Page 21 of Finding Delaware

“No. And you can’t say anything, Tay.”

“Oh?” His lips curve, a cruel glint darkening his blue-green eyes. “I think this will make a great conversation over breakfast.”

My hand strikes out to wrap around his throat, squeezing as I lean down toward his face. “You say anything to my dad, and I’ll tell Coach about the weed you sell in the second-floor boys’ bathroom.”

No, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. My heart is like a battering ram in my chest, threatening to break from my ribs and leap onto the floor.

Taylor snorts, flashing his teeth, and I’ve never wanted to knock them out more than this moment. “You think I actually give a shit about football? Try again.”

“Then I’ll tell your mom,” I shout desperately, still clawing at his fingers with my free hand for the phone.

He curls upward, so close that our noses brush as he laughs in my face. “Nice try. She could give two shits about me. You got nothin’ on me, Fuckslee.”

My vision goes red. He hasn’t used that name since I asked him to stop. For once, I thought he’d be decent and care about someone other than himself, but I was wrong. Taylor fucking Tottman is a selfish piece of trash, and if he tries to take me down, I’ll make sure he crashes and burns along with me.

“You’re wrong.” Leaning all the way forward, I flatten my body to his, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You say anything, and I’ll tell everyone about the kiss.”

He shudders, an audible swallow flexing his throat as his hands grip the front of my shirt. “What kiss?”

“You know what kiss.”

Taylor goes boneless beneath me, releasing my phone, and I pluck it from his palm while my cheek brushes against his. “Remember the one we shared under the bleachers in PE three years ago? When I told you that I liked you, and you–”

Before I can finish, he throws me to the side with such force that my forehead splits open when it hits the door jamb. Searing pain blurs my vision, white spots dancing in my eyes. I blink rapidly, realizing after a moment that I’m pinned on my stomach with a knee pressed agonizingly between my shoulder blades.

Taylor’s harsh inhale echoes off the hallway walls as he pulls my arm backward until I yelp, something wet trickling into my eyes. The scent of his liquor breath stings my nostrils when he twists, bending my elbow unnaturally until I hear something break, and I bellow into the carpet.

“You ever bring that shit up again,” he hisses, “I’ll fuck you up, Huckslee. I mean it.”

The venom in his voice makes me quake, my lungs struggling to expand from the total weight of his knee on my back, contorting my arm like he wants to rip it from my body. Real fear sluices through me as the seconds tick by and the longer I struggle to breathe.

Finally, the weight lifts. Sharp, burning pain shoots up my forearm when Taylor releases me, and I crawl to my knees with a wince. Cradling the aching limb against my chest, I dazedly look up at my stepbrother. He stands above me, glaring down with such hatred that I’m rendered speechless.

“Keep your fucking queer hands to yourself.”

Those words cut me to the bone, hurting deeper than the gash on my brow or the twisted arm. His lips curl with disgust before he whirls toward his room, slamming the door behind him. Tears that were welling behind my lashes spill forth, soaking my face as sobs wrack my body. I try to move my arm, but pain shoots up to my elbow, and I can’t.

I can’t move. I feel like I can’t breathe. All I can do is sit here and cry.

Like a fucking weakling.

Taylor

Ifucked up.

Like, astronomically fucked up in a way that I can’t fix. I feel it the moment Aaron pounds on my door the following day, waking me up to utter words that have my chest caving in around me.

“I’m taking Huck to the ER. He broke his arm.”

Fuck. Me.

I’m out of bed within seconds, despite the immediate spinning in my head from the alcohol and the ache in my cheek from Christian’s fist. “I’m coming with.”

He nods, telling me to get dressed and to meet them downstairs. Dread is locking my muscles, but I push through, throwing on my Lamb of God hoodie without even thinking about it until Aaron’s lips thin in the foyer, buthe doesn’t comment.

And Huck…God, he looks like hell. He’s cradling his arm against him, curls falling over his brow as he keeps his head bent. He won’t even look at me. There are tear tracks on his reddened cheeks, and though that usually satisfies me, right now, it only makes me feel sick.

We file into Aaron’s Prius, both of them taking the front while I crawl into the back. I feel eyes on me, and I meet Aaron’s gaze in the rearview mirror. There’s something there, an anger or a disappointment that I can’t puzzle out, but it has my throat closing with guilt.

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