Acclaimed author Katie McGarry returns with the knockout new story of two high school seniors who are about to learn what winning really means

Champion kickboxer Haley swore she’d never set foot in the ring again after one tragic night. But then the guy she can’t stop thinking about accepts a mixed martial arts fight in her honor. Suddenly, Haley has to train West Young. All attitude, West is everything Haley promised herself she’d stay away from. Yet he won’t last five seconds in the ring without her help.

West is keeping a big secret from Haley. About who he really is. But helping her—fighting for her—is a shot at redemption. Especially since it’s his fault his family is falling apart. He can’t change the past, but maybe he can change Haley’s future.

Haley and West have agreed to keep their relationship strictly in the ring. But as an unexpected bond forms between them and attraction mocks their best intentions, they’ll face their darkest fears and discover love is worth fighting for.

His lips press against my shoulder and I allow myself to melt into him.

Goose bumps rise on the back of my neck and I shouldn’t, but I angle my head so more of my neck is exposed. He kissed me. I should tell West to stop, that he’s crossed lines, but his lips against my skin created a feeling of togetherness, a closeness I’ve been longing for.

In quiet acceptance of my invitation, West skims his nose along the sensitive skin near my hairline.

‘What did home feel like?’ he whispers into my ear.

‘Warm,’ I whisper back.

Praise for

Katie McGarry

bestselling author of

PUSHING THE LIMITS

‘The love story of the year’ —Teen Now

‘A real page-turner’ —Mizz

‘A romance with a difference’ —Bliss

‘McGarry details the sexy highs, the devastating lows and the real work it takes to build true love.’

—Jennifer Echols

‘A riveting and emotional ride’

—Simone Elkeles

‘Highly recommend to fans of hard-hitting, edgy, contemporary and to anyone who loves a smouldering, sexy, consuming love story to boot!’

—Jess Hearts Books blog

‘McGarry is definitely a YA author to keep an eye out for.’

—ChooseYA blog

Also available

PUSHING THE LIMITS

CROSSING THE LINE (eBook novella)

DARE YOU TO

CRASH INTO YOU

Find out more about Katie McGarry at www.miraink.co.uk and join the conversation on Twitter @MIRAInk or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MIRAInk

KATIE MCGARRY was a teenager during the age of grunge and boy bands and remembers those years as the best and worst of her life. She is a lover of music, happy endings and reality television and is a secret University of Kentucky basketball fan. She is also the author of Pushing the Limits, Dare You To, Crash Into You and the novella Crossing the Line.

Katie would love to hear from her readers. Contact her via her website, katielmcgarry.com, follow her on Twitter @KatieMcGarry, or become a fan on Facebook and Goodreads.

Take Me On

Katie McGarry

www.miraink.co.uk

Contents

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

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Acknowledgments

Haley

A door squeaks open at the far end of the barren hallway and the clicking of high heels echoes off the row of metal post-office boxes. I attempt to appear casual as I flip through the mail. All of it leftovers from our previous life: my brother’s mixed martial arts magazine, an American Girl doll catalog for my sister, another seed and gardening catalog for my mother.

Collection notices for my father.

There are more demands for payment. I wonder if I should give them to Dad or hand them off to my mother or grandfather. Maybe I should save us all from the reminder and set them on fire. It’s not like there won’t be a fresh batch tomorrow.

I juggle a few pieces to keep all of it from falling onto the floor. Beyond the windows, the sky darkens into dusk. I inhale deeply to calm the nervous adrenaline flooding my veins. Too much to do, not enough time: the mail, the grocery list from my aunt, convince the grandfather who hates me to write me a letter of recommendation, dropping off and picking up my father’s antianxiety medication. It’s Friday night and I’ve got two hours to make my uncle’s curfew or I’ll be spending the night on the streets.

The woman with the noisy heels continues down the hallway and doesn’t acknowledge my existence as she heads to the employee entrance. Unlike me, she’s dressed in a thick winter coat. Her hair is the same light brown as mine, but my hair is longer. I imagine my cheeks are painted red, like hers, from the February wind.

This building is normal for her. Nothing about this is normal for me. My family and I, we no longer have a brick-and-mortar mailing address in Louisville. We no longer have a home.

I pause at the last letter in the stack, and not in an enlightening way. No, this is the same pause I had when my father announced he’d lost his job. The same pause I had the day the county sheriff taped the eviction notice on our front door. It’s a thin white envelope. Its appearance wouldn’t cause anyone else’s heart to sink to their toes. For me, it does. It’s from the University of Notre Dame, and it’s obviously not an acceptance.

I slam the door of the mailbox shut. Today sucks.

* * *

Walking into my grandfather’s gym, I feel a little drunk on hope and a little like I’m marching to the gallows. Getting the rejection from Notre Dame left an emptiness and the thought of scoring a letter of recommendation for a scholarship to anywhere is definitely a potent wine. Alcohol and an empty stomach shouldn’t mix, but, at the moment, I’m feeling bold.

“My, oh my, the flies are drawing in the shit.” From the inside of an octagon cage, my cousin Jax shouts at me. Beads of sweat blanket him from head to toe. He wears boxing gloves on his hands and protective gear on his head. I say nothing as I’m fresh out of comebacks.

A group of newer fighters warms up by jumping rope to the pissed-off voice of Dr. Dre booming from the speakers. Returning here, I feel younger than eighteen, older than six, and, for a few seconds, like I’m home.

The gym is a metal building, a step above a warehouse and several steps below those fancy chain gyms. Black punching bags hang from metal framework, and pictures of my grandfather’s various award-winning fighters cover the wall. A sweet combination of bleach and a tropical plug-in overwhelms my senses.

In one corner, two guys go at it in a boxing ring, and in the other corner some guys, including Jax, watch a demonstration of a takedown in a caged-in octagon.

The rustling of nylon athletic pants gains my attention as my grandfather cocks a hip against the doorframe of his office. His name is John, and he requires us to call him that. As usual, he wears a white T-shirt with the black logo of his gym: Freedom Fighters. Like every guy here, John is toned and a fighting machine. Sixty-two years hasn’t slowed him down. In fact, the death of my grandmother a couple of years ago has driven him harder.

“It’s a bit chilly,” he says. “But not cold enough for hell to have frozen over.”

My chin lifts in response. “You said I was always welcome.”

“Thought you said you’d rather drink poison then step in here again.”

I did. And he has me exactly where he wants me, but I refuse to break eye contact. We stare at each other for what seems like a year. My grandfather has a weathered look: a firm face set in stone, crow’s-feet stamped near his eyes and lines creating parentheses around his mouth. Occasionally, my grandfather smiles, but he hasn’t shown me that feature since I left his gym a year ago.

“Is your uncle bothering you?” he asks.

My uncle. Jax’s dad. My father’s half brother. The guy whose house we’ve been living in since the bank repossessed our home and we moved out of the shelter. I’m sure a few terrorist organizations refer to him as The Dictator. The answer to John’s question is yes, but I say, “No.”

“Is it your mom?”

His daughter. “She’s fine.” Sort of.

“Is something wrong at school?”

Everything is wrong at school. “No.”

“Haley,” he says with an overabundance of exasperation. “I’ve got fighters to train. Whatever it is, spit it out.”

I glance away and focus on the fighters warming up, unsure what to do. They stare at me as the ropes go over their heads, then under their feet. Snap. Snap. Snap. It’s as if they jump in unison now. Some guys I know from school. Others I don’t. My older brother, the one who’s leading them, is the only one who looks away.

My grandfather sighs and pushes off the doorframe to head toward the fighters.

“I can’t give him the collection notices again,” I whisper in a rush. “I...can’t...”

It’s not what I meant to say. I meant to ask for a recommendation, but somehow the intention became a traitorous ninja. Now that the spillway of the dam’s been opened, the words cascade like a long drop from a mountain.

“I don’t know what to do. Mom constantly works and she’s tired and she doesn’t know how to handle Dad and when I bring the notices home...” I hesitate. Not home. That hellhole is not a home. “To the house and—” that low-life slimeball of an uncle “—he sees them, then it gets worse and I can’t do it, okay? Not today.”

Not when I lost my dream. Not when everything inside me is so twisted it hurts to breathe. Not when I don’t know if I’ll ever get accepted to college or, if I do, whether I’ll have a way to pay for it.

The stone expression slides off John’s face and his dark eyes soften. Mom has his eyes. So do I. My grandmother loved our eyes. In two strides my grandfather reaches me and angles himself to hide me from the fighters. The moment I’m out of view, my shoulders sag and I close my eyes.

“It’s okay,” he says under his breath.

It’s not. It’s never going to be okay again. He places his hand on my arm, squeezes, and that one show of emotion, show of support, jostles the fragile foundation on which I stand. Tears form behind my closed lids. I shake my head, wishing he’d go back to being an asshole.

“Give them to me,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”

I swing the pack around and hand him the new notices. “What are you going to do with them?”

“Something.” John barely has the money to keep his gym open. “Don’t worry.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear and rub the back of my neck. Jax has stopped watching the demonstration and leans against the cage with his gloved hands resting on the fence over his head. He whistles at my brother, Kaden, and nods his chin at me.

Jax isn’t related to John, but after the first few years of family gatherings and witnessing how Jax’s father treats him like garbage, John became Jax’s surrogate grandfather. My grandfather does his best to counteract the evil that is Jax’s father.

Now not only do I have my grandfather’s full attention, but that of my cousin and brother. The fact that I’m here after a yearlong hiatus—six months when I left to train with the competing gym, Black Fire, and the past six months spent protesting the sport of kickboxing altogether—is reason enough for Jax and Kaden to be nosy. The fact that my grandfather and I have spoken without ripping each other into dog food is enough for them to be dying of curiosity.

“Is there something else, Haley?” And the warm, fuzzy moment we shared vanishes.

I pull out the scholarship application I found this morning in the guidance counselor’s office. It offers to pay for books for four years. It’s not huge, but it’s something, and sometimes in life you just need something, no matter how small it is.

“I thought you could help me with this.”

He snatches the papers out of my hand quick enough to cause a paper cut on my finger. My breathing hitches with the sting, and a discontented sigh escapes his lips. How easily I forgot he has no room for weakness.

His eyes roam the page before settling on me. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s a scholarship application.”

“I can read.”

“For kinesiology.”

Not big on repeating himself, he tilts his head with enough annoyance that I have to work on not shrinking.

“I have all the requirements.” I was a student athlete who showed leadership potential, my GPA is high and I’ll major in kinesiology if they grant me a scholarship. I’ll major in dinosaur dentistry if someone will give me money. “I need a letter of recommendation from someone who knows what I’m capable of, and no one knows what I can do better than you.”

Not true. My father was the complete expert when it came to me. He’s the one who taught me how to fight. He’s the reason I loved kickboxing, but a recommendation from a trainer of my grandfather’s caliber is what’s required. Not a letter from my father. Not a letter from someone who hasn’t fought or trained in years.

“Did the trainer from Black Fire turn you away?”

Even though I knew it would be coming, the mention of my ex-boyfriend Matt’s gym wrings me of energy like water from a sponge. “I won’t go to them.”

“So you’re saying you need a recommendation for betraying your teammates? Your family? For being a quitter?”

I honestly flinch, because that dagger stabbed into my heart hurt like hell.

John flips through the paperwork. “Kinesiology. Study of human movement. A study for people interested in physical therapy or becoming trainers. A degree for sports people.” John slams the papers back into my hand. “Not you.”

He leaves. His back turned to me like I don’t matter. No. This isn’t how it’s going down. An insane flash of anger propels me forward. “I hold a national title.”

“Held.” John weaves through the punching bags and I follow. Twice I have to jump out of the way of a bag kicked too hard.

“That’s right,” I say. “Held.” A bag flies in front of me and I push it back.

“Out of the way!” the fighter behind it shouts.

“Screw you,” I snap, and then I say to John, “That’s a hell of a lot more than most of the people training here.”

John rounds on me so fast I stumble into a bag. “The people in here are dedicated. They didn’t walk away. They didn’t forsake everything and everyone who loved them.”

I try one more time through gritted teeth. “I need this.”

“I only write letters for people who earn them. You want it, then get your ass in that locker room and start sweating on my floor. Or are you still a runner?”

His face is in mine and it’s a testament to my stubbornness that I haven’t broken into tears. A wave of nausea disorients me. John’s not going to help me, and, to protect the two people I love the most in life, I can’t work out in this gym again.

With all eyes on me, I pivot away from my grandfather and walk out the door.

West

I ask why more than I should, some days I regret the decisions I make and most mornings I wake up on edge. The three don’t often combine, but today I hit the shit trifecta.

Leaning against an aging telephone booth, I withdraw the envelope from my coat pocket and ignore the chill of the evening wind. The University of Louisville logo stands out in red across the top. I snagged the envelope yesterday before my parents figured out it had arrived. They’ve been stalking the mailbox, desperate for news that isn’t bad.

My bruised and cut knuckles scream in protest as I unfold the paper. Each joint in my fingers pounds in time with the muscles in my jaw. A few hours ago, I got expelled from school for fighting.

Mom and Dad should know better than to expect good news from me. Mom holds on to hope. Dad, on the other hand...

I’m not a rocket scientist and don’t need to be to know thin letters aren’t good. My head literally throbs reading the words. I silently swear and slouch farther against the glass. It’s only February and the rest of spring is going to bring more rejections.

I crumple the paper and toss it into the ashtray sitting outside the doors of the Laundromat. The remains of a smoldering cigarette char the edges of the letter. Ironic. The rest of my life is also going up in smoke.

My cell rings and I snatch it out of my coat pocket. “Yeah.”

“Your father said you haven’t come to the hospital.” It’s Mom and my eyes narrow at the entrance of the shit-hole bar at the end of this decrepit strip mall. She steps out of the bar and onto the sidewalk, a black scarf hiding her blond hair. Huge designer sunglasses disguise her face, and she sports a tailored coat that costs more than every car parked in this dump.

Mom is high-end, high-style and high-maintenance. And this landfill? I glance around the gray lot. Not a car made in this decade in sight. A Laundromat, a dollar store, a grocery store, a pharmacy with bars over the windows and, down toward the end, the bar.

She stands out here. I blend in better with my sagging jeans and hat on backward, which is good because she doesn’t know I’m here. Mom’s a petite thing, and I tower over her at my six feet. I inherited Mom’s looks with the blond hair and blue eyes. If I need to, I can defend myself, but Mom has no business being here. Yet she shows once a month. Same damn time. Same damn day. Even with her youngest daughter, Rachel, in the hospital in intensive care.

“You’re not staying with Rachel?” I ask. Mom has no idea I’ve been following her for the past ten months. I came to this hellhole last spring to buy pot from a potential new dealer, someone cheaper than the guys at my school. Private school equates to marked-up.

“No,” she answers.

Shocked doesn’t describe the reaction I had when I saw my mother walking into the bar the first time. After that near encounter, I keep a tight watch on her. It’s my job to protect my family. I failed with Rachel and don’t plan on failing again.

“Your father arrived,” Mom continues. “He told me to take a break and eat.”

Take a break. Eat. Screw the guy she’s been meeting.

A year ago, I would have laughed if anyone suggested my mother would have an affair, but what else could be the explanation for the wife of one of the wealthiest men in the state to be hanging out in the armpit of the city? I can’t say I blame her. My father has a habit of ignoring his family.

Mom freezes by the door to her car and I silently urge her to get in. A guy a few steps from me has become too interested in her, her Mercedes or both.

“West.” She sighs into the phone and her shoulders slump. “You need to visit Rachel. When she’s awake, she’s asked for you. Her condition is serious, and you need to come.”

I inch the speaker away from my mouth. My insides ache as if the blows I took today at school created internal damage. Rachel’s legs were trashed in the accident and no one needs to tell me that she may never walk again. Her accident is my fault and I can’t face her.

“Your principal said the fight you had today was over a joke about her.”

Joke, my ass. Some asshole junior called my sister a gimp. No one talks shit about Rachel. But even though I was defending Rachel, the school still threw me out. As the pasty head of our school explained, there have been too many detentions, too many warnings, and, though he regretted the situation with my sister, I had left him with no choice—I just wasn’t Worthington Private material.

“How is she?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Come to the hospital and ask her yourself.”

Not going to happen. When I say nothing, Mom continues, “She’s in pain and she needs you.”

“She has Ethan.” Her twin. “And Jack.” Our older brother. Gavin, the oldest of our brood of five, has also been there, but I don’t mention his name. Mom is still having a hard time dealing with his gambling issues. The entire world thinks the Youngs are perfect, but our family is a damn mess.

“Rachel wants you.”

She doesn’t. Our last words were spoken in anger. Hell, our last month of words were spoken in anger. How can she forgive me when I can’t?

Mom allows the silence as she slides into her car and starts the engine. The muscles in my neck relax the moment she backs out of her spot. She transfers me to her Bluetooth and switches me to speaker. “Your father is upset. In fact, this is the angriest I’ve seen him. He told you to go straight from school to the hospital.”

That would have left Mom defenseless; plus I’m done with Dad ordering me around. Playing Dad between meetings doesn’t make him my father. “I’ll talk to him at home.”

She pulls out of the lot and softens her tone. “After what’s happened with Rachel and with Gavin...”

I readjust my stance. I tried to prevent all of this with Gavin, but then Rachel told me she needed the money I took from her to help Gavin and... I can’t continue the thought.

“This isn’t the time to antagonize your father. He made it clear months ago he wouldn’t help you if the school expelled you. I’ve tried talking with him, telling him you were defending your sister, but he isn’t moving on this. He wants you at the hospital tonight. He means it. This isn’t the time to push boundaries.”

Dad and I have been a gasoline fire nearing a tanker for months. He doesn’t understand the problems facing this family. He doesn’t understand everything I’ve done to protect them all. His entire focus belongs solely to his business, then on Mom. In the end, my father doesn’t respect my brothers or sister or me.

“It’ll work out,” I say. Because there’s no way he’d permit his son to fail out his senior year. Dad’s expectations of me may be low, but he won’t let anyone else think poorly of his family. The bastard has always been about reputation. “I’ll be up there later tonight.”

“Make it sooner—as in now.” She pauses. “And visit Rachel.”

“I’ll see Dad.” I hang up and head for my car. I told Mom it would work out, but a restless thought inside me wonders if Dad’s serious.

Haley

An hour bus ride to my uncle’s, forty minutes waiting for Dad’s prescription and, as I walk out of the pharmacy, I still haven’t thought of a witty enough comeback for when Jax looks at me from across the dinner table and mouths John’s last word to me: “Runner.”

“Am not” won’t do the job.

Especially since Jax will ignore his actual age of seventeen and revel in his maturity level of six with the response of, “Are too.”

Short of kicking him in the balls from underneath the table, there’s no way to win once someone says, “Are too.” Besides, Jax has learned to cover himself when he sits across from me.

On top of it all, I’ve been rejected by the University of Notre Dame. My eyes sting and I blink. I could say it’s the wind burning my eyes, but that’s a lie. I’m awesome at lying to everyone else but have yet to perfect lying to myself.

Trying to ignore the cold, I shove my hands in my jeans pockets and weave through the crowd huddled underneath the covered sidewalk. The plastic bags from the pharmacy and grocery store crackle as they swing from my wrist. Between the darkness of the winter night and the faces buried under hats and coats, the people I pass become nothing more than expressionless ghosts.

The sun set a half hour ago and I’ve got a little less than fifteen minutes till curfew. The Dictator is strict about the comings and goings of anyone living in his household.

We’re having squirrel tonight for dinner.

Squirrel.

As in the rodent with the fuzzy tail that gets zapped on power lines.

Squirrel.

And it’s my turn to say grace. On top of not securing a comeback, I’ve also failed to find a way to thank God for the bounty that is squirrel. I’m sure, “Dear God, thank you for the fuzzy rat you gave us to eat and please don’t let me die of the plague after I digest it. Is that gristle? Amen,” will meet my uncle’s approval.

With ten people in one two-bedroom house, there are bound to be some personality clashes or, in my and my uncle’s case, a revisit of the Cold War. Actually, Russia and the U.S. liked each other a tiny bit more. He has a problem with girls who think, and I’m a fan of using my brain.

The moment I round the corner of the strip mall, two hulking silhouettes emerge from behind the back of the building. More male muscle reeking of ominous threat than friendly passerby. Instincts flare. Senses go on alert. I wouldn’t be the first girl jumped in this neighborhood.

I freeze and glance over my shoulder. Behind me, the ghosts fade into the stores, leaving me alone and with limited options. Going forward forces me to pass the two shadows, but it’s also the lone path into the neighborhood. Heading back toward the shops will make me late, and I promised Mom I’d never break curfew. My breath billows out in a cloud, a reminder that sleeping outside can mean frostbite.

Six months ago, I would have met the shadowy threat with no fear. In fact, I probably would have taunted them, but being hit until you break causes courage to disappear.

“I don’t have any money,” I call out. It’s not a lie.

A voice carries from the dark blobs. “Just give us the pills.”

My head shakes back and forth. Mom saved for two months to buy this medication. We lost our insurance. We’ve lost everything and Dad’s suffering. We’ve all been suffering. And Dad needs to get better. He needs to find a job. We have to get out of this awful place.

The shadows descend and I stumble backward off the curb. My heart pounds as I free my hands from my pockets and the bags slide farther up my wrist. It’s not my hands that I’m lethal with. It’s my legs. My feet. I’ve been trained to kick. The instinct to run battles my instinct to fight.

A horn blares. My head jerks to the right. Lights blind me. My hand flies to my face to act as a shield as my stomach shoots up. A scream tears out of my throat.

West

“Jesus Christ!” I slam on the breaks and practically push the pedal through the floor as I will my SUV to stop. My tires squeal and my body whiplashes as the car jerks to a halt. The headlights spotlight a girl. Her arms protect her face and I try to process that she’s still standing.

Standing. As in not on the ground.

Not dead.

One thing went right today.

The relief flooding through my body is quickly chased by a strong helping of anger. She jumped out in front of me, not taking one look. Jumped.

She lowers her arms and I’m met by the sight of wide dark eyes. Her wild mane of light brown hair whips across her face as the wind picks up. She blinks and so do I.

She glances over her shoulder and I follow her line of sight into the shadows. Panic sweeps over her face and she stumbles, acting disoriented. Shit on it all damn day, what if I did hit her?

I throw the SUV in Park and, as I open the door, she points at me. “Watch it!”

Watch it? She’s the one who stepped out in front of me, then froze like a damn deer. I launch myself out of the car. “Sidewalks, chick. That’s where you stop. Not in the middle of a street!”

With a shake of her head, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and actually steps into me. If it were anyone else, such a movement would send rage from the tip of my toes to my fists, but instead I smirk and cross my arms over my chest. She may be tall, but compared to me she’s a tiny thing, and for the first time today, I find amusement. I’ve seen that type of fire burning in people’s eyes a million times in my life. Just never from a girl, and never in eyes so hauntingly gorgeous.

“You were the one not paying attention!” the girl shouts. “And besides, this is a parking lot, you moron. Not a dragway. You were going, what? Fifty?”

The word moron slips underneath my skin and my muscles tighten. But she has me. I was speeding. “Are you hurt?” I ask.

“What?”

“Did my car hit you?”

The fire within her wavers and she peers into the dark again. “No.”

Two huddled forms skulk near the back of the building. I refocus on the walking, talking inferno in front of me and, despite my Calc teacher’s opinion on my intelligence, I’m able to do the math. “Is that trouble for you?”

Her eyes shoot to mine and in them is a blaring yes, but because girls make no sense she answers, “No.”

A crackling sound draws my attention. The edges of a small white paper bag poke from a plastic bag. It’s a prescription. I give her the once–over, then turn to the guys hiding by the building. Dammit. Even the book geeks at my school who’ve never seen the outside of their PlayStation basement shrines are aware of the urban legends surrounding this neighborhood. She can deny it all she wants, but she has problems. “Get in my car.”

The fire returns. “Hell no.” She inspects the bruises forming along my jawline, then surveys my scraped and swollen knuckles.

“Look, it’s me or them.” I motion toward the thugs with my chin. “And I’m telling you, I’m not the bad guy in this scenario.”

She laughs. And if it wasn’t such a beautiful sound, I’d be insulted.

“Because a guy driving an Escalade in this neighborhood is the equivalent of a Boy Scout.”

The right side of my mouth tips up. Did she call me a drug dealer?

“From the looks of you—” she glances at my knuckles again “—well, let’s just say you must have your own baggage and I’m not a baggage-claim type of girl.”

“No, you’re the type that runs into traffic.”

She smiles and I like it. The anger racing through me moments before vanishes. I rub my jaw, then lean my hand against my open car door. Long light brown hair with waves, dark eyes that sure as hell suck me in as they sparkle, a tight body and a kick-ass attitude. Truth be told, I like more than her smile. Too bad I almost killed her by running her over. It’ll make asking her out awkward.

“Get into my car and I’ll drive you home.” I hold up both my palms. “I swear. No drive-bys on the way.”

The smile fades when I say the word home and her eyes lose the sparkle. Something deep within me hollows out.

She slides close, very close—as in her clothes brush mine. She angles herself so that she’s between me and my car door. The heat of her body rolls onto me and my fingers itch to touch. I suck in air and I’m overwhelmed by the sweet scent of wildflowers.

She lifts her face to look at me and whispers, “Getting into that car with you is as big a risk as walking down that viaduct. If you’re bent on helping me, do me a favor.”

“What?” I breathe out.

“Stand here and act like you’re talking to me. Convincingly enough that it’ll buy me time.”

And before I can process a word, she cuts past me, crouches against the Escalade, ducks behind the vehicle and escapes into the night. “Hey!”

The shadows emerge from behind the building. Two guys bolt into the beams of my headlights and in the direction of the neighborhood. Their feet pound the concrete.

In the distance, instead of two dark forms running into the night, there are three—and the first one doesn’t have a decent head start. I jump into my Escalade and tear off after them.

Haley

My lungs burn and my arms and legs pump quickly. The graffiti on the concrete walls of the freeway viaduct blend into a colored blur. I’m out of shape. Six months ago, I could have outrun them, but not now. Not today. My feet smack against the blacktop and the sound echoes in the tunnel. The stench of mold and decay fills my nose.

There’s a splash as someone stomps into a puddle, followed by the sound of more shoes against the street. My breath comes out in gasps and I will my muscles to move faster.

Heat rises off my body and into the cold night and my nose begins to run. I don’t want them to hurt me, and the thought of a man’s hand colliding with my body causes my heart to clench. My fist tightens around Dad’s medication. I don’t want to lose it. The answer is to be faster, but, if they catch me, I’ll be left with no other choice than to fight.

Their footsteps ring closer in my ears and my old training floods into my brain. I need to turn, face them and form a defensive stance. I can’t be dragged to the ground by my hair.

Lights from behind create a beacon of hope. My pursuers’ footfalls continue in their hunt but fall off near the walls of the tunnel, out of sight of the approaching car. I put on a burst of speed. Two more blocks and I’ll be inside. Safe from this.

Brakes squeal and a door snaps open. Voices. Shouting. The sound of a fist smacking into flesh. Continuing, I peek over my shoulder and air slams out of me when I notice the Escalade.

No.

Please, God, no.

My body rocks forward as my feet become concrete. It’s the guy from the shopping plaza. He’s fighting them. Three shadows spar against the headlights; a hellish dogfight of arms, fists, legs, grunts and growls. They’re all the same height, but I know which one’s him. He’s thicker. More muscular. He’s a scrapper, but he’s going to lose.

Two against one.

My chest rises and falls and I glance down the street, toward my uncle’s house, toward relative safety. I’m minutes away from curfew, I’ve got my father’s prescription in my grasp, but leaving a guy behind—it’s not how I was raised.

Knowing this has the potential to end extremely badly for me, I switch directions to join the fight.

West

Son of a bitch.

My head turns as the bastard with the black hoodie sucker punches me in the jaw. Blood pours from my lip, but I ignore it and the pain as I ram my fist into his stomach. He goes down, but it’s not him that has me worried.

I spin to the left, but I’m too late. The asshole with the winter coat, the guy who’s schooled on how to fight, he’s back on his feet after I busted him in the nuts. The psychopath grins as he nears me. He rubs a spot on his forehead and widens his stance, just like I’ve seen pay-per-view fighters do in the ring.

My fists go up, but my muscles are heavy. Two fights in one day and taking on two guys at once. I could almost laugh. Guess I’ve learned my hard limit. We round each other and I try to keep an eye on the guy still on the ground.

We circle.

Slowly.

Shit. This kid’s a fighter. A real one. And something tells me he’s not going to make the mistake of letting me kick him in the balls again.

He flashes toward me at lightning speed. Two rapid-fire punches from the left. My body sways and my vision becomes fuzzy. I swing out, sensing he’s close, but I miss.

A hit from the right—mind-shattering, blinding pain—and I fall to the ground. Rocks dig into my knees and warmth rushes to the area near my eye. Everything wavers. My thoughts. My sight. A metallic taste floods my mouth and I grab on to one thought.

“Is she gone?” I ask. “Did she get away?”

This can’t be in vain.

I couldn’t protect Rachel. I couldn’t stop Gavin from pursuing his addiction. I couldn’t stop Dad from placing everything else first. I couldn’t stop Mom from having an affair, from finding a way out. But I can do this. I can protect her. I need redemption.

He stands over me, and through one eye I see yellowish hair and dark eyes fixed on me. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I know where to find Haley.”

Haley. Pretty name for a pretty girl. I try to breathe, but my lungs cramp up. I glance at him one last time, knowing there’s no mercy rule with this kid. “Mind leaving the car?”

“Sure.”

Yeah. It’ll be gone before I peel myself off the concrete. I plant my foot on the ground and the world rotates. Fuck, I’m screwed. I lift my head and chuckle when I notice blood trickling near his mouth. “I nailed the fighter.”

He pulls his arm back and the world goes black.

* * *

“Please be breathing!” A familiar voice calls me from the darkness. A feminine voice. A beautiful voice. Soft fingers brush against my forehead and I suck in air. Pain slices through my chest—breathing is bad.

“Please wake up. I didn’t go through this for you to be dead.”

“It’s okay, Rachel,” I mumble. Her tone, a mixture of torture and agony, scrapes at my soul. It’s the same tone Rachel had when she felt I had betrayed her. “I’m sorry.”

The cold fingers touching my head pause. Why isn’t she warm?

“Oh, thank God. You’re alive.”

The voice is familiar, but not Rachel’s. I fight the fog and force consciousness and every muscle screams as I stretch.

“I’m awake.” Not what I meant to say. I meant to ask if she was okay. At the moment, brain and mouth aren’t connected. My mind’s jumbled; a scattered mess as I try to sort out why I fell asleep, why I’m in pain, why it’s cold, why my bed’s hard—

“You scared the crap out of me. I thought you were dead.”

—why there’s a girl in my bed wondering if I’m dead. I pry my eyes open and successfully free one. There’s three of her at first and, through blinking, she slowly evolves into one. “I know you.”

On her knees, Haley hovers near me. Behind her, my car sits, still running. The headlights highlight a couple of blond strands in her light brown hair.

“Why did you follow me?” she demands. “All you had to do was act like we were still talking. But no, you call out after me, then look to where I was heading. Why not skywrite I had bolted for the neighborhood?”

She’s trembling. I reach out and rest my hand on her wrist. The skin beneath my own is ice. “You’re cold.”

“So are you. You’re probably in shock.”

My thumb swipes across her skin, as if that one movement could warm her. Protect her. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. None of this is all right.” She removes her arm and I suddenly feel empty.

There’s a tear on her face. Just one. And she quickly wipes it away. The action causes an ache beyond the pulsating of my skin and head. Something’s wrong. My eyes dart around and I quickly catch up on events. I’m not in bed. I almost hit her with my car, we fought, I discovered she had trouble, I followed her here and then I got my ass kicked. I lift my head and immediately regret the movement with a groan. “Are you okay?”

“You should have listened!”

Not an answer, and I left my patience back at the shopping plaza. “Are. You. Okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snaps. “Just fine. Freaking fantastic fine. Meeting you is the pinnacle of my existence.”

“Some people say thank you when a complete stranger jumps two guys for them.”

Haley slumps against the bumper of my car and a rush of air leaves her body. “Sorry and thank you. It’s—” she waves her hand in the air “—messed up, but that’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

A car slowly drives around us. I expect it to stop, but it keeps going. Great neighborhood. “They left my car.”

“Yeah.” She glances away. “They’re gone.”

My eyes narrow on her face, but she flips her hair so it’s hiding her cheek and jaw. I blink as my sight blurs. Something’s off. They would have stolen the car... “I need to get up.” But not a single cell in my body responds. “They could come back.”

“They won’t.” Haley nurses her right hand. “Trust me—they won’t. At least not tonight. Tomorrow maybe, but not tonight.”

Tomorrow? What? I rise onto my elbows and the nauseating spinning convinces me to ease my head back to the ground. Driving is going to be a bitch.

“Stop it. You need to stay still. In fact, you need an ambulance.”

“No hospitals.” Showing at an E.R. like this will cause Dad to go Chernobyl.

“Your friend told me the same thing. It’s why I haven’t called 911. Possibly a stupid decision on my part.”

The pounding stills. “What friend?”

“Haley called Isaiah,” says a female voice to the left. Haley and I jerk our heads toward the darkness. Haley bolts up and jumps over me, acting as if she’s my protector.

I’m dreaming. This is all a bad dream. I’m going to wake tomorrow and think how crazy real this whole thing felt because there is no way my little sister’s best friend would be here.

“I’m Abby,” the voice says to Haley, closer now. “You and I go to Eastwick together.”

Like a stunning yet sadistic version of the grim reaper with long dark hair, Abby walks into the light wearing a black hoodie and skintight blue jeans.

“No, you don’t,” I mumble. “Eastwick is a public school. Abby goes to private school. Not mine—one of those religious ones.” Saint Mary’s. Saint Martha’s. Saint who-the-fuck-knows. It’s what Rachel told my mother. This is a dream. Just a dream.

Haley’s eyes flicker from me to Abby, then back again. She never relaxes her position and my mind stops and starts like it’s stuttering. Fuck me—Haley’s in the same stance as fighter guy.

“I’ve seen you around,” Haley says to Abby. “Do you know him?”

“Yeah. Do you?”

“We sort of ran into each other.”

I laugh and they both stare at me like I’m insane.

“That’s West.” Abby slurs my name. “He’s been causing problems for a friend of mine.”

Haley edges herself between me and Abby like she’s willing to box this girl for me.

Abby chuckles. “Relax. You called Isaiah and Isaiah called me. For the moment, I’m playing guardian angel.”

Isaiah? “Hell no.” I shove off the ground like I’m doing a sit-up and only get far enough to prop my arms on my knees. I’ve never liked rides that went in circles and I haven’t recently changed my mind. My eyes shut tight. “I don’t want that bastard’s help.”

“Well, you’re getting it,” says Abby. When I reopen my eyes, Abby smirks. “And it looks like you need it.”

“Screw that,” I mutter and spit out new blood that’s trickled from the cut on my lip.

Isaiah is Rachel’s boyfriend and he’s the reason why she’s in the hospital. Dad found Rachel with him at a dragway and that’s where Dad and Rachel had their accident. I’ll roast in hell and haul Isaiah there with me before I accept his help. “How does he know about this?”

Haley drops beside me. “You were out. Cold. I found your cell and I was desperate to find someone who knew you to see what hospital you should go to, so I dialed the first number I found—”

“And he answered,” I cut her off. Haley must have called Rachel. My brother told me that except for a few hours here and there Isaiah’s been chained to Rachel’s bedside at the hospital. Night and day. And that he carries her phone because he discovered it in the wreckage the day after the Jaws of Life pulled her out of the car. We assumed it was broken. Who would have guessed a phone would make it when Rachel barely survived?

“West.” Haley surveys the damage to my face, my hands, my body. “I really am sorry.”

God, I’m jacked up because everything pounds like a bitch and I can only think about her beautiful dark eyes. “It’s all right.”

She grabs a bag off the ground and stands. “I’ve got to go. I’m late.”

Abby tilts her head as she assesses Haley. “You know who I am?”

Haley straightens like she’s greeting an ax murderer. “Yes.”

I’m missing entire puzzle pieces here, as in everything except for the one corner piece I hold. Nothing here is as it seems, and I hate being the odd man out.

Abby thrusts her chin in my direction. “His younger sister is my best friend. I can help you...with whatever situation this is.”

“No,” says Haley quickly. “I’m fine. Look, I’ve really got to go.” She takes a step into the darkness.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” They ignore me, and why shouldn’t they? It’s not like I could get up and force them to listen.

Abby shrugs. “If you change your mind...”

“I won’t.” Haley finally turns her attention to me. “Thanks, West. But the next time a girl tells you to do something, do it, okay?”

I’d call her nothing but attitude if it weren’t for the defeat in her tone. “Haley...”

She doesn’t wait for me to talk; instead she races down the street. Fucked. Up. Dream. I rub my eyes and consider standing.

Abby’s tennis shoes crunch against the crumbling blacktop and halt at my feet. “Your choice—home, hospital or a place to lay low until you’re ready for one of the first two options. The prize behind curtain C comes with a shower and a change of clothes.”

I dismiss my original answer of no when I notice the blood on my shirt. I can’t go home or to the hospital like this. I can’t do that to my mother.

Using the bumper of my car, I struggle up and hobble to the passenger side as I eye Abby sliding into the driver’s seat. I’m slow getting in, but I’ll be damned if I ask for help.

The interior light dims when I shut the door. Abby fastens her seat belt and wraps her fingers around the steering wheel. “I don’t have my driver’s license.”

“Can you drive?”

“Sure.”

That didn’t sound reassuring. “Just go.”

She doesn’t. “You should buy goldfish.”

“What?”

“For your car. Like build a tank in between your front and back seats. It’d be different and I like different.”

If it will get me to a shower faster... “Okay.”

She smiles. “Really?”

“Sure.”

Abby shifts the car into gear. “And, West?”

I roll my head to look at her.

“I know your mother’s secret.”

Haley

I’m late.

My feet pound rhythmically against the pavement. Is my uncle standing by the door waiting? Will he grant me mercy since it’s my first offense? I have no idea how he’ll react, and, I’ll admit, my uncle terrifies me.

I’m in shock. I know it. I’m calm. Too calm. And nothing hurts. After what happened...I round the corner and light shines through the cracks of the closed curtains, but the porch is completely dark. At night, the small vinyl house radiates an eerie white glow. My legs slow as I approach. I am so screwed.

“Pssst. Haley!” It’s a whispered shout from above. My cousin Jax leans out the attic window. His whitish-blond hair shines in the moonlight. “Through here.”

Wary of spying eyes, I cut across the neighbor’s yard and approach the side of the house through the shadows. My brother Kaden paces behind Jax. Mom must be a nervous wreck and Dad... Dad needs this medication.

Before stepping closer to the house, I peer at the living room window again. If the two of them get caught helping me, they’ll also be kicked out for the night. Because he’s seventeen and their arguments have moved from heated to toxic, Jax’s dad would possibly throw him out for good.

“Come on, girl, move,” says Jax. “It’s cold.”

“Catch!” I launch the bag up to Jax. The first indication I had been in a fight reveals itself as my biceps convulse and the bag hardly makes it two feet. I catch it and panic flickers in my bloodstream. If I can’t toss a bag, how am I climbing up?

“Again!” commands Jax.

I fling the bag again. My heart tears past my rib cage when Jax falls out the window to grasp the bag. I stifle the scream when I notice Kaden holding on to his legs. Jax fires the bag through the window, then dangles headfirst and waves his hands. “Let’s go.”

Taking two burning cold gulps of air, I stumble backward into the darkness. The frozen ground crunches beneath my feet. I swallow, lick my lips and narrow my eyes. I can do this. I’m a champion kickboxer. If I did that, I can do this. If I could do what I did a few minutes ago...

I derail that train of thought. I don’t want to think about that now.

Or ever.

Again.

I’m not a fighter. Not anymore.

With one last deep inhalation, I run straight toward the house, kick off against the vinyl and fumble with the old trellis. I climb until my palm smacks into Jax’s. His other hand grabs on to my flailing wrist and, seconds later, both he and Kaden pull me through the window.

The moment my butt hits the floor, Jax shuts the pane and Kaden drops a blanket over me. “What happened?”

“I’m late.” Yes, I’m definitely in shock.

“Noticed.” Kaden ducks his head under the beams of the vaulted ceiling as he crosses the compact attic space. This is my room. Better yet, it’s what my life has been reduced to: a blow-up mattress among boxes of old clothes, picture frames, spiderwebs and the smell of mildew.

Kaden cracks open the attic door and stares through the one-inch space. Sounds from the television mingle with the voices of my mother and aunt. There’s a thud followed by a grunt. Probably Jax’s brothers wrestling in the room below us.

“Haley,” says Kaden. My brother and I used to be close. Like everything else in my life, I miss him. When I say nothing, he rattles the bag in his hands. “Where’s Dad’s meds?”

“In the bag.”

“No, they’re not.”

“What?”

“There’s lettuce in there and no meds.”

My lungs collapse and my fingers tug at the neckline of my shirt. “No, they’re in there. They have to be.”

“Not here.” Kaden shakes the bag again so that it crackles. “It took Mom two months to earn enough for the pills. How could you lose them? Dad needs them.”

“I know,” I snap and throw my hands over my eyes. “I know.”

I bang the back of my head against the wall. I lost Dad’s medication. My family’s only hope of getting out of this godforsaken place. That’s why the guys left. I didn’t lose the meds. They stole them. The muscles beneath my right cheek begin to pulsate. Tears burn my eyes and my chest becomes heavy. I swore I’d never fight again and I did. I swore I’d never be hit again. And I have. This is the penance for breaking that promise. God, I’m worthless.

“Go, Kaden,” says Jax. “It’s happened and can’t be undone.”

Kaden disappears down the stairs and Jax crouches next to me. My cheeks feel numb against the warmth of the house. The skin there tingles and so do my fingers. Jax grabs them and begins to rub. “We need to find you a jacket.”

“You don’t have one,” I mumble blankly and flinch when regret cuts deep. Jax’s hands pause against mine and we make fleeting eye contact.

“I’m sorry.” I broke a cardinal rule. Kaden and I never mention what Jax doesn’t have.

“It’s okay.” He massages warmth back into my fingers. “I can take frostbite. You can’t.”

I offer a weak smile. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“Yeah,” he says under his breath then releases my hands. “You are.”

“I lost the meds,” I announce as if he wasn’t part of the earlier conversation. “I lost Dad’s pills.” Why do I keep screwing up?

“You had a shit ton of errands and not enough time. You ran home and they probably fell out of the bag. It could have happened to any of us. If you’re going to live here, you’ve got to learn to let stuff go. Otherwise, you’ll go insane.”

I meet his green eyes at the word insane. What if I’m already there? What if I can’t take much more? I don’t ask those questions because I see the same ones forming in his eyes.

My cousin glances away. “We covered for you. Said you came in through the back door and came straight here.”

“Thanks. Why did he buy it?” Typically we have to present ourselves to The Dictator like soldiers in his make-believe war.

Jax scratches at the thin three-inch scar streaking across his forehead. He’s chosen a skater look today, and his hair lies flat against his head. “We told him you had an accident.”

My stomach drops. I’m not going to like this. “An accident?”

He avoids eye contact as he absently gestures with his hand. “Girl problems. Blood...in spots...on clothes.” Jax bolts up. “We’re not discussing this anymore. We covered for you. He bought it. That’s all you need to know.”

Heat finally races to my cheeks. Freaking kill me now. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Jax looks at me again; then he’s really looking at me. Like pissed-off looking at me. “What the fuck?”

Instinctively, my fingers go to my cheek and I regret it the moment Jax’s fists clench.

“Did you get jumped?” he demands. “Is that how you lost the meds?”

“Jax!” his dad bellows from the bottom of the stairs. “Come here!”

“Haley,” Jax says, ignoring his father.

“Jax!” This time the glass of the old window shakes with his voice and I shudder.

“Go!” I say to him, preferring not to be the reason the two of them get into a screaming match. “Please.”

He points at me. “This ain’t over.” Jax turns and, like Kaden, bends as he crosses the room.

I brush my fingers against my sensitive cheek. “Jax.”

He hesitates near the door.

“I can’t go down to dinner like this and my makeup’s downstairs. Can you help?”

Jax nods. “Consider it done.”

West

“I think you’re dead.”

My eyes flash open and I scramble up when I come face-to-face with hazel eyes and long dark hair. A quick scan of the room and I discover I’m on a couch in a gray concrete unfinished basement. A single bulb lights the area. Behind me are a washer and dryer. In front of me is a bed and to the side, a TV. Last night, I took a hot shower and crashed.

I scrub my hands over my face. This is bad. Last night happened. It wasn’t a nightmare.

“Damn, I guessed wrong. You’re alive.” Near where my head had been, Abby falls back from her knees to her butt. “I can’t decide if that’s good or bad news.”

“Screw you.” My muscles are stiff. Sore. I hesitantly stretch to see if anything’s broken.

Abby presses a hand over her mouth and mock gasps. “Your mother would be appalled by your manners. Tsk. Tsk. I believe pleases and thank-yous are in order.” She loses the fake sweetness. “Even if you are slumming it, Rich Boy.”

She kicks my shin as she stands. “Get up. I’ve got work to do and babysitting is not on the list.”

Memories of last night crash into my mind. More importantly of the girl who possibly rescued me from dying of exposure on the street. “Is Haley okay?”

Being a damned loser last night, I couldn’t muster enough energy or self-respect to drive her home.

“She was the last time I saw her. Are you dating her?”

“No.”

“Fucking her?”

I glare at Abby, but I can’t throw too much anger into it. She also saved my ass. I pop my neck to the side, hoping to expel the annoying insecurity over Haley’s safety.

“Good. Rumor has it she’s decent. She deserves better.”

She probably does. Haley’s probably one of those dinner, a movie, roses type of girls who take a month to work up to the first kiss. Me—not my style. “What time is it?”

“Too early for my clients to be awake, but they will be soon.” Abby pulls a cell phone out of her back pocket. “Get your ass moving. This isn’t the Holiday Inn.”

I’m 30 percent curious over the word clients, then realize I don’t give a shit. “No continental breakfast?”

“How about you bite me?”

I actually chuckle; then I roll my neck and circle my arms. How the hell did my sister get involved with her? The nonmedical assessment says I’m bruised. Nothing more. “Where am I?”

“Isaiah’s foster parents’ house.”

Damn. I reassess the room, searching for the bastard.

“Don’t worry,” she says as she scrolls down the screen. “He stayed with Rachel at the hospital last night since he doesn’t have school today.”

That’s right. Today’s Saturday. “We.”

“What?”

“You said ‘he’ as if you don’t go to school, or did you lie about being a junior?”

“Meh, I consider school optional, but I am a junior.”

“So everything you told Rachel, besides what grade you’re in, was a lie?”

Abby’s lips form a smirk. “I don’t lie to Rachel. But yeah, you can assume anything that comes out of my mouth to anyone but her or Isaiah is a different rendition of the truth. Maybe also to Isaiah’s friend Logan. I like Logan. He reminds me of hot queso and I like queso.”

The veins beneath my scalp begin to pulse. “So you lied about my mother.”

“No, that was the truth. I do know why she goes to the bar once a month. Third Friday of the month to be exact. Comes around seven in the evening. Sound familiar?”

My shoulders slump forward. Shit, Abby does know. “Why does she go there?”

“They sell awesome snow cones. The red one won a blue ribbon in the state fair last year.”

The pounding intensifies. This girl is like one of those damned flies that swarm your head and your food. “Let me guess—you’re lying.”

She winks. “You’re catching on fast, and here I pegged you for stupid.”

A muscle in my jaw twitches. I can’t stand this girl, but she did give me a place to crash, so I watch my manners and change the subject. “Did he tell you to bring me here?”

Figures the asshole would want something to hold over me: help with a bad situation, then he’ll squeeze me for something. Money, drugs. It’s gotta be the type of angle he used to snare Rachel. Why else would she have been around a guy like him?

“Isaiah’s initial response was to let you bleed out in the street, but then he got sentimental and thought Rachel would be sad if you died, so he called and asked me to take care of you. I told him Rachel would’ve gotten over you and that we could make her happy if we bought her a bunny, but he was so damned insistent. See, Isaiah and I have this past. I’ve known him forever because we met each other in a Dumpster—”

“Why here?” I cut her off, not caring about their tragic backstory. Everyone has a tale to sob over. Rich or poor.

Abby looks at me with wide eyes. “Because if I took you to my house that would start rumors. Really, West. I’m a single girl. I’ve gotta protect my image. We wouldn’t want people to think we’ve been doing something indecent.”

Talking to her is like watching a cat chase its tail. “Another lie.”

“I can pretend that’s my answer. I like pretending. You can create anything you want out of the world.”

“You’re possibly the most fucked-up person I’ve met.”

“That’s not news.” Abby slides her phone back into her pocket. “Now, if we’re done ‘pretending’ to have a conversation, I’d like to go see my best friend. And, no, that’s not a lie.”

She turns on her heel and heads for the stairs.

“Abby,” I call out as I shove my feet into my sneakers. She hesitates at the landing and waits for me to reach her. “Tell me why my mom’s going to the bar.”

A wicked grin spreads across her face. “I could tell you, but there would be absolutely no fun in doing that.” And she walks up the stairs.

Haley

Every breath tastes of dust, spilled gasoline and oil. Layers of grime coat the cold concrete floor of the garage and my cheek has become numb against it. How long has it been since Matt abandoned me? Seconds, hours, days? At first I assumed he left to get help—to find sanity in the insane, but no...he left. He just left.

“Haley!” The voice is far away, yet a nagging inside me says it’s near.

Blood soaks my hands. It’s Matt’s blood—I think. Maybe mine. I don’t know. We argued. That’s all we do anymore...argue. It’s what we’re good at, but now it seems wrong. He hit me. I hit him back. And somehow neither of us stopped.

“She’s cold,” Jax says. “And look at her eyes. I think she’s in shock.”

It’s an effort to turn my head toward Jax. His whitish-blond hair is spiked into a Mohawk. His shirt goes up and over his head and he lays it on my arms and chest, but not my hands. No, he wouldn’t let it touch my hands. The blood would ruin his white T-shirt.

“Haley!” Jax poises his hands near me, not touching, just there...moving as if he doesn’t know what to fix first or worried that if he did make contact he’d become diseased, cursed like me. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” I don’t recognize my voice. I’m different now. Changed.

I’m up like I’ve done a sit-up and my older brother, Kaden, supports my weight with his chest. He lifts my wrists. “Are you bleeding?”

I shake my head. “No.” I don’t think so.

The room spins and so do I. Kaden drops my hands to grip my shoulders. “Easy, Haley. Is she hurt?”

I tilt my head and thoughtfully look at Jax. Am I? Matt slapped my face. It’s how the fight started. Is there a permanent bruise there? My own personal scarlet letter branding me as defeated?

Jax’s eyes dart everywhere. “She looks okay, but she ain’t acting right. Her knuckles are bruised. She’s definitely been in a fight.”

“There was blood.” That seems important to tell. “Matt and I have been together for a year.” Because that also feels important. One month after the end of my sophomore year, Matt and I began. Now, it’s the end of my junior year and Matt and I are over.

I nod. Yes, we’re over. There’s no coming back from this.

“Yes,” I repeat. “There was blood.”

“Who did you make bleed?” asks Jax. “Matt?”

Matt and I argued and he was mad, so mad. He slapped me, punched my stomach, then went for the head, and I intercepted him. I was a few hits in when he took advantage of my dropped guard and I absorbed the blow behind the ear. I collapsed to the floor and then he left. “I hit him.”

I stopped his initial attack and I made him bleed.

“Matt did this to you?” Kaden’s voice is pitched low yet hard, a promise of violence.

I shiver at the unsaid warning. They can’t go after Matt. They can’t. I’ve already created too much destruction.

“I saw her leave the party with him,” Kaden continues.

Jax launches off the floor. “He’s fucking dead.”

“You can’t.” Ignoring the pressure of Kaden’s hands, I press my feet hard against the concrete while swatting at my brother. He lets me go and Jax grabs my arm when I sway.

Jax leans into me as he holds me up. “What the fuck happened?”

My eyes flash open and Jax’s shouted words echo in my head.

I’ve never been so relieved to see the roofing nails sticking through my uncle’s roof. I suck in a breath to calm the rush of blood pounding my temples. I used to have this nightmare frequently after things ended between me and Matt this past summer and it figures I’d have it again after what happened last night. Especially since it was his younger brother who jumped me.

What sucks is it’s not just a nightmare. It’s the past reliving itself in my dreams.

I sit up and shiver against the cold air of the attic. No, it’s not the cold air flowing from the cracked window causing the chill. It’s the fact that life has become complicated. I gather my long hair at the base of my neck. Complicated. When is life going to be easy?

This past summer, I lied to Jax and Kaden. I told them that Matt and I got into a verbal argument and broke up and that after Matt left, someone I didn’t see attacked me from behind. My family hates me now because of what I’ve done, but I’m lying to protect them. I’ve walked away from everything to protect them.

If I’d told Jax and Kaden the truth about what happened with Matt, they would have gone after him and then Matt and his friends would have retaliated. All of it on the streets. All of it in pure hatred. The fighting would never end.

And last night...I might have destroyed everything I’ve built in order to protect Jax and Kaden. I broke a rule. I got involved. I hit Matt’s little brother and Matt will want payback.

Even though I miss Jax and Kaden, I made the right decision. I blow out a long breath. It is. It’s the right decision and I’ve lived with this lie for too long to let Matt’s brother ruin it.

My eyes fall to my shoes on the floor and I silently curse. If my uncle finds out that I wore shoes in the house, he’ll throw a fit.

Snatching them up, I tiptoe down the wooden stairs in my socks. Twice the material snags on an exposed nail. At the bottom, I relish the fact that I descended without a loud groan betraying my existence.

I pause, then strain to hear the light breathing of the nine other people sleeping in the house. Straight in front of me is the bathroom. To the right of the bathroom, my uncle’s loud snores can be heard past the shut wooden door, and in the room to the left of the bathroom, my sister strangles her American Girl doll as she rolls over on the floor in her sleep. With her eyes still closed, my mother reaches down and touches Maggie’s head full of tight brown curls.

I take an immediate right and carefully maneuver over Jax, whose bed has become the carpet of the living room. Kaden’s long arms and legs fall off the couch. Even before we moved here, the living room was Jax’s home. My parents displaced his younger brothers by taking over their room. The Dictator banished them to sleep in the unfinished basement. I offered to let them have the attic. Jax threatened to kick the crap out of them if they accepted.

In painfully slow movements, I leave my shoes near the front door. I’m assuming Jax and Kaden’s lie accounted for my missing shoes, but just in case...

The light glowing at the back of the house catches me off guard and I weave through blankets, pillows, T-shirts, socks, arms and legs to gain access to the lime-green kitchen that’s large enough for a stove, fridge, sink and a few cabinets. What doesn’t fit is the large oval table that seats ten people. It consumes the entire kitchen, and, even with the mismatched wooden seats and folding metal chairs pushed in, it’s difficult to walk around.

I’m hesitant as I poke my head in, then I smile.

Dad: dishwater-blond hair, tall like Kaden. He sits at the end of the table, reading the paper while jotting something into a notebook. The joy bubbling inside me is like running downstairs on Christmas morning. I can’t remember the last time I spent time with him alone.

“Hi.” I lean against the doorframe, nervous to enter. Sticking with what Jax originally assumed, I told my parents that I was late for curfew, ran home and Dad’s medicine rolled out of the bag without my realizing it. Regardless of how it happened, I lost his medication. Am I welcome anymore?

His eyes shine as he lifts his head. “Haley—what are you doing up?”

“Just up.” We speak barely above a whisper. It’s rare when this house is quiet; rarer are the moments when anyone can find peace. “How about you?”

The dark circles under his eyes indicate he’s battling insomnia again. Mom said his mind races with everything that’s happened, trying to figure out where it went wrong or scrambling to discover a way to fix it. “Same as you. Just up.”

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Dad motions at the paper. “Job hunting.”

I nod, not sure what to say. Talking to Dad used to be easy. Very easy.

Back when he was younger, he used to train with my grandfather. It’s how Mom and Dad met. It’s all very romantic and love-storyish, and I adore every second of the gooey-eyed tale. He was a kickboxer, like me, and swept Mom, the trainer’s daughter, off her feet.

Dad practically raised Kaden and me in the gym. Kaden fell in love with boxing, then wrestling, then mixed martial arts. Me? I stuck with kickboxing and Dad admired that and me until I left my grandfather’s gym. Then he lost more respect for me when I gave it up altogether.

I bite the inside of my lip and slip into the kitchen, focusing on the scratched brown linoleum floor as I progress toward my father. “Any luck?”

He shakes his head and closes the paper. “Most everything is online now.”

I drop into the chair next to his and hug my knees to my chest. “Library then?” My uncle doesn’t believe in internet access.

“Yep.” Dad taps a beat onto the table. Eventually it loses the rhythm and spirals into a persistent drone. Is conversation with me painful for him or is it conversation in general?

“Kaden’s got a fight in three months,” I say. “He’s going pro.”

My brother will stare holes through me for a week because I told Dad this. I wasn’t supposed to know. I overheard him and Jax discussing it on the bus. For some reason, he wanted to keep it private, but I’m desperate to end the silence. “Odds are he’ll end up fighting one of the guys from Black Fire and you know they dominate in a stand-up fight.” But Kaden is a force of nature on the mat.

“He’s going to start fighting for money?”

“Yeah.” It would have been better if Kaden could have fought amateur for a few more years, gained some experience, but with money tight the lure of a prize is too strong.

Unable to stay still, Dad rolls the pencil on the table under his palm and never glances at me. “In other words, he’ll be fighting Matt?”

I flush—everywhere. Heat rises off my cheeks and the back of my neck. Will I ever be forgiven? By anybody? “Maybe. If Matt’s gone pro.”

“We both know he did the moment he turned eighteen.”

He’s probably right, so I say nothing.

“It’s too bad you taught him how to defeat Kaden.”

A knot forms in my windpipe and I pick at a hole in my jeans right above the knee, ripping it wider. “I know.” I’m well aware of the rotten choices I made. I clear my throat and try again. “I was thinking maybe you could help Kaden train.”

I was thinking Dad could get out of this house. I read once that exercising causes a rush of endorphins. Maybe if he did something he enjoyed, something he was good at, he’d get better.

“I’m sure your grandfather has that covered.” Dad manages a half smile when he looks at me. “What about you? Have you thought about going back?”

I have that heavy sinking sensation as I shake my head—the type that feels like cold maple syrup running from my heart to my intestines. Would it make him happy if I did return? I’ve dug my grave so deep at the gym it may be impossible to go back even if I wanted to.

The refrigerator kicks on, a loud hum signifying something is on the verge of breaking.

“Your mom talked to her great-aunt in California. She’s offered to let us live with her.”

I raise an eyebrow. “She lives in a retirement community. As in no one over sixty-five.”

“She’s gotten permission to let us stay.”

I assess the kitchen. This house is the dirty dark secret of hell on earth, but the thought of leaving Kentucky cuts my soul. Leaving the state means we’ve given up hope and it wasn’t until this very moment that I realize I’ve held on to a shred. No matter how battered and bruised the shred is, it’s still faintly alive, praying that Dad will land a job and take us home. “Are we leaving?”

“We’re going to try to hold on until you and Kaden graduate. We’ll go if things haven’t improved by then.”

“You’ll find something. I know you will.”

“How’s the college search going?” Dad rushes out.

I freeze, unsure how to respond. I’ve kept the rejection private, though I crave to tell Dad. Once upon a time, he would have been the first person I approached with any problem because he always had the right words. He’d place an arm around my shoulder, kiss my temple and tell me, “Bad luck, kid. We’ll get ’em next time.”

The hurt inside, knowing I’ve let him down with the gym and kickboxing and now college, it’s like being gutted open by a serrated blade. “The college search is going great.”

“Do you have any scholarship leads?”

No. “Yeah. Plenty.”

“Good.” A pause. “Good. At least Kaden has the gym.” His voice cracks as his skin fades into the color of ash. The expression is off when all my memories of him are of a courageous fighter. I’ve watched my dad battle in the ring against opponents who were stronger than him and win. How did he become this broken?

Dread causes my hands to jerk because I itch to stick them over my eyes. It’s awful to watch his undoing, knowing I’m partly responsible. If I had gotten the meds, he wouldn’t obsess over his mistakes and he could start sleeping at night.

“Kaden will continue on at the gym, but I thought I’d have something to offer you for college. I had some money tucked away, not a lot, but enough to help, but then we needed it for the mortgage...”

A strange noise leaves Dad’s throat as he slides his chair back. “Library.”

Though it’s not open for a few more hours. Dad squeezes between the wall and the table and as he’s on the verge of leaving the kitchen, I open my mouth. “Daddy...”

My father presses a hand against the doorframe, his knuckles shifting as he tightens his grip. I haven’t called him that in years. He peers at me from over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, Hays. I know.”

West

The intensive care unit of the hospital has that slasher-movie quiet to it. That moment right before the psycho jumps out from behind a counter and hacks the people to bits. From the family waiting room, I can hear the occasional monitor beeping, the rustle of paper and the low murmur of conversation between the nurses. I loathe this place. It’s cold, sterile, smells of rubbing alcohol and is filled with death.

Rachel shouldn’t be here. This place is the opposite of her. Unable to sit anymore, I jerk out of my seat. The guy on the other side of the room tugs his head up to look at me. We stare at each other. His wife is dying. I overheard him tell someone a few minutes ago.

Dying.

As I said, Rachel doesn’t belong here.

I glance away and walk to the windows. My jaw hurts. The knuckles on both my hands are scratched to hell and throb like a bitch. I drove here hours ago. Abby visited Rachel and left. I texted Dad and told him I was here.

Silence—from my entire family. From my way older brothers, Jack and Gavin, to Rachel’s twin, Ethan, to Mom and Dad. They want me to visit Rachel, but I can’t. Not with her here, not with her surrounded by people who are dying.

I failed her. My heart pounds hard and the sharp ache creates an edginess. I shut my eyes, wishing I could leave.

“West.”

I turn to the sound of my mother’s voice. Tears have dug grooves into her makeup and her black mascara smudges in clumps near her eyes.

Nausea slams into my gut. “Is it Rachel?”

“We talked to the hospital’s specialist. The damage to her legs is severe and—” Mom chokes on her words, then clamps a hand over her mouth. She exhales and regains composure. “It was unexpected news.”

I harden into a statue, yet her words sink in past my shock. More surgeries. More time in the hospital. “Is she going to walk again?”

“I don’t know.”

I rub my eyes to readjust my equilibrium. This is my fault. If I had found another way to handle things, Rachel wouldn’t be in this hospital. She wouldn’t be fighting for her life.

Mom’s heels click across the wooden floor toward me. When she raises her hand, I tilt my head away. I don’t deserve Mom’s forgiveness or her comfort. Persistent, Mom gently lays her hand on my jaw and moves her thumb as if her touch could erase the bruises. “Why do you do this to yourself? Why must you always fight?”

“I don’t know.” I step back, forcing her to drop her hand.

Mom puts distance between us and pours herself a cup of coffee. “Have you visited with Rachel?”

“No.” A sweep of the room confirms the guy with the dying wife vacated. No wonder Mom’s being open about family business.

A gruff clearing of a throat draws our attention to the doorway. Dad stretches to his full six feet and sets his pissed-off dark eyes on me.

“Miriam.” He softens his tone when he addresses Mom. “The nurses need you.”

Mom nods, and as she hurries out, Dad gently wraps his fingers around her wrist. She lifts her gaze to his and he bends down to kiss her lips. They do this. My parents love each other. Dad worships her, and it’s why he’s a control freak with us. If everything isn’t about business, it’s about Mom’s happiness.

When Dad releases her, she leaves. Not once peeking in my direction.

I stand taller when Dad enters, as if preparing for a physical fight. We’ve yet to come to blows during an argument, but the fire in his eyes says that day will happen. Sooner now than later, and I hate it. When I was a kid, Dad and I used to be close.

“You didn’t come here last night like I asked.”

I stay silent. The truth won’t help my case. I’ve been in detention more than any kid at my school and have been suspended more days than we’ve had off. Dad, in his own way, takes my shit, but he made it clear months ago that he’d be done with me at expulsion.

“Did you go home or did you pass out at a party?” he asks.

“Does it matter?” I’ve seen that expression before. He’s already made up his mind on me.

“No,” he answers. “They’ve expelled you.”

I utter something I’ve never said to him. “I’m sorry.” I am. For Rachel. For the fight at school. For making this horrible situation more complicated.

His face remains emotionless. “I don’t care.”

I blink and my shoulders fall a half inch. “I mean it. I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to the principal, to the guy I hurt, his family, whatever. I screwed up this time.”

He points at me. “Damn right you screwed up. But not just this time. This is one of many mistakes, and I’m done with it. I told you months ago that I drew the line at expulsion. All you had to do was stay out of fights and stay out of trouble until you graduate and you couldn’t even do that. What’s worse is that you chose to cross this line with your sister in the hospital. What is this? A cry for attention? You don’t think that your mother has enough to deal with?”

“Fine. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

“Your sister is in agony and from what I understand you had a hand in this nightmare.”

My eyes snap to his. “I tried to keep her from Isaiah.” That’s where I failed, and I don’t care for the reminder.

“You never bothered telling me she was seeing him in the first place! I’m her father, not you. I’m the one who makes those decisions.”

I throw my arms out to my sides. “That would have required you to be home and not on your goddamn phone!”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. I drew blood and I don’t fucking care.

“Care to tell me about the money you took from your sister?” I don’t like the way his eyes slice through me, as if he shoved a blade into my chest and he’s enjoying watching me bleed.

“I told Rachel I’d pay her back.”

“Tell me about the money you took from your sister.”

“I told you already. Gavin owed money to a bookie and I came up with the amount needed.”

“You never told me you stole that money from Rachel.”

“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.” Without her prior knowledge or consent, but I swear I promised to pay her back.

This is old news from days before Rachel’s accident. Not knowing I had the situation under control, Jack broke down and told Dad everything: how Ethan, Jack and I had been covering up Gavin’s gambling issues because Mom couldn’t handle the truth that her firstborn son was a gambling addict.

But when Jack cried to Daddy, he neglected to bring up how Gavin tried to discuss his problems with Dad on three separate occasions and how each time Dad blew him off over a business meeting or Mom. So when Dad wouldn’t give him the time of day, Gavin did what needed to be done: he came to me.

“Did you know Rachel was in trouble?” Dad demands. “That she lost some street race and owed money to a criminal? That it was your friends who took her to the race? That they introduced her to that life?”

“Rachel doesn’t hang out with my friends.” And I’d kick their asses if Rachel crossed their minds.

“She was at the dragway the night of the crash because you stole the money she earned to pay off the debt. She was there because you, for the millionth time, took matters into your own hands and instead of thinking for thirty seconds about the outcome of your decisions, you acted on instinct. This accident is on you.”

“It’s a lie.” Everyone knows Dad was driving from the dragway with Rachel in the passenger seat when he stalled out the engine of her car. Everyone knows the tractor trailer that struck them had lost control. “Who told you this?”

Dad steps in my direction, and if he were anybody else, I’d swear he was itching to take a swing. “Isaiah.”

The name causes my insides to boil. “He’s a liar.”

“If he’s a liar, then he’s a better one than you,” Dad snaps. “But I don’t think Isaiah is lying. He’s the one who’s been standing by your sister while you’re out getting into fights.”

I step back, the near crazy making the room spin. Yeah, I thought I failed by not keeping Rachel from Isaiah, but then my last conversation with Rachel crashes around in my brain. Fuck me. This could be true. “You don’t understand. Rachel doesn’t want to see me.”

She doesn’t, because if what Dad’s saying is true...if the last words Rachel said to me the night of the accident are true...I stole money she needed and because of that, I left her in danger.

“You don’t want to see her!” Dad’s forehead crumples as if he’s exasperated. “All she asks is to see her family. When are you going to stop thinking of yourself? It’s time for you to grow up and become a man!”

Fear and chaos claw from my gut into my windpipe. I shake my head, trying to make his words wrong. No—this isn’t all on me. It can’t be. “You’re the selfish bastard of the family.”

Not me. Dad’s the one who hurts the people I love. That’s his role. Not mine.

Dad rushes into my space, his breath hot on my face. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” Adrenaline pumps into my bloodstream. I crave to hit him. He’s jonesing to hit me. The air is thick and tense with violence. It’s practically crackling with the shit.

“I’m tired of dealing with you and your temper.” Dad pulls back, his face flushed red. “I’ve enrolled you at Eastwick. You start there on Monday and you’ll finish your senior year there. After that, I don’t care what you do. It’s time you learn how to clean up your own messes.”

That’s right. Dad’s great at playing this game. Get pissed at me, mess with me, then my anger explodes and I’m the one still in trouble, but not this time. If he’s pushing me, I’m pushing back. “Did you find something you couldn’t fix with your money? Could you not pay off the board of trustees at school to keep me from being expelled? Or did you decide to finally put out the trash?”

A vein on his forehead pulsates. “Do you have any idea how many chances that school has given you? How many chances I’ve given you? Your sister is here and she’s in pain, and you go out and party and fight and get expelled from school! I don’t understand you! I don’t get you at all.”

“No,” I shout. “You don’t.”

He hasn’t seen who I am in years. But I see the line. Hell, I’m stomping on it and because I hate the man in front of me, I cross it. “I’m impressed to see you here. Was this the afternoon you usually spend golfing or did your business partners take pity on Rachel and cancel the meetings themselves?”

His lips thin out. “Don’t do this, West.”

The warning is out and I should listen, but I get a strange high seeing him squirm. “You missed Little League games, middle school graduations, fuck...you don’t even have a clue if I’m home most the time. Who knew in order to get your attention we’d have to wrap our car around a semitruck?”

Dad rakes a hand through his hair and angles his foot toward the door, but I’m not done with him yet. “When you stalled out Rachel’s car, were you on your cell? Because, let’s face it, your business has always come first.”

The ice-cold glare he shoots me kills a portion of my soul. I struck a nerve that’s real. Too real. I meant it to needle him. I meant to rub against that constant I’m-better-than-you bravado. I had no idea I’d be right.

“Dad,” I start. “I didn’t mean—”

“Go home, pack a bag and get out of my house.” Spit flies out of his mouth as he points out the door. “Get out of my sight. Get out of my life. If you’re there in two hours, I’ll call the police and tell them to drag your ass out and send you to a group home.”

Dad leaves and I follow him past the first couple of ICU rooms. He can’t throw me out. There’s no way he meant what he said. My vision tunnels and a low buzzing noise fills my ears. He’s not serious—he can’t be. “Funny. So what, I’m grounded? Two weeks? Three?”

Dad keeps walking straight ahead. “This isn’t a joke. Get out of here. It’s obvious you don’t feel like you belong.”

Fuck me, he’s serious. “Where do I go?”

He doesn’t even look at me as he responds, “I don’t care. That’s what happens with trash, West. Once you toss it on the curb, you don’t care what happens to it.”

My body grows cold and I can’t think clearly. Every thought I have splits apart and drifts into nowhere.

“Isaiah!”

I flinch at the terrified sound of my sister’s voice and my hand rises as if to block the sight of the room to my right. Rachel. She’s worse than they described: black-and-blue bruises over her face and arms, her exposed skin scraped and cut, her legs completely immobilized. Like in a bad sci-fi movie, wires and tubes run from my sister to beeping machines.

My mind wavers and the floor trembles beneath my feet. Since entering the hospital, I’ve never made it past the waiting room. Never. Because I can’t handle this. I can’t handle seeing Rachel broken.

The bastard that led Rachel astray leaps from his chair and catches her hand. He wipes her tears away and murmurs to her. Tattoos mark his arms. The guy hasn’t even shaved. He hovers over her, one hand grasping her fingers, the other smoothing back her hair. My fists curl at my sides. He’s touching my sister.

“She has nightmares,” says Ethan from behind me.

I glance at my brother, then slide away from the window, not wanting Rachel to spot me. Who the fuck am I kidding? I can’t stomach witnessing her like this.

My mind can’t process what’s happening. It’s too much: seeing Rachel, my dad kicking my ass to the street, being within feet of the bastard who’s responsible for all of this destruction. “Why is he in there?”

“She wants him, and Mom and Dad aren’t in the arguing mood.” Ethan sags against the wall. “Isaiah can convince her to sleep and she’ll force herself to stay awake if he’s not there.”

Ethan resembles Dad with dark hair and eyes, which means we appear nothing alike except for our height. If I ever wondered what hell on earth looked like, Ethan would be the prime example. Days without sleep can turn anyone into a zombie. At least he’s not sobbing like he was the other night. Hell I can deal with; crying I can’t.

I can’t hug him again and tell him it’s going to be okay. That would require me to be stable, and stable isn’t my strong suit. There’s a disconnection of emotion inside me as I step back...step away. It’s a dream. All of this is a bad dream.

Feet shuffle behind me, footsteps of people walking into Rachel’s room. I can’t go in there. I can’t. Gravity draws me and it’s not in the direction my family prefers. I move toward the pull and Ethan slams a hand onto my shoulder. “She wants to see you.”

I yank my shoulder out of Ethan’s grasp. “No, she doesn’t.” It’s safe to say no one here wants me.

My brother says nothing more as I head for the elevator. As I said before, Rachel deserves better...including better than me.

Haley

“Haley Williams chooses, once again, another form. Could this be the one, ladies and gentlemen?” Jax mock whispers beside me. “A hush rolls over the crowd as Miss Williams glances over the wording. Her eyebrows furrow. Is this it? Will this be the one?”

My cousin spiked his whitish-blond hair into a Mohawk this morning, meaning he’s feeling ornery. If he keeps up the running commentary, he’ll discover how ornery I can be.

From over the open bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, I glare at Jax. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

Jax and I sit on the floor, tucked away in the corner of the main office. We’ve been here for an hour and the receptionists forgot we exist, so they gossip freely. The stench of cafeteria coffee transforms into a film over my clothing. I shudder with the knowledge that I’ll smell like this for the rest of the day.

He cracks a wide grin. “Yeah. If you tell me what’s doing then I can go do my thing.”

The ghetto to English translation of “what’s doing”: what am I hiding about Friday night. I didn’t spill this weekend and I don’t plan on spilling now.

It’s Monday morning and I woke early and took the city bus to school so I can, once again, peruse the filing cabinet full of scholarship applications. I use the internet at the library, but trying to find applicable scholarships on there is like trying to search for a lost ring in a sand dune.

“Nothing’s doing, so go do your thang.” I waggle my eyebrows and give him a sly smile. “There’s got to be a girl around here who hasn’t been done wrong by you.”

“You’d think, but evidently girls talk to each other. Damn shame.”

“Damn shame,” I echo. I cram another useless application back into a folder and yank yet another out. “Do you think I could pass for Alaska Native?”

“Sure.” He bites into an apple he five-finger discounted from the cafeteria and dangles a piece of paper in the air. “Bet you could pass for a guy who’s ranked in tennis, too.”

I snatch the application from his hands and shove it back into the cabinet. “Funny. Just wait until next year and you’ll be doing the desperate dance.”

“No, I won’t. High school is as far as I’m going.” Jax is a year younger than me, seventeen, and a junior. When we were younger, we were inseparable, but then he grew up, I grew breasts, he became interested in girls and I became interested in anything other than what I liked at ten.

“I’m getting a job,” he says. “And as far from Dad as possible.”

Amen to that. Guess we’re more alike than I originally thought.

A knock on the window that overlooks the main hallway grabs our attention. Kaden flips us off and mouths, “You suck!”

Jax laughs and flips the finger back. I giggle when Kaden shakes his head and stalks off. “You didn’t tell Kaden you were becoming my shadow today?”

“Nah, he knows, but I didn’t wake him when I heard you getting ready upstairs. He trained hard yesterday and needed the sleep. Kaden’s pissed he had to ride the bus by himself and I wasn’t there to act as shield with that freshman puppy dogging him.”

Kaden’s a year older than me, but he was held back in first grade. Because of that, we’re both seniors at Eastwick High. It’s hard on Kaden with the whole world knowing he’s in the same grade as his younger sister. At least I know it is. Back at a time when we were close, he confided in me. Repeating a grade, it’s why he fights hard in the gym, why he’s quiet in public.

“There’s still some time left before class,” I say. “Why don’t you go pester him?”

“Because I’m pestering you.” Another crunch of the apple.

Why didn’t I play an instrument in band? There’s an entire scholarship section devoted to that. “I’m not changing my story.”

“Don’t expect you to, but if I’m right—which, come on, it’s me and I’m not wrong—I expect the truth to reveal itself. Today. At school.”

My head jerks in his direction. Jax watches me with thoughtful green eyes. He reminds me of an owl when he does this and it makes me feel like a mouse, which isn’t a good thing. Jax’s family does kill things for sport.

“I’ve been living in this neighborhood a lot longer than you have,” he adds. “That drug addict little brother of your ex-boyfriend jumped you Friday night and you’re covering for him, aren’t you?”

“No.” Yes.

Jax leans into me, his playful demeanor evaporating. “I thought you were over Matt.”

“I am.” The most truthful thing I’ve said to Jax in six months. What happened between Matt and me was unspeakable.

“Then why are you covering for his brother?”

Because they don’t play fair. The words tumble in my head, crashing into one another. Even when I was dating Matt, his younger brother carried a knife. It’s been six months. I cringe to think what Conner has graduated to. Jax and Kaden hate Matt and Conner. They’ve been enemies since I can remember.

“I kicked Conner’s ass at the last tournament, Hays, but you wouldn’t know because you weren’t there. I can take care of myself, Kaden can take care of himself and our job is to take care of you. If Conner thinks you’re weak prey, he’ll come after you again. You aren’t living in the middle class anymore. This is the streets and there are rules.”

And I’m the one who got jumped. “You don’t think I know that?”

“Is there a problem here?” I flinch when I notice our school’s in-house social worker, Mrs. Collins, standing next to me and Jax. She’s all blond and thin and middle-aged hip and, except for this moment, typically has a smile on her face. My grandfather attended the parent–teacher conference in lieu of my parents last month and he talked to her for way too long about his gym.

“Haley and I are arguing,” says Jax.

My stomach twists like a dishrag. Shut up, moron.

“Can I help?” she asks in a cheerful voice. “Maybe mediate?”

“No,” I answer while Jax says, “Yes.”

I whip my head to him and slam my hands against the carpet. “Really?”

“Why not?” He crunches into the apple again. “If anyone needs therapy, it’s our family.” He winks at me, then redirects himself at Mrs. Collins. “I’m yanking your stones. My goal in life is to get a rise out of Haley and I did.”

Jax offers me his hand, I accept, and he pulls us both off the ground. He swoops up my backpack and some of the applications that had fallen out of the files, then kicks the cabinet closed. He waves the apple in the air. “Garbage can?”

With her head propped to the side as if she’s watching a fascinating reality TV show, she points to the small can next to her feet. “Tell your grandfather I’m still working on that volunteer.”

“No problem.” Jax trashes the apple and drags me along as he brushes past her. “Later.”

Like I’m a seven-year-old, I wave and smile at her before I trip out into the main hallway. Jax and I become engulfed in the mob of people heading toward first period. Jax thrusts my backpack and the loose applications at me. Great, now I’m going to have to get these back.

“What was that?” I demand. “Do you want to get a social worker involved? Like we don’t have enough problems already?”

Jax steps in front of me, causing me to whiplash forward as I halt.

“Get out of the way!” some guy shouts as he walks past us.

“Go fuck yourself, asshole!” yells Jax. When he’s done staring the guy down, Jax towers over me. “Tell me what happened on Friday.”

“Nothing happened. I fell. The medication rolled out. End of story.”

“Who the hell are you anymore? I mean, there are times I see you. You. Like a few minutes ago in the office. The girl I grew up with. The girl who talked trash. The girl who fought with and for her family. Then you got wrapped up with Matt...”

Reining in his temper, Jax inhales deeply and looks away. “I thought when you broke up with him... Why are you guarding his back? I miss you, Haley. And if you ever see the girl I liked, tell her that for me. Tell her that her family misses her.”

He leaves me there....standing alone in a busy hallway. The scholarship applications crackle in my hand. How do I tell him I’ve been protecting him from Matt and Conner? How do I tell him I’ve been fighting for him this entire time?

West

From across the counter, the secretary slides my schedule to me. “You’ll love it here.”

I nod, then meet her eyes. What would she do if I told her that for the past two nights I’ve parked my car in a remote spot at a local park and slept there, then showered at a truck stop?

Pride kept me from asking anyone for a place to crash. Not my brothers, not my friends, not anyone. They’d give me a place, but I can’t stomach the look of disappointment.

After word spread I was officially expelled from school, I was avalanched in texts and the idea of adding to the sympathy induced dry heaves. I’m West Young, and regardless of the fact that I’ve been disowned from the family and the fortune associated with it, I don’t accept charity...or pity.

The secretary tilts her head. “Are you okay?”

No. I’m not. It’s been cold for the past two nights and I’ve had to run the car every hour to ease the chill. The exhaustion sucks, but it’s the silence that kills me. “I’m good.”

Without waiting to see if she buys my response, I exit the office. I don’t care if I’m going the right way to first period. School...class...normalcy feels unnecessary, a bit insane.

I came to my new school hoping my parents would be here. Saturday I went home, packed some shit, then left, and I’ve stayed gone. Somewhere around three last night, I had the delusion Mom would be worried and Dad would be sorry. That the reason my cell wasn’t burning with texts and calls was because it died Saturday night and I forgot my charger at home. The image looped over and over in my mind that I’d strut into school and they’d be waiting for me—begging me to return home.

If my brothers did call or text, maybe I would have reached out to them by now, but they didn’t. Dad not contacting me is no shock, but for Mom to be AWOL? My gut cramps and I rub the back of my neck as I stalk down the hallway. Guess Dad was right—when it comes to my family, I don’t belong.

The sight of long sandy-brown hair causes me to pause. I don’t believe in ghosts, but I’m seeing one. With wide eyes and a facial expression that mirrors the one she wore when I almost hit her with the Escalade, Haley stands in the middle of the hallway. A backpack slung over her shoulder; a piece of paper clutched in her hand. People give her a wide berth as they walk past, like she’s an island in the middle of rapids.

I’m not shy. Never have been. People, parties, crowds: that’s my thing. But being near Haley again... I found my kryptonite.

Her jeans perfectly fit her hips, a blue cotton shirt molds nicely around her ample curves and she has the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. A guy could get lost in those eyes.

She blinks several times, folds the paper in her hand and turns—heading in the opposite direction of me. Shaking myself back to life, I duck and weave through the crowd in pursuit.

“Haley!”

Right as she walks into the stairwell, she glances over her shoulder with her eyebrows scrunched together. That’s right. I’m calling you. “Haley!”

Our eyes meet and her hand automatically covers her heart. I cut through two girls in order to reach her. One of them yells at me, but I ignore her.

“West?” Haley remembers my name. That’s a bonus.

“Why is it every time I see you, you’re running?”

Her lips move a centimeter. “I wasn’t running.” She hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “I was heading to class.”

I don’t want halfway. I crave a full smile from this girl. “You gotta admit, it was a sweet line.”

Christ, she has an amazing smile. With her eyes shining like that, she could be her own personal fireworks show. “The line sucked. I’m more fond of guys who give me flowers.”

Noted and filed away for future use. “It got your attention.”

“My attention?” Her head tilts as if she remembered something awful—odds are she’s replaying Friday night.

An electrical current slams through me when Haley grabs my arm and drags me into the corner of the stairwell next to the fire extinguisher. Her fingers are cool against my now burning skin.

She lowers her voice. “You’ve had my attention for the past three days. The last time I saw you, you were bleeding on the street with a drug dealer offering to babysit. Do you know how many times I searched the newspaper to see if there was an article about you being dead?”

My shoulders roll back. “Drug dealer?”

Haley releases my wrist and steps back. “Yeah. Abby. Everyone knows she sells drugs. I mean, she’s your friend, right? Please tell me I left you with a friend. Oh, my God, she’s not your friend, is she? Crap. Oh, crap. Are you okay?”

Her eyes dart around, searching for signs of abuse. She’ll find them—the remnants of the two fistfights from Friday. What she doesn’t see is the internal bleeding from my argument with Dad. Haley stretches her hand to touch the yellowish bruise fading on my jaw, then hesitates.

I inhale and revel in Haley’s scent: wildflowers in bloom. The sights and sounds of the world dissipate—well, everything except those gorgeous dark eyes.

“Seriously, are you okay?” Haley drops her hand and I turn my head to breathe in anything that’s not her.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Are you okay? Did those guys hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” She sounds uncertain, so I cross my arms over my chest.

“I’m fine,” she answers again. “Honestly. What are you doing here?”

I ignore her. “What happened after I blacked out? Why did they leave my car?”

“Not important. Tell me, why are you here? To see Abby? For me? This school has a zero tolerance policy on outsiders. If they find you, they’ll call the police.”

“I go to school here now.” From my back pocket, I pull the schedule I picked up a few minutes ago from the office.

“West...” Haley’s level stare has all the makings of a firing squad. “What do you mean ‘now’?”

“I got expelled from my last school.”

“For what?”

“Fighting.” For the first time in my life, guilt heats the back of my neck. Man, she’s got to have a fantastic image of who I am. The problem? She’d be right and the fact that I care is weird.

She tosses her hands in the air. “Of course. Why not? I’m a magnet for you stinking people. Why wouldn’t I be surrounded by more?” Her head falls back and she focuses on the ceiling. “Hey, God? It’s me, Haley. Not funny.”

“What?”

“Okay. All right. This can be managed. It can. I can manage this. This is entirely under my control. I can own this situation.”

“I don’t need to be managed.”

Haley tosses me an are-you-for-real gaze and her hair tumbles over her shoulder. It’s shiny and I bet if I ran my fingers through it, the strands would feel like silk. I like hair like that. I like kissing girls who have hair like that. My eyes flash to her lips and the memory of her stepping into me on Friday night sizzles in my mind: the walking, talking inferno. Kissing Haley would be a thrill-ride experience.

“West?” Haley motions near her eyes. “Attention here, please?”

“I wasn’t checking out your curves.” Though now that it’s mentioned...

“Go there and I swear to God you’ll have to check ‘other’ when asked if you’re male or female.”

I chuckle and rest my palm against the cool cinder block wall, crowding her. Haley shifts and practically shrinks into the corner. She’s shorter than me, but not by much. I’d say she was afraid, but the way she studies my biceps tells me differently.

“Haley?” She refocuses on my face. “Eyes up here please.”

Gaped. Open. Mouth. “Okay, look. Me and you. We’ve got problems.”

I agree. She wants to kiss me. I want her body underneath mine. Nothing a dark room and a bed couldn’t solve. “What are you doing after school?”

“What? No. Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Back to problems. Those guys that jumped us on Friday?”

My hand slips off the wall and I straighten. “Yeah?”

“They go to school here and I’m not exactly their best friend.”

My muscles tighten and I have to work to keep the smirk off my face. Payback is going to be sweet with those bastards. “Do you know where they’re at?”

“Stay away from them. They’re dangerous.”

I don’t give a shit if they play poker with the devil. They took me down. That doesn’t happen, and I won’t let that be the final say—especially since I’ll be spending the next four months in this hellhole.

Haley clutches my arm as if I were about to waltz into a minefield. “No!”

I lean into her—our heads less than an inch apart. The crazy ass bastard’s words echo in my head: I know where to find Haley. “Have they threatened you?”

Her fingernails attempt to dig canyons into my arm. “There are things in my life you can’t understand, okay? I know you meant well on Friday, but to be honest, you screwed everything up, so I’m begging you to listen to me now. Stay away from them, stay away from me and, for the love of God, don’t mention Friday to anyone.”

The warning bell rings. Haley releases me and runs up the stairs. What the hell?

Haley

God hates me. It’s the only explanation when West appears in my first-period class. My best girl friend, possibly my only girl friend, Marissa Long, lowers the book she’s been absorbed in since I sat at our science table.

“Wow” is the word that slips out of her mouth.

Unfortunately, I have to agree. The boy is fantastically pretty, that’s for sure. His golden-blond hair is cut short and is styled. Trendy yet not. Exactly like the rest of him. A combination of dangerous and steaming hot.

He wears jeans, the sexy kind. A bit baggy, not overly. Just enough that his black boxers peek out when he walks. And thanks to the clingy T-shirt, the world knows he’s on-fire ripped in every single delicious way.

I close my eyes and suck in air. Stop it. West is not hot. He’s a fighter. He’s trouble. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt and the associated heartache.

Marissa touches my arm, and, when I open my eyes, I find her camped in my personal space. “He’s staring at you.”

Sure enough, while our Biology II teacher shuffles through the drawers of his desk, West flashes me this glorious smile that causes me to melt into a puddle. Crap. Just crap. I am attracted to him. This isn’t good. Not good at all.

“Do you know him?” Marissa asks.

Yes. “No.” And it’s going to be hard for anyone to believe that answer when he continues to stare at me like he’s seen me with my clothes off. I run a finger around the collar of my shirt, releasing some trapped hot air. If West doesn’t rein it in, he’s going to get us both killed.

“Are you sure?”

I told him to stay out of my way because that’s how West will avoid trouble with Conner and Matt. It’ll be amazing if I can remain unscathed through lunch.

Our teacher motions with his hand for West to take a seat. “Any seat.”

West’s eyes roam to the spot next to me and I grab Marissa’s hand. “Do not leave your seat. Not to sharpen your pencil. Not to use the bathroom. Not to pick up your backpack.”

“Ooookay,” mumbles Marissa and sticks her head back into a book.

West strides down the small space between the tables. I keep my eyes forward, ignoring he exists, ignoring that on Friday he almost pancaked me with his car, that he went kamikaze on Conner and that I had to fight to bail him out of trouble.

I ignore all of that, but more importantly, I ignore how my senses heighten as West pauses next to my table, plants a hand flat on the surface and leans into me. I swear the heat of his body wraps around mine. An extremely tempting musky scent enters my lungs when I inhale. Oh, God, he’s mouthwatering.

Everyone turns and watches because the most beautiful boy to ever step into this school is next to the girl no one but Matt has ever wanted to date.

“Hello, Haley,” he says in this deep voice that curls my toes in that Notebook movie kind of way.

I can’t look at him. I can’t. One, because he’s not supposed to be talking to me. Two, because he’s gorgeous and I’d prefer for West to remain in the dark that I think that. “We have an agreement.”

West chuckles. “You said something. I disagreed. Later, we’ll come to an agreement.”

Mr. Rice asks everyone to settle in, and West continues toward the back, but not before skimming one finger down my shoulder. I let out a rush of air between my lips as goose bumps tingle on my arm from his touch. West does not fight fair.

I return my gaze to the front and my heart slams out of my chest when I meet stone-cold eyes. Matt walks into class at the sound of the bell and there’s no doubt he saw part of the show.

He stalks down the aisle and I wish I could blend into my chair. Without breaking stride, he mumbles as he passes, “We’re talking today.”

My hand presses against my neck as if that will help open my clogged air passage. Whether he wants to talk about West touching me or the fact that Conner may have told him what happened between us or if he just wants to rehash previous fights in our defunct relationship, I don’t know, but as far as I’m concerned, there’s no way I’m talking with Matt—not if I can help it.

West

I drop into a seat at an empty table in the back and a dishwater-blonde slithers into the chair beside me. “You’re West Young,” she says.

“I am.” I edge away from her. The last thing I want is my reputation with girls or my rep with fights following me. Something good should come out of this. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve attended some parties at Brian Miller’s house with my cousin. She goes to Worthington Private.”

Shit. I assess her, praying we haven’t hooked up. I don’t fuck girls. It’s not my thing. I’ve witnessed guys spiral and burn because of an unplanned pregnancy, getting too emotional after the fact or a good ol’ STD. Thanks, but no thanks. I might not be hitting it in that way, but I hit it in other ways and girls appreciate my creativity.

The blonde twists her hair around her finger, makes full-fledged eye contact and sends me an I’ll-go-down-on-you smile—all signs indicating we have had previous carnal knowledge of each other.

“I’m Jessica,” she announces. “I’ve wanted to introduce myself since I saw you at a party a year ago, but by the time I get there, you’re usually a little far gone.”

Thank you, Jesus, for saving me from the why-didn’t-you-call guilt trip.

Our teacher calls the class to order and I open my lone notebook. With twenty bucks in cash to my name, I bought this and a pen, then spent the remainder on gas. Food wasn’t on the priority list this morning, and as my stomach growls, I’m beginning to regret the decision. I haven’t had a decent meal since Thursday night.

I’m terrified to use my credit card and learn it’s been denied. There’s a limit to what my mental stability can handle.

A few tables up, Haley sits curtain-rod straight. Come on, give me something. Anything. I got the hell beaten out of me over her, plus I saw the attraction stirring in her eyes in the stairwell. Hell, the girl flushed the moment I stepped into the room. Look at me. Just look at me.

My pen knocks against the table as it bounces in my hand, then freezes the moment Haley glances over her shoulder. In rabbit-fast movements, she switches her gaze back to the front, but it won’t erase the fact she looked.

Why it’s important to me, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because everything in my life is screwed up and I need to know at least one person cares. Maybe...but who knows? Right now today almost feels doable.

“You know Haley?” The lines cluttering Jessica’s forehead spell jealousy.

What were Haley’s words to me? To stay away? Not happening. “Yeah, do you?”

“She’s a friend of mine.”

Our teacher passes out an outline for an upcoming project and mumbles something about having to leave for a moment to help a class across the hall but being able to see us from there, and that he expects us to watch the documentary he cues up on the SMART Board. With the lights off and the door behind him clicking shut, the class loosens up with low buzzing conversations.

Jessica faces me, props her elbow on the table and rests her head on her hand. “How do you know Haley? From the fights?”

The fights? “Yeah.”

A relieved grin eases onto her face. If I play this right, maybe I can figure Haley out.

“That’s what I thought,” she says. “After she and Matt broke up last summer, she swore she was done with that tough man stuff, but I knew she wouldn’t be able to hold out. Haley’s been a tomboy since kindergarten.”

A tomboy? Are we admiring the same person? Haley’s all curves. She may be in high school, but she’s miles from that in-between stage.

Jessica’s seat scrapes against the floor, creating an earsplitting squeak as she slides closer to me. A chorus of damns fills the room. Most everyone looks back, including Haley. Fuck me. Another girl up in my business is not what I want Haley to see.

“So tell me,” Jessica says in a way that indicates we share secrets. “Is she fighting again? I won’t tell anyone, I swear.” Meaning she won’t tell anyone until she leaves class.

With her head lying on an outstretched arm on the table, Haley’s pen moves in circles. She’s a doodler, like my brother Ethan. When he’s trying to clear his head, to think things through, he scratches away on any paper he can find.

Haley’s shorter than me. Tall for a girl, yet not. And very, very feminine. Jessica has to be joking. There’s no way Haley’s a fighter. “I haven’t seen her fight.”

“Oh. Well. Then you must have seen her cousin and brother fight, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Haley and her family are fighters. I roll the words around in my head as if taste-testing them. It feels off, but then I think of how she challenged me the other night when I almost hit her with my car.

Haley’s a fighter. Interesting. Like the info on the flowers, it’s duly noted and filed away for future use. What other secrets are you hiding, Haley? “Who’s this Matt guy you mentioned earlier?”

“That is Matt.” Jessica points to the large son of a bitch at the table behind Haley. His dark hair is shaved close to his scalp and his ears are a bit deformed. I’ve seen the full-blown deformity before on pay-per-view, though it was a much more intense version. Cauliflower ears. It’s what happens after a fighter gets hit too much and the cartilage doesn’t heal correctly.

What’s important is how the guy watches Haley, his eyes memorizing her every move. Has Haley informed him of their breakup or is he pining? “What’s up with the two of them?”

“They got together our sophomore year and split a week after Haley moved into the homeless shelter this past summer. I have no doubt Matt will win her back, though. He’s crazy obsessed with her.”

“What?” My head snaps in Jessica’s direction and my heart pounds as I wonder if I heard her correctly. She said Haley, right? Not me. But then the wonder turns to dread. Haley can’t be living at a place like that.

“That Matt’s crazy obsessed? It’s not in a weird way, well, it is, but it’s like romantic, you know—”

“Not that,” I cut her off. “The homeless part.”

She presses a hand over her mouth. “Oops. I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t tell Haley I told you. She’d be mortified.”

“I won’t.” But what she should be mortified about is that she spilled. Minus the fake hand over her mouth, Jessica wears smug well. At my old school, girls conducted war and annihilated opponents using words. That “slipup” was meant as an execution shot to Haley’s head.

“Good.” She surveys Haley as if she grew a conscience, but then abandons it as she lowers her voice. “Haley’s dad was laid off over a year ago and they lost everything. It’s been rough for her, but we’ve all tried to rally around her. You know, be good friends.”

I’d rather drink arsenic than enjoy a friendship like Jessica’s. “Does she still live at the shelter?”

She shakes her head. “They moved in with her cousin’s family. Seriously, don’t tell her I told you. She’s sort of private.” Finally Jessica’s cheeks flare. Maybe she’s slightly redeemable.

“Tell you what, if you keep it a secret I’m a Young, I’ll keep my mouth shut about Haley.” I’ve got no problem with blackmail. The last name Young is common enough. Hopefully no one will associate me with the richest family in town.

“Why wouldn’t you want anyone to know you’re a Young? Oh, my God, I’d spray-paint it in the sky.”

“I don’t, all right?”

“Okay,” she says.

The door to the room opens and conversation ceases. I relax in my chair, stretch my legs under the table and cross my arms over my chest. When I glance over at Haley again, she’s still resting her head on her arm, but this time I’m met by those gorgeous dark eyes.

Unexpectedly, she holds the gaze. One second. Two. Turning into three. Did she overhear my conversation with Jessica?

Haley breaks our connection and focuses on the movie playing up front. My mind bounces with the new information and it only piques my curiosity.

Haley

I’ve successfully avoided Matt since this morning and I’m betting that the refuge of the cafeteria will save me from him for at least twenty more minutes. There’s no way he’ll corner me in front of Jax, Kaden and the other fighters from my grandfather’s gym, right? I mean, no one’s that bold.

I bite my lip, starting to rethink my plan. While I don’t think Matt will, Conner might. His judgment has been off since he started using drugs.

Annoyingly enough, the buzz at my lunch table is the new boy at school, West. I stab at the pizza on my plate. The boy could be the death of me. Literally. West...the gorgeous, full of himself, infuriating, not-listening knight in shining armor is in three of my classes and there are two more periods to go before the final bell rings. I’m willing to bet money I don’t have he’s going to be in those, too.

West.

West, West, West. Last name Young. And right now, as he struts into the cafeteria, he releases that blazing, agitating grin.

“Check out the new boy.” Jessica drools from across the lunch table. “He’s definitely a walking piece of art.”

“With arms like that,” says another girl, “it makes you wonder what he looks like with his shirt off.”

Yes, it does.

Several other girls verbalize their agreement and I focus on my uneaten tray of food. My freshman year, I used to sit with Kaden and the other guys from the gym at lunch. I stupidly fell for Matt my sophomore year and ended up sitting with him and the guys from Black Fire. I was forced to find a new lunch table when things between Matt and me exploded like a hydrogen bomb.

Up until that point, I had never done girl before. It’s not bad if you don’t mind strolling in a field of unmarked land mines.

“I heard you and Jax were hanging out in the office this morning.” Marissa eyes the other girls still ogling West and slides a French fry off my tray when she thinks no one is watching. Marissa’s always on a diet. Not because she’s fat but because Marissa believes she’s fat and the other girls pamper her fears. “Jessica saw you guys and told me.”

Marissa has been hot and bothered by Jax since he helped her when she tripped in elementary school. Fortunately and unfortunately, Jax has no idea that the mostly mute honor student exists. Bad for Marissa, yet great for her. Jax would devour her as an appetizer.

“He kept me company while I searched for scholarships.”

Marissa nervously tucks her hair behind her ear three times. “Did he mention me? We were in a group last week in gym. There were four of us, but he was next to me so...you know...he might have remembered me...or something.”

Conversations like these are why I am welcome at this lunch table. As Jessica lovingly had put it: She’s the girl who knows the hot guys. Yep. That’s me. The living, breathing Wikipedia of Eastwick’s hot guys. I keep it to myself that they all currently hate my face.

“You know Jax.” Though she doesn’t. “He doesn’t discuss girls with me.” He used to, but then Jax and I lost the ability to talk with ease. He and Kaden have a hard time forgiving me for leaving the gym.

She nods. “You’re right.”

Movement to my right catches my attention and I become one of those oil-slicked birds smothered and weighed down. Conner, Matt’s little brother, enters the cafeteria with his wrist in a brace. Yellowish fading bruises cover his face and the remnants of a black eye mark his skin.

I scoot my chair back, preparing to bolt. Conner’s a year younger than me, so I’ve been able to avoid him...until now.

A few tables away, Kaden and Jax slide to their feet. Jax leans one shoulder against the wall with his arms held tight to his body and fists clenched. He’s burning a hole through me. Kaden, on the other hand, paces like a pissed-off tiger behind Jax, his sights set on Conner.

“Oh, my God,” whispers Marissa. “He’s coming.”

He who? My head whips so fast in preparation of finding Conner at our table that my hair stings my face. Nope, not Conner, but someone just as bad. “Really?”

“Ladies,” says West. “Mind if I join you?” He’s asking the table, but he’s surveying me.

Does the boy ever listen? I shoot up and my chair rattles against the floor. “You can have my seat.”

His smile grows. “I don’t have personal space issues so you can sit on my lap.”

My mouth pops open. Did he just say... “You...” No words. “You are...”

West gestures with his fingers for me to continue. Oh, my freaking God, this is a game to him. “Handsome? Irresistible?”

I slam my chair into the table and head for the food line, hoping to blend in with the stragglers. The only way out is past Conner. I’ll buy another lunch if it means he won’t spot me. I peek over at the entrance and blow a relieved rush of air out of my mouth. Conner’s deep in conversation with Reggie, his dealer. I have a reprieve in being hunted by him—at least for today.

“Me and you, Haley.” Matt’s familiar gravel voice sends a shock wave of shivers through my soul. “We need to talk.”

“My family is watching.” I have to force my eyes up and, even as I curse myself, I begin to shake. I don’t want to show fear, but he scares me. Matt is the stuff nightmares are made of.

“You’re the one who chooses whether or not Jax and Kaden get involved. Make this hard and they will. Make it easy and they won’t.”

There’s a faint resemblance to the cute guy I fell for my sophomore year: tall, dark hair, hazel eyes. He shaves his head now, his ears are a bit deformed from fighting and there’s a roughness to him, an edginess that wasn’t present when I first met him. Who knows, maybe the edginess always existed and I was too naive to notice.

Matt turns and heads to the front right corner of the cafeteria. Toward where the other Black Fire fighters sit and in the exact opposite direction of Kaden and Jax. Matt doesn’t look back to see if I follow because he knows I will. He controlled me then—even when there was blood on his hands and blood on mine. Any self-respect, any self-confidence I thought I had built disintegrates. He controls me now.

I can’t glance at my brother or cousin. My cheeks are on fire and I stare at my moving shoes. Six months ago, Jax and Kaden found me as a lump, alone in a garage at a party. My body shook, my teeth chattered and all I could think was that Matt was stronger than Jax and Kaden.

With my body still pounding with the proof, I lied. I protected what I loved—I protected Jax and Kaden, and then walked away from fighting. A decision I still bleed over.

With a few hushed words, the guys seated at Matt’s table disperse, leaving me and him somewhat alone in the crowded cafeteria. None of them make eye contact with me because each of them is fully aware that they had a hand in what happened. They’re the ones that pointed out Conner’s drug use to me. They’re the ones that begged me to talk to Matt because Matt wouldn’t see what was in front of him.

“He’ll listen to you, Haley. You’re the only one he listens to.”

Nope, he didn’t listen to me and I figured out quickly why no one else had the courage to speak badly about Conner to Matt. A right hook to the head is a great deterrent.

Matt crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t take to people hurting what’s mine.”

No, that job belongs solely to him.

Matt used to hold me in his arms. He’d caress my face, my body. I realized too late we were an inferno and that I had been chained to the stake. He touched me. He kissed me. He said words to me no one else ever had. He made me feel special.

After being with Matt, I don’t care if I ever feel special again.

“Because of what we were to each other,” he says, “I’m giving you a chance to explain.”

My toe nudges a spot of dried ketchup on the orange tiled floor. Telling him the truth enraged him last summer. Nothing since then has changed. He steps closer and cold sweat breaks out along my neck.

“I hated it when you wouldn’t talk to me,” he whispers. Once upon a time, he whispered the words “I love you” into my ear and I kissed him in return. Hurt and regret can slowly kill a person from the inside out.

“You have never wanted to hear what I’ve had to say,” I respond.

“Not true,” he says. “That’s not true.”

It is and somewhere deep inside he knows it.

“What did Conner tell you?” If it doesn’t damn me too bad, I’ll go with Conner’s version of the truth, because real truth doesn’t exist. There are only other people’s perceptions of reality.

He drops his arms and his shoulders sag. This is what snagged me initially to Matt: his ability to appear vulnerable when he’s physically anything but. “He came home all beat to hell and he said you were there and I know that can’t be true. You’d never cross me like that.”

The little liar actually told the truth for once. Where was the fib when I needed it? “Conner told you I did it?”

“He started to tell me what happened. Said you were there. Then he realized the guys were in the other room.”

“The guys” being the other fighters from Black Fire. He’d never admit to them what transpired between us. Matt continues, “When Conner wouldn’t talk, we drew the natural conclusion—Jax and/or Kaden jumped Conner. Out of respect for you, I kept everyone from going after your family that night.”

“Respect for me?” I echo.

A muscle under his eye jumps. “You covered for me once. Consider the debt paid.”

Tremors run down my spine. He’s never mentioned that night before. Just hearing him acknowledge it...

“Tell me who did it,” Matt says. “And we’ll take care of this in the cage.”

I wrap my hair into my fist. I don’t want Jax and Kaden paying for my sins, but they constantly go against guys from Black Fire at matches. Better the cage with a ref than on the street, with weapons, which has been my greatest fear. “What event?”

“No event or referee. Conner’s wrist is sprained. There’s no mercy rule on this.”

No mercy rule meaning no tournament. No public event with rules or referees. No ability to tap out if the fight becomes sick or demented or too much. A fight like this—it’s a street brawl and it could mean severe damage... It could mean death and it’s what I’ve been working desperately for months to avoid.

“No. Not happening.” I bite my tongue to keep from informing Matt that if Conner hadn’t tried to use my hair to drag me to the ground I wouldn’t have had to try to snap his wrist. What’s unreal is that if Matt looked at me, like really looked at me, he could see the bruises behind the makeup, he’d see my red knuckles, he’d see the truth, but Matt, like always...like most people, only sees what he wants.

“Then we go after both of them,” he threatens. “Hit them whenever and wherever we want.”

He moves to walk past me and I grab his arm. “Did you ever think that Conner was the one doing the jumping?”

“Why would he do that? We fight Kaden and Jax in the ring. We don’t need to street brawl to prove a point.”

“Because Conner has a drug problem.”

“Shit, Haley.” Matt rips his arm out of my grasp. “We’re back to this. Your lies killed us last time. Do you think it’s wise to go there now?”

“Listen to me!” I’m desperate enough to permit the truth to flow. “I did it. I hurt Conner. I had medication for my dad and Conner jumped me.”

“There’s no way you could have done that damage.” A vein bulges in his neck. “You’re covering for someone. Tell me who it was and tell me now.”

I close my eyes the moment I hear the voice that should be nowhere near me. I hear West. “It was me. I did it.”

West

I assess the guy in front of me: my height, my build, my problem. Actually, it’s the kid skulking behind them that’s my issue, but overhearing the argument between Haley and this bastard, it appears all related.

“Who the hell are you?” the guy towering over Haley asks.

“West. Same question back.” Since, in theory, I shouldn’t have a clue who he is.

“Matt Spencer,” Haley answers for him, then gestures to the guy that knocked the hell out of me on Friday night. “That’s Conner, his younger brother. West is new here, Matt, and I’m guessing he’s highly medicated or high and therefore has no idea what he’s saying.”

I chuckle. Highly medicated. Good one.

Haley mouths, “Leave.”

I subtly shake my head. Conner and I have unfinished business and I’m not impressed with the direction of the conversation between her and big brother. “Granted, on most weekends that may be true, but I remember this past Friday night clearly enough.”

The skulker joins the party. “I remember my fist blacking you out.”

“I have a hard time believing you remember your name.” All the signs of a hard-core user are there: paled-out face, shadows under his blank eyes and jittery as hell. I’ve seen it before at my old school. Drugs are one of those things that cross party and money lines.

Conner flashes forward and in simultaneous movements Haley slides in front of me and Matt tackles his younger brother, demanding that he “Back off” and reminding him that he “Can’t afford another suspension.”

“Are you suicidal?” Haley stretches on her toes and tries to match my height. She fails. “Is that the issue? There are 1-800 numbers that can help.”

The walking, talking inferno is back and I like it. “You looked like you needed backup. You helped me on Friday, so I’m helping you now.”

She collapses onto her heels. “I don’t need your help. I need you to listen and stay the hell away from me. Are you deaf? Maybe have a little hearing loss you’re ashamed to admit to? Because I know I specifically told you to stay away.”

“Did you do it?” Matt demands. Skulker boy stands next to big brother with his hands shoved in his pockets, but his grimace suggests he’s just as eager as me for round two. “Did you jump Conner?”

Other guys slip into the picture. They hang back, taking seats at the table or leaning against the windows. Why are my odds always bad?

Haley turns her head so they can’t see her whisper to me, “Say no and let me handle it.”

My eyes widen when I look at Conner. I mean, really look at him. The yellowish fading bruise on his jaw—I did that. But the black eye...the wrist. It can’t be possible. I was the only one there and when I woke up there was Haley. “Nice brace.”

“Fuck you,” Conner snaps.

“Go, West,” Haley murmurs. “You’re making this worse.”

“Who’s the new kid?” A guy with a Mohawk walks up.

Haley throws her head back. “Really?” She mows down the Mohawk boy with a brutal glare. “I mean, really, Jax?”

Jax winks at her as another guy sidles up alongside of him. “It’s a little hard to eavesdrop while being on the opposite side of the room and I have a feeling we’re all interested in the same conversation. I’ll give a cookie to whoever tells me who hurt Haley and then we’ll make the decision, like the proper gentlemen we are, of what match we’ll be pounding this out in.”

A hushed argument breaks out between Jax and Matt. My stomach plummets into free fall. Jesus Christ, how could I not notice her bruised knuckles or how the makeup poorly hides the slight discoloration near her eye? Conner is a dead man walking.

I raise my hand and it hovers close to her eye, my palm almost connecting with her skin. Heat builds in the gap as I ache to remove her bruises. Haley tilts her head away and I drop my hand, feeling cold, rejected.

“Tell me you didn’t get into a fight over me,” I whisper.

She lowers her head. “Conner wouldn’t have stopped. Even when you blacked out, he wouldn’t have stopped.”

“Haley...” There are no words. None. It’s not okay for her to wear bruises over me. It’s despicable that a guy would strike a girl. Regardless of whether she hit him first. Regardless of whether she was defending someone else. Regardless.

“Just go,” she says. “This isn’t your fight and I’ve got to make sure it doesn’t become my family’s battle, either.”

These two guys must be the cousin and brother that Jessica referred to earlier. Two feet divide Haley’s family from Matt’s brood. Everyone’s posture is open, daring, yet they remain in their neutral corners. For a few seconds, I respect them. They’re smart enough to keep the fights outside of school.

“I did it,” I announce.

Mohawk boy loses his outer playful demeanor and his inner demons possess him as he advances on me. “You hurt Haley?”

“No. I defended her.”

“I fell.” Haley grabs my wrist and her slender fingers squeeze my skin. “I fell.”

I don’t know how to help you. It’s what I want to scream. Instead, I lay my hand over hers and brush my thumb over her battered knuckles. Her hand is frozen, lifeless. She attempts to jerk away, but I hold tight. I don’t make promises lightly and I’m swearing right now to take care of her and her problems.

Releasing Haley, I face the two groups of guys. “She fell. I walked out of the store, saw Haley on the ground and Conner standing over her. I made the wrong assumption. My bad.”

The sneer on Conner’s face is almost enough to compensate for the blackout. “Bullshit.”

“Fine. Then you explain how it went down. We fought. I won. Unless you want to admit you were beat up by a girl.” I grin for effect and the asshole twitches. Several guys in his group laugh at the “joke.”

“Is that the way it happened?” Matt asks Conner.

His internal struggle plays havoc with his face. I’m not sure which one is worse. Could I admit a girl pounded me? Damn, it’s bad enough to know a girl kicked a guy’s ass in my defense. The asshole nods.

Matt scratches his temple and swings his gaze between me and Haley and Conner until settling on me. “Who are you and why are you up in Haley’s business?”

“He’s a stranger,” responds Haley right as I answer, “We’re dating.”

Haley whirls in my direction, a tornado in a cornfield. “We’re what?”

“Dating,” I state clearly. Because neither Matt nor her family is buying any of the bullshit I’m spewing and they won’t...unless we offer incentive. “In private. But it’s okay, Haley.” I overemphasize her name in the hopes of gaining her attention. “Now that I’ve transferred here, we can tell people our secret.”

She transforms into night of the living dead and blinks repeatedly. I position my hand under her elbow in preparation for if she faints. Note to self: she shocks out easily.

Mouths gape. Some guys harden into stone. Then it smacks me, is one of these guys her boyfriend? Jessica mentioned a failed relationship with Matt, but Haley could be seeing someone else. Shit. Fucking shit. Fucking shit in a Crock-Pot.

“You’re dating Haley?” The pure menace in Matt’s tone indicates I hammered the nail into the two-by-four. “My girl? You’re dating Haley?”

Haley snaps back to life. “I’m your ex-girlfriend.”

Thank God for small favors and the damn Easter bunny because that was one gift I needed. There’s no one else in Haley’s life and Jessica had it right: he is crazy obsessed.

Matt’s obviously the alpha in this mangy bunch of wolves, so I address him, “Is it a sin around here to protect your girl?”

He hasn’t peeled his eyes away from Haley since I announced our sudden relationship. Finally, he answers, “No.”

“Is it true?” Jax pinches his nose as if he’s smelling shit. “You’ve been dating this guy in secret?”

“I...” Nothing else falls from Haley’s lips.

“All the lies you’ve told since Friday... What I put up with at home because I covered for you... Over a guy again? Jesus, Haley.” He pauses, then sucks in a breath. “I’m done with you.”

“Jax!” Haley calls out, but he struts away. The other guy from her family wears the same expression my mom does when she talks about the daughter that died right after my birth. In silence, he follows after Jax.

Her posture droops. The look on her face...it’s like someone cut out her beating heart. I’ve got to get her out of here.

“Check it out, man.” I direct myself to Conner. “It was a misunderstanding. I saw you standing over Haley, I got protective and things went down. No harm, no foul.”

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and Haley tenses beneath me. I extend my other hand to Conner, knowing full well there is plenty of harm done and foul is a mild adjective to use to describe the animosity between us.

“Fuck you,” says Conner. I withdraw my hand and shrug. Hey, I tried.

“Then I’ll leave you to lunch.” I attempt to guide Haley away but it’s difficult to do when she’s grown roots and planted her feet into the ground.

“Sounds like it was an unfair fight,” says Matt. “My brother being chivalrous and helping out Haley after she fell and then you jumping him from behind. It’s easy to take down a guy when he doesn’t know you’re coming. An apology isn’t enough.”

“It’s enough,” Haley pleads. “Please, Matt, let it go.”

Matt mimics the crazy grin his insane brother had right before he knocked me out. “Do you know the lies your girlfriend tried telling me before you showed? Listening to Haley beg for you makes me wonder if you can actually take a hit.”

I rub my chin, release Haley and step into Matt. Chairs crack and squeak against the floor as his boys bolt to their feet. Matt stops them with one raised finger. “Got something to say?”

“Yeah. Thought you should know I got expelled from my last school for fighting. I got no problems taking hits.”

“Then prove it.”

“Take the swing, asshole.” I’m not going to be accused of jumping a man from behind.

The air hums with pissed-off energy. Matt shoves his chest out, arms poised to come up, then a guy says, “Principal.”

Matt backs off and I follow his lead. Some old man in a gray suit watches us as he heads for the food line.

“New boy,” says Matt. “We don’t fight in school, but the moment the bell rings, your ass is mine.”

Haley angles to become a human shield in front of me. “No.”

“Haley.” My blood boils that she’s begging this bastard for anything. Does she honestly think I’m that weak? “I got this.”

“Listen to her, Matt,” Conner butts in.

“What?” Matt asks.

“One of us should fight him in the cage. You know, make it public humiliation. Best man wins and all that shit.”

Haley tunnels her fingers into her hair and clutches it as if to yank it out. “He’s not a fighter. It won’t be fair.”

“I can fight,” I snap, but not one of them acknowledges me.

“If he can’t take the hits, then he shouldn’t have messed with one of us,” says Matt.

“Matthew.” The pure desperation in her tone causes everyone to freeze. “I swear to you he didn’t know.”

The looks, the stares. All of them doubting me because Haley’s basically signed in blood that I’m incapable of holding my own. I’ve got four months in this school and I’ll be damned if she’ll be protecting me the entire time. “Name the day and time.”

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