Page 322 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“What…?” I manage.

Marcus waves his hand as if to dismiss what he just yelled at me. Instead of explaining himself, he fucks off on a different tangent. “You think you have it so bad, Briar?” He runs his hands down his face. “You don’t. You’ve got everything you could ever want, you just can’t see it.”

“If this is about your dad?—”

“Shut up about my fucking dad!” Marcus thumps the dash again. Veins protrude from his neck, and the way he’s staring through the windshield—as if at something only he can see—is freaking me the fuck out.

I turn off the Mustang’s ignition before the tick-tick-tick of its cooling engine can drive me mental.

“Marcus—”

“You snap your fingers, and girls fall at your feet. Always have, always will.”

I let out a bitter chuckle. “You know that’s not?—”

“Yeah? Not anymore?” Marcus turns in his seat, one hand on the dash, the other on his knee. It might just be this confined space, but I’ve never realized how lanky he was. I definitely havemore bulk than him, but where I knew Dylan and Zak could take me if they teamed up, I have no idea who would win in a fistfight between me and Marcus.

And I’ve never thought that. Not once.

Until now. Until I see some dark glimmer in his eyes that I can’t identify.

Frustration? Regret? Anger?

“You get all A’s. A mansion of a fucking house. The best family?—”

“Woah, yeah, really?” I cut in with a laugh. “A dad who’s never home, a dead mother? How the hell can that be?—?”

“It beats a criminal for a father and a whore of a mother.” Marcus scowls at me, and then rips his packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one. He expels a fierce stream of smoke, raking his eyes over me as if daring me to argue. “Fuck knows how many men she was screwing before she met my Dad. Then six years after I arrive—” He puts his fingers to his lips, blowing air over them. “Poof. Gone.”

I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to say to that. I keep quiet, watching Marcus’s face to gauge where he’s going with all of this. He takes a hit of his cigarette, and smoke fills the Mustang’s cabin.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I lean a little closer, dropping my head. “I mean, I knew about your dad, some about your mom, but?—”

“You ask your dad about me staying for a while?” Marcus asks quietly. He’s staring through the windshield again, oblivious to my attempts at making eye contact.

“Wh—yes.” I nod. “I did.”

“What did he say?” Marcus’s voice is cool and smooth as silk now as if we weren’t just yelling at each other.

I’m tempted to tell him I didn’t get around to it, but I’d just be delaying the inevitable. Best to get everything out in the open.

I shake my head. “I don’t get it. He made it sound like you were…”

“What?” Marcus cocks his head and slowly turns to face me. “I was what?”

“A delinquent.”

Marcus shrugs. “Aren’t I?” He flicks his fingers in the space between us. “Aren’twe?”

And then he laughs, and I swear to fucking God—I’ll die a happy man if I never hear that sound again.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Briar

It’s perversely sunny outside this morning, as if the world’s mocking the darkness of my inner world with its godawful brightness.

Thought you were king of the hill, did’ya?

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