Page 29 of Finding Delaware

I relax slightly, taking him at his word, and he surprises me by stepping forward to grasp my wrist.

“Ineedthat scholarship, Huck,” he says again, eyes burning into mine with such intensity that I find myself drowning in their oceanic depths. “I’m not good like you. I don’t have the potential of a full ride or wealthy parents. I really don’t give a shit about football. Motocross is my life—the only thing that matters to me. And with the possibility of college, I can actually leave this place and make something of myself. So you see, don’t you? I can’t risk losing everything.”

“Okay, I get it,” I grumble, because really, I do. I understand. We are similar in that I don’t really care about football, either. But I’m good at it, and it offers me a chance to leave this town for good. So I get it.

What I don’t get, though…

“So tell me why you turned into such a jackass,” I demand, pulling my wrist from his grip. “After the eighth grade. Why did you hate me so much?”

Taylor sighs, covering his eyes again with a hand.

“I was a little...obsessed with you,” he admits, grinning sheepishly, and I hate how fucking cute it makes him look. “Even more so after we...kissed. My father kind of caught on and made some comments, pretty much told me that if he caught us hanging out again, he’d take my dirt bike away.”

I go still. “Your bike?”

He’s kidding, right?

“Yeah. So I pretended to hate you even though I didn’t. And I guess, over the years, it just kind of became easier to lie to myself, too. Because I...we couldn’t be anything. We can’t be anything. To each other.”

A roaring fills my ears, the blood in my veins close to boiling. My cheeks heat with shame and embarrassment.

“Are you telling me,” I start slowly, trying my damnedest and failing at keeping my voice calm, “that you spent the last three fucking years torturing me because you didn’t want your daddy to take away your precious bike?”

His eyes widen at my tone, nearly bugging out of their sockets as his face twists into a sneer. “Fuck you, Huckslee.”

Oh, I’m mad. Beyond mad. I’m fucking fuming. Everything comes to a head, all the times I sat in detention because of something he did. All of the bruises and all of the lunches spent eating alone in my car because he tripped me one too many times in the cafeteria. The rumors, the hurtful slurs, that time I had to go to urgent care because he somehow got the combination to my locker and slipped Christian’s pet tarantula inside, causing me to fly into a panic attack. He’d overheard Logan telling the science teacher I had arachnophobia and thought it was fucking funny. All of the times I wished I could disappear, all of the misery and hate. Over a goddamned dirt bike.

“God, I’m so fucking stupid.” I laugh humorlessly as I turn on my heel, heading back toward the house. “Despite all the shit you’ve done to me, I pined after you for years.Years. You really couldn’t care less about anyone but yourself, Taylor.”

His voice comes from close behind as he follows. “You can go fuck yourself with your judgment, asshole.”

I spin around so fast I almost get whiplash as my hand wraps around his throat. Yanking him to me, I put myself so close to his face that our noses brush.

“Me?Judge you? How many times have you called me names because of my sexuality? Or my grades, or my clothes? I’m the golden boy, right? With the rich daddy? Or am I thefucking sissy bottom bitch, fairy boy queer, Taylor? Because I can’t keep it all straight anymore.”

“I’m s-sorry.” His hand grips my wrist as I squeeze.

“I don’t want your apologies! I want you to take back all the damage you’ve done to me. Can you do that?”

He wheezes against my hand. “Would...if I...could.”

The whites of his eyes begin to darken, veins going bloodshot, and some sick part of me likes the sight. To see him be the one struggling to breathe for once, powerless to do anything about it but drown like he made me feel over and over and over again.

There’s an addictive rush of power that comes from having someone at your mercy, and I’m living for it. Living for the way he dangles in my grip.

And that’s when it hits me like a fucking brick that Taylor isn’t fighting back. He’s literally standing there, letting me choke the life out of him.

Immediately, I drop him, his knees hitting the ground with an audible crack. Inhaling sharply, he bends over to cough into the dirt, massaging his throat. When he raises his head to peer up at me, I notice a slight bluish tint at the corners of his mouth, and all my anger just...vanishes into thin air. A bone-deep exhaustion takes its place, so draining that my own knees threaten to buckle.

“Just stay away from me, Taylor,” I sigh wearily, rubbing my temples before turning toward the house again. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

This time, he doesn’t follow.

Taylor

December

Snow has finally arrived in Utah, and I hate it.

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