Page 106 of Forever We Fall

The sound of footsteps ground me to the here and now. Then they dissipate, running away.

From the corner of my eye, I see Phillip’s preppy fucking Herrings. Only that asshole wears those kind of shoes to the field.

Get up. Fight.

My pleading goes unnoticed.

As the pain in my chest flares, panic clings tight. It draws me into the past and what comes next.

“Run,” someone yells ahead of us.

The guy who Phillip tried to screw with at the bonfire before he’d turned his attention to me rounds the building and sprints past us. Another guy follows close behind him.

Both left the field with Arlo.

“What the fuck?” Miles calls out to the guy.

“Fight,” the guy hisses as he runs. Unlike almost any other school, where kids run toward a fight hyped to see a little violence, at Willoughby Ridge, kids get the hell out of sight.

If caught fighting here, your parents are charged a shit ton of money, if the student isn’t expelled altogether. Just for fucking witnessing it, you get fined.

My heart stops. Luckily, I’m used to functioning without it. I break into a sprint, headed in the direction they came from.

No one wants to be associated with a fight. No one wants to get in trouble.

Right now, I could not possibly care less. I need to see Arlo. I need to…

I clear the edge of the building. My gut bottoms out.

Phillip stands over Arlo. His hands are high in the air. A fucking stone the size of my face is clenched between them. His regal mug is drawn into a hideous scowl as though every rage-filled thought he’s ever had funnels through his features.

Blood coats the rock. It’s spattered over the footpath, gleaming murkily in the lamppost light.

“Oh shit,” Miles huffs.

I’m already running. My feet pound against the concrete as instinct takes over.

Protect what’s mine.

The sound I make is wholly animalistic.

It draws Phillip’s narrowed gaze up. His chin jerks. The rage flickers, fear revealing itself in the widening of his eyes.

He snarls. His gaze swings to Arlo, and then to me, desperate to calculate whether he can execute another blow before I reach him.

I answer the question.

With everything I have, I launch myself.

Phillip is too far away. I’d never make it to him in time, but Arlo…

I throw myself over him, toppling his unsteady weight to the ground. The blow lands on my left shoulder. It steals the air from my lungs. Again, I’m used to functioning breathlessly around the man under me. The person I love.

The most painful thing about this is I don’t get to enjoy his warmth against mine, the feel of his muscled back, or his breath over my skin.

Before Phillip can cock back for another blow, I scramble toward him.

Staying low to the ground, only using my hands and feet, I toss myself once more. This time, I aim for both of Phillip’s legs. His trousers make a great grip. I hold tight, throw my shoulders against his shins, and hope for a snap. Tendon. Ligament. Bone.

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