Gus turns around and gives Connor a shove toward the exit, pointing. “Go, dude. Take your break first, and chill the fuck out. We’ll switch off in two hours.”
Connor doesn’t even acknowledge his friend. He only sneers at us before storming away.
“Fight starts at ten-thirty tonight. But get there thirty minutes early. I’ll text you the address. There’s a neighborhood behind the woods where you can park and cut through.”
Gus and Remi exchange numbers while I just sit at the table, the pancakes I ate turning into a cement block in my stomach.
They clearly just fought yesterday. And now again tonight. . .
I hate it.
His left eye is already turning black and blue, and his knuckles are slightly swollen.
“Why?” I blurt out, and Gus flicks his gaze to me. He’s never been cruel. In fact, there have been a handful of times when he found out about something Connor or Brandon did and tried to reverse the damage. Little does he realize the scars they’ve left are mostly internal. I know he’s just trying to get through school with a football scholarship to a good college and get drafted into the NFL. Everyone knows this about Gus. And I really can’t fault him for trying to keep those two jerks in line. They’re part of that equation for him. Even if they’re my tormentors and half the reason for the spiraling mess of loneliness I’ve been drowning in.
Before Remi came along, I had to fight all of my fights alone. But now, I have someone in my corner, tapping in at a moment’s notice.
“That’s Connor and Remi’s beef. Not mine,” Gus replies evenly, never one to give secrets away. Respectable, I guess.
Before I can ask, Remi murmurs softly, “We’ll talk about it later, Preppy.” I know the delicate tone and nickname don’t go unnoticed by Gus. But once again, he doesn’t gossip, so I tamp down the anxiety starting to bubble up.
Gus gives Remi one of those weird straight guy hugs, slapping each other on the back hard enough to knock someone like me over.
“My money’s on you. Don’t disappoint me.”
He says it quietly, but I still hear it.
And then he’s strolling off toward the lodge exit. Gus Stevenson—cataloging leaves by day and, apparently, maintaining an elaborate underground fight league by night.
I’m feeling brave, so I ask again, now that Gus isn’t here. “Why are you fightin’ Connor?I know you did yesterday.Everyoneknows you did.”
He opens his mouth to answer, and I just know it won’t be the truth.
“Friends don’t lie to friends,” I declare boldly.
“I. . .” His eyes dart away from mine, showcasing an uncomfortability that instantly puts me on edge. The metal chair squeaks as he sits back down and tucks himself into the table.
His gaze is hesitant and unsure. “He just said some things that weren’t acceptable, is all. And I had to let him know that.”
“Remi. . .”
Why is he being so vague?
This isn’t like him. He’s blunt and to the point.
“He didn’t accept it. And now we’re gonna attempt to work it out again. Tonight.”
I still have the sick feeling in my gut that this is all my fault. That this is all happening because of me, and I hate it. I don’t want Remi to fight. I don’t want him in any more trouble when I know he ran away from something bad. He may be tough, with a devil-may-care attitude, but someone has to look out for him, too. And I don’t think anyone ever has.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not. Too dangerous.” His response is swift and direct.
“It’s not your decision, Remi.”
“Preppy—”
“I know it’s about me,” I say, cutting him off. “So, I’m coming. I’m not letting you go alone.”