a pillow to the side before he sat. “Now what?” he asked, staring up at me with familiar yet strange eyes.

“Stay here.” When he leaned back on the couch, shifting his attention back to the bookshelf, I hurried out of the living room.

In the downstairs bathroom, I grabbed the peroxide and a few cotton balls and didn’t let myself think too much about this or worry about Carl and Rosa. I knew if they came home early, I’d be in so much trouble it wouldn’t even be funny, especially after the conversation yesterday. And though Rider’s presence might be a match to kindling, I honestly didn’t know how they’d react if they came home and found any boy in the house. I’m sure that was another thing that never crossed their minds.

Or mine.

Rider was where I’d left him, and I exhaled softly as I skirted the coffee table. He looked at what I carried, and a half grin appeared. “I’m fine, Mouse. Seriously.”

I shrugged as I came toward him, getting between his knees and the coffee table. “What happened?”

“Just some...some trouble,” he said, rubbing his palm along his jaw. “It’s nothing I want you to worry about.”

Unscrewing the peroxide cap, I soaked a cotton ball and then placed the bottle on the table. The sharp scent went straight to my nose. “You...you always made everything sound like it’s not a big deal. You’re doing that now.”

His lips continued to curve on the right and the dimple appeared. Then he sighed and scooted forward, spreading his legs. His hands suddenly landed on my hips, and I almost dropped the cotton ball at the unexpected contact. My breath caught as he lowered me so I was sitting on the edge of the coffee table and he kept moving forward, the inside of his legs sliding against the outside of mine. The rough material of his jeans touching my bare skin sent a raw, drenching rush of sensation through my veins.

“That better?” he asked, peering at me through lowered lashes.

I blinked, having no idea what he was talking about, and then I realized that seated like this, it was easier to reach him. His hands dropped from my hips to rest on his thighs, and they were oh so close to mine.

Stretching toward him, I gently swiped along the gash, and when he sucked in a breath, I pulled my hand back.

“It’s okay,” he said.

I tried again, and this time he didn’t move or make a sound. “Are you going to tell me...what happened?”

A moment passed, and I glanced down at him. “This reminds me of old times,” he said, and his lashes lifted. As his gaze drifted over me, it was focused but all too brief, because he looked away, a muscle working along his jaw. “Kind of.”

A flush raced across my cheeks as I switched out the ball for a new one. He was right—this was like all the other times I’d cleaned him up. Well, when I was younger, I tried to clean him up, but had no idea what I was doing, but as we grew older, and he got into fights defending me or for some other reason, this was our routine.

Except I was pretty sure that when his gaze roamed over me just now, he’d checked out my breasts, and that was definitely something that hadn’t happened before. Back then I doubted he even realized that I had them.

Probably because they didn’t appear until about two years ago.

My thoughts whirled to the car in the parking lot and to what Keira had said the day before as I cleaned up the cut. Was this a result of the shady people he was hanging out with? Would he now have matching scars above both eyebrows? I didn’t like the idea of that. “Why haven’t you been in class?”

“I had some stuff to take care of.”

“That’s not an answer.” When he said nothing, I tried again. “Are you... Are you safe, Rider?”

He turned his cheek toward me, and I almost dabbed him in the eyeball. “That would’ve stung,” he murmured, catching my wrist. He plucked the ball out of my hand and tossed it on the coffee table. “I’m safe. I’m always safe.”

I shook my head. “All those times you put yourself—”

“Mouse...”

“You put yourself in danger for me. You did, over and over again.” Anger snapped at the heels of the concern welling in my chest. “You never really stopped to think about...what could happen to you.”

He tilted his head back, meeting my gaze. “I knew what I was doing.”

“You...” My throat thickened as memories rose like a vile, tainted wave. “You took beatings for me. You—”

“Mouse,” he said gently. “I knew what I was doing then and I know what I’m doing now.”

Was he basically telling me that he was now taking a beating for someone else? Without him saying any more, I knew it. I knew the bloody gash on his forehead wasn’t because of something he’d done, but something someone smaller, weaker had done. “Are you a masochist?”

He stared at me a moment and then he laughed—that deep laugh that made me shiver. “That’s a good question.”

“It’s not funny.” I started to pull my arm away, but he held on to my wrist. Our gazes held again, and words bubbled up my throat like champagne. “I don’t like seeing you hurt now any better than I did back then.”

“But I’m not hurt.” His voice was low. “See? You took care of me.”

There was a swelling feeling in my chest again, but this one was different. Sort of like a balloon being filled. “Is that why you came here?”

He didn’t respond immediately. “I don’t know. I think I just missed you. Like not seeing you all this time after...after being around you every day for, hell, for a decade, and then...then I lost you. But now you’re back.” He smoothed his other hand over the top of mine. “It doesn’t seem real. The odds of us ever crossing each other’s path again had to be stacked against us, but here we are.”

Here we are.

“So how long do I have before—what were their names? Carl and Rosa? Yeah, that’s them. How long do I have before they come back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe...maybe an hour or so?” My hands felt incredibly small in his.

That lopsided grin was back. “I doubt they’d be happy to find me here.”

“Why?”

His brows rose. “Maybe I’m wrong. They used to coming home to find some strange guy sitting on their couch?”

I rolled my eyes.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Rider tugged on my hands, and I rose, letting him pull me down to the couch beside him. He leaned back, sliding one arm around my shoulders and tucking me against his side. “Just par for the course with you, huh?”

I didn’t know what to do with my hands since he’d let go of them, so I folded them in my lap. “I’ve never had a...guy here.”

Rider stiffened and then he twisted his neck so he was looking at me.

Did I seriously admit that out loud? Squeezing my eyes shut, I sighed. “I’m just...going to shut up now.”

He chuckled. “Don’t do that. I like listening to you talk.”

With our sides pressed together and his arm around my shoulders, it was like having one foot in the past and one in the present. Being this close now felt totally different than before. If only the TV had been on, I imagined we’d be following in the footsteps of couples all over the world, cuddled up as we were.

Except we weren’t a couple.

I really needed to get that thought out of my head. “You didn’t, um, miss much in class. We have to read examples of...informative speeches.”

“Sounds fun.”

Our gazes met briefly, and I looked away. “Where have you been, Rider?”

Rider was silent as he slid his hand up my arm. His fingers brushed over the bare skin of my shoulder as he curved his hand there. It seemed like such an unconscious move, but tiny bumps formed on my skin, chasing the caress. “Hector and I needed to talk to some people.”

My gaze shifted up to his again. “Does talking involve fists?”

A wry grin formed. “Sometimes.” He reached up, wiggling the knot of hair piled atop my head. “Hector’s brother...he’s young. Jayden’s just fifteen, but sometimes he seems even younger than that. You know, mentally, and he gets himself into some trouble.”

Staring up at him, I was struck again by the fact that some things didn’t change. Or maybe it was some traits in people. “So you’re helping him out of trouble?”

“Trying,” he murmured, resting his head against the back of the cushion. His eyes took on a hooded, lazy quality as he continued to mess with my hair. I had no idea what he was doing. “Anyway, we talked yesterday. Made sure Jayden got his ass to class today. The talking didn’t go as smoothly this evening.”

Oh my God, I wanted to hug him and punch him. “Rider—”

“Did you ever think we’d be sitting here?” he asked.

“You’re changing the subject,” I pointed out.

“I am.” He flashed a quick, impish grin. “But did you?”

“No,” I admitted, swallowing against the sudden lump in my throat. “I never thought...I’d see you again. I hoped that I would.”

“Hoping never really got us anywhere, did it?”

I shook my head. Growing up as we did, we learned real quick to get on a first-name basis with reality. Things like hope and aspirations had seemed like dreams and fantasies.

Rider’s fingers kept moving along the knot and before I knew it, he’d worked the bun loose. My hair fell past my shoulders, a tangled mess of waves. “I like it down,” he said, and the hollows of his cheeks pinked as he dropped his hand. His fingers grazed my upper arm. “Though I kind of miss the orange. Made it easy to pick you out in a crowd.”

“Thanks.”

He laughed. “Ah, I’m lying. Still easy to pick you out. A mile away,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Because I’m shorter...than everyone in a crowd,” I replied drily.

His gaze flickered over my face in that strange, concentrated way. “No, not that at all.” Casting his gaze to my hands, his brows lowered. “So how have your first three days at school been?”

Only three days? Felt longer than that. I raised a shoulder. “Okay.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

Lifting my gaze to his, I suddenly thought of Paige. I pulled away, putting space between us. How had I forgotten about her? I’d been caught off guard by Rider’s sudden appearance and the condition he’d been in, but that wasn’t a good enough excuse.

I glanced over at him, a hundred questions rising to the surface. One of them being why he’d come to me instead of Paige in the first place.

My heart started pounding. Part of me didn’t want to bring her up, because if he didn’t, then I could still... What? What could I still do? Even if we never talked about Paige, it didn’t change reality. And his having a girlfriend didn’t change what we were. Which was friends.

I drew in a deep breath. “You...you have a...girlfriend, right?”

“What?” Rider stared at me a moment and then he shook his head. “That kind of came out of nowhere.”

True. I didn’t let that deter me. “It’s...it’s the girl in our speech class.”

Rider stared at me a moment. “You’re talking about Paige. Yeah, we’ve been seeing each other.”

Folding my hands in my lap, I smiled nervously. “That’s...that’s good.”

He looked away, lips pursed. “We’ve known each other for a while. She’s known Hector since elementary school, so she’s always been around, you know?”

I really didn’t know, but I could imagine.

“And she’s pretty cool. Not uptight,” he said, and I wondered if he thought I was uptight. “I can...just chill with her, not really worry about anything. Anyway, we started dating last spring.” He stopped and looked over at me. “How did you know? Did she talk to you?”

Oh, man. I didn’t want him to know about the conversation from today. I closed my hands and told myself that none of this was any of my business. “No. I just... I saw the way you two were...um, together the first day of class.”

His brows rose. “What way was that?”

Looking away, I sort of wished I’d kept my mouth shut. “She was very...touchy with you.”

“Huh.” There was a pause. “I’m touchy with you and that doesn’t mean we’re seeing each other.”

Icy air hit the center of my chest as his words slammed into my consciousness. Whoa. He had a point, a very good point, and while I didn’t think he meant anything when he’d said that, that icy air burned nonetheless.

“I mean,” he said, knocking his shoulder into mine, “you and I have always been like that.”

“True,” I murmured, smiling again as I looked up at him.

Our eyes held for a few seconds and his narrowed. “She didn’t say anything to upset you, did she?”

“Why...why would you think that?”

One side of his lips kicked up. “She’s— Let’s just say Paige is a tough girl.”

The burn radiated out from my chest. Of course Rider would be into a tough girl. He was tough, and Paige had no problem putting me in my much deserved place today. If I’d been in her shoes, I would’ve sat there and said nothing.

“So she can be a little rough on people,” he finished.

I shrugged.

His gaze turned sharp as he focused on me. “Did she say something to you? I can talk to her. Make sure she knows how—”

“No.” I jerked, startled by myself. The word came out a little louder than I intended. I practically shouted it. “You don’t need to talk with her.”

A look of doubt crossed his features. “Mallory—”

“It’s okay.” Wiggling to the edge of the couch, I flicked one of the unused cotton balls across the table. “I mean...she didn’t say anything to me. You don’t have to say anything to her.”

I looked over my shoulder at him, meaning what I was saying. As much as I...as I loved that he retained that fierce protective streak, I couldn’t rely on him always being there to have my back. For the last four years, he hadn’t been there, and we couldn’t go back. I couldn’t allow it, no matter how easy it would be. “I don’t...I don’t want it like that.”

“How do you want it?” he asked and then raised his fingers to his brow, rubbing around the cut. His lips twisted in a harsh facade of a smile. “Don’t answer that.”

I wasn’t sure what that even meant. Confused, I stared at him, feeling like I’d missed something really important.

“I should get going. I don’t want to get you in trouble.” He scooted to the edge of the couch.

Before I could protest, which wouldn’t be wise even though I did want him to hang out longer, he placed his hands on my cheeks. My breath stalled out somewhere between my throat and chest. Leaning in, he pressed his lips against my forehead, dropping a kiss that squeezed my heart into slush. My eyes drifted shut as his lips lingered against my skin. Knocked off-kilter, I didn’t move when he pulled back and stood.

An eternity might have passed before I dragged my eyes open and found him staring down at me, his golden-brown eyes bright, his lips parted. I cleared my throat. “I can...give you a ride.”

His gaze dipped, and then he arched a brow. “No need. I got it taken care of.”

Pushing to my feet, I followed him out to the foyer. He reached for the door and then turned back to me. “I’m glad you opened the door.”

My smile felt wobbly. “I’m glad...you texted.”

Rider tilted his head to the side. “Yeah?”

I nodded, probably a little too eagerly, but as the dimple in his right cheek took shape, it was like being rewarded. Our eyes met for a moment, and I didn’t want him to leave. An urge took me like it had during lunch, and I all but bounced forward. Gripping his arms, I stretched up and kissed his cheek. It was pretty much just a peck, so I figured it wasn’t crossing any lines, but the feel of his skin under my lips was still unnerving and unexpected.

“Be careful,” I whispered, backing off.

Rider’s grin faded from his handsome face. A moment passed before he spoke. “Always, Mouse.”


Chapter 9 (#ulink_5d620819-2288-548d-b334-be9fd0c12cdf)

I tiptoed up the creaky stairs, wincing every time the boards groaned under my steps. I had to be quiet or Mr. Henry would catch me. That would be bad. Very bad.

I crept down the dark hallway. Miss Becky was sick again, in bed, but if I could get her up, she would help Rider. Inching the door open slowly, so that it didn’t make a sound, I glanced around the bedroom. The lamp on the nightstand was on, flooding the room with muted yellow light. Empty brown bottles littered the top of the dresser. The room smelled funny. Stagnant. I moved toward the bed, squeezing my hands closed. Miss Becky was lying atop it, but she didn’t look right. She looked like one of those mannequins in the stores, pale and still.

“Miss Becky,” I whispered, breaking a rule. I was never to wake her up, but Rider needed help. There was no movement on the bed. I crept closer. “Miss Becky?”

Frightened, I hesitated near the bed. The room blurred. Burning tears filled my eyes as I shifted my weight from my left foot to the right. I tried to say her name again, but there was no sound. The strap of her tank top was halfway down her arm and her chest didn’t seem to move.

I started to turn away, to go hide, because something was very wrong, but Rider was outside, and it was cold enough that my gloveless fingers had ached on the playground at school earlier. I lifted bony shoulders and rushed back to the bed. I reached out, grabbing Miss Becky’s arm. Her skin felt cold and...and plastic. I yanked my hands back and spun, running out of the room. Miss Becky... She wasn’t going to be able to help. It was up to me, and I wouldn’t let Rider down. I crept back down the steps and quietly edged past the moldy-smelling bathroom.

Mr. Henry shouted a bad word from the living room, causing my heart to jump, but I pressed on, reaching the back door. Stretching up, I unlocked the door, the sound cracking like thunder throughout the kitchen. I turned the doorknob.

“What in the hell are you doing, girl?”

I flinched, shrinking back as my body locked up. I prepared myself for fists as I opened my mouth. Screams ripped through the air, through the house and—

“Mallory! Wake up!” Hands clutched my shoulders, shaking me. “Wake up.”

Jerking upright, I yanked myself free as I scuttled across the bed. My right hand hit air. Balance thrown off, I teetered on the edge of the bed. The hand on my left arm tightened. Another scream built in my throat. My wild gaze darted around the brightly lit bedroom. The past slowly peeled back, like the stain of tar and smoke being washed away. No beer bottles. No newspaper-covered kitchen table. I stared into Carl’s dark eyes. Concern was etched on his weary face. His hair stuck up in every direction and his gray shirt was rumpled.

“Are you okay?” he demanded as I dragged in deep, uneven breaths. “God, Mallory, I haven’t heard you scream like that...”

In years.

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Hand shaking, I brushed hair back from my face as I swallowed. My throat was raw. I realized then that Rosa stood in the doorway, cinching the belt on her robe around her waist. She said something, but I couldn’t follow. In my chest, my heart was pounding fast.

“It’s okay.” Carl patted my arm as he looked over his shoulder, at the door. “It was just a nightmare, cariño. Go back to bed.”

How could it be just a nightmare? Nightmares weren’t real. This...this was.

* * *

Morning came too soon, and it was all I could do to drag myself through the day. When speech class rolled around, I headed into class and immediately made eye contact with Paige. Today her hair was smoothed back into one of those ballerina buns and she was wearing large gold hoop earrings. She looked amazing. However, the pinched set to her face when she spotted me was not amazing.

Dragging my left foot, I stumbled and the crack of my flip-flop sounded like thunder. I didn’t fall, but my hip bumped into an empty desk.

Paige’s lips twisted up at the corners as she raised a brow.

Horrified, I froze for half a second and then I snapped out of it. Hurrying to my seat, I sat down. My cheeks were scalding. The way she had been staring at me before I tripped like an idiot made me think that Rider might’ve said something to her like he’d offered to the night before.

He wouldn’t, I told myself as I opened my notebook and saw the notes I’d scribbled down the day before. Eyes narrowing, I couldn’t figure out what the one sentence I wrote actually meant and—

“Mouse.”

Air caught in my throat as I looked up. Rider had to be part ghost, because I hadn’t heard him take his seat beside me or say anything to Paige, but there he was. Wearing an old shirt with a faded emblem and with his arms crossed against his broad chest, he was the picture of lazy arrogance.

Seeing him after last night had me feeling weird in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t told Carl and Rosa about Rider coming by the house. Worse, I didn’t plan to.

Mouse.

Part of me hated that nickname, because of what it symbolized. The other half sort of loved it, because it was his nickname. I wasn’t sure which feeling outweighed the other.

My heart decided to do something funny in my chest. “Rider.”

His full lips curved up in a half grin, drawing my attention to his mouth. How could a guy have such perfect lips? It wasn’t fair. And why was I staring at his mouth? The blush turned my face into a breathing strawberry, and his grin spread, showing off the dimple. “Miss me?”

My hands flattened across my open notebook as my gaze darted toward Paige. She was looking at something Hector was showing her on his phone, but I couldn’t believe he asked that in front of her. Or maybe that wasn’t a big deal and I was making a big deal out of it?

I forced myself to shrug as I glanced up and saw that the gash above his left eye wasn’t as ugly as before. “How is your head?” I asked, voice low.

“Totally forgot about it.” His gaze briefly dipped. “How was your day?”

Something warm shifted inside me as I heard the distant clang of the warning bell. “I ate lunch with Keira today. Second day in a row,” I told him, then winced at how stupid that sounded.

Rider’s grin turned into a full smile, transforming his handsome face into the kind of masculine beauty that was like a punch to the chest. “That’s really good, Mallory.” His voice dropped as he reached over, curving his hand over my arm. There was a near electric rush from his touch. “I’m proud of you. For real.”

Giddiness surrounded my heart as I stared at his large hand, darker than my own. He knew how big that was, and I didn’t feel so idiotic. He got it. He got me. And that meant the entire universe to me.

A shadow fell between our desks. Hector was in the process of sitting down, and had stopped halfway, his head cocked to the side. His eyes were on Rider’s hand, and he looked like a chupacabra had just walked in front of him.

Rider drew back, folding his arms. “You okay, bro?”

Hector’s green eyes flicked to him. “Are you?”




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