I let out a snort. We had thought it was cool. It isn’t. But we’d been right about one thing—we do run the halls.
It’s easy when you’re the quarterback for Ridgecrest Rebels. Roman is my fullback, and Hunter—with his shit-eating grin—is my wide receiver. And this is gonna be our year. We are juniors but we had proven that we were the best.
Plus, they don’t call us the Rebels for nothing. We get up to a lot of trouble.
“We should throw a party before your parents get back,” Hunter suggests.
“Yeah, okay, but I gotta talk to Grady first. Make sure he’s onboard and shit. I don't want him telling my parents. But it's low key, okay? Just a few guys from the team and some girls.” I turn to Roman. “Are you cool with getting beer?”
He doesn’t move or even blink.
“Roman?”
His eyes find mine, and he raises a brow.
“Beers? You think you could grab us some for the party tomorrow night?”
He nods and shifts his weight, snagging a fry off Hunter’s plate. Hunter always orders extra fries, knowing Roman will eat them. Growing up, he wasn't the type of guy to ask for food when he was hungry, or accept you buying him any, but Hunter always ordered “too much,” and Roman couldn't let it go to waste.
Roman knows Hunter could never finish them. He’s told him to stop over-ordering time and time again. But Hunter keeps on ordering extra. This has been going on for three years now. Roman doesn't wait for Hunter to offer them anymore, he starts eating them as soon as the plate hits the table. It’s something we don't talk about. It’s just how we are.
When Roman speaks, you listen. He doesn’t sit around and talk shit like Hunter and I do. He’s quiet but not timid or anything. He’ll tell you straight to your face what he thinks of you. But he doesn’t speak unless there’s something worth saying.
He doesn’t have any other real friends but me and Hunter. Growing up, Mila was the closest friend Roman ever had. When she left, he spoke less, he grew quieter. And, for a while, he didn't come to school. We had to go over to his place and drag him to school. Our moms helped a lot with that too. Made sure he was clothed and fed. His dad was a grade-A asshole, through and through. My mom wanted to report him to child services, but Roman would say, “I would rather live with the devil, than a devil wearing angel's clothes.” Mom didn't call them after that, but she always made sure he was safe.
Mila used to be the one to protect him, keep him safe. He talked to her, he even smiled with her and picked flowers—not that he would admit that. I haven’t seen him smile in four years. I’m not sure if he’s capable of smiling anymore. And this is why Mila can't come back into our lives. I need to protect Roman. She hasn't been here. She won’t understand how bad he got and what we’ve done to get him here today.
“I can get the girls together, and we’ll all be there.”
I look back at Britney, raising my brow. “What girls?” I ask, confused.
“For the party, silly.”
Caught up again in thoughts of Mila, I’d almost forgotten about the party we just organized moments before.
Britney rubs my arm and lean in close, her tits pressing against my side. “It's like you zoned out there, baby.”
I clench my jaw at her pet name for me—I hate it.
But I hate Mila Hart more.