Page 91 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

“Why do you need a break?” I lift my hand to his face, but he jerks away before I touch the cut on his lower lip, pulling it into his mouth instead. “Does that cut have anything to do with it?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Dylan, you disappear for almost a week. You come back looking like death with that cut on your lip and then you don’t answer any of my questions. How did you get that?”

“Kinda look like Brad Pitt now, don’t I?” He flashes a playful grin. “And that’s because my family runs a secret fight club in the basement, and you know the first rule of fight club is that we don’t talk about fight club.”

This motherfucker is doing it again, hiding the truth behind a joke. I see it now. “So, someone in your family did this to you?”

The smile drops from his face at the same time his arms drop from my waist. His body language tells me I struck a nerve, and he takes a step back as if trying to distance himself from me. “I told you I had a game on Friday night. It was just a bad tackle.”

“Don’t lie to me, Dylan.”

He smirks again, but his jaw is tight, and he’s gritting his teeth. It’s hard to discern if he’s annoyed or amused. “Yeah.” He’s annoyed. “Someone in my family did this to me. Now, stop with the questions because that’s the last one I’m answering.”

I stare at him for a long time. This is not the Dylan I know. The affection is there, but he’s...cold somehow. His playfulness, his jokes, his smile—none of it is authentic. I’m so confused right now. His answer has only raised more questions. Is he getting abused at home? I’ve met his parents, and they seem like perfectly nice people. They have a loving home, but now I’m not sure what to believe. Many people put up a front to the outside world and are monsters behind closed doors. And if it’s one of his parents, why stay at home for days at a time to take a break? Wouldn’t school be the escape?

“Dylan, what’s going on with you?”

He ignores the question and nods his head toward the car in front of us. “Tommy’s here.”

We start walking to the car, and I hear a low whistle from the side of me. “Looking smoking hot today, Isabella.”

Dylan’s eyes follow the direction of the voice. “Who’s that?”

I cast a glance over my shoulder and groan. “That’s Simon, one of David’s friends. He’s also on the lacrosse team.”

“I see why David can’t stop talking about you.” Simon’s voice is getting closer, but I try to ignore him.

Dylan’s body tenses beside mine, but I loop my arm through his and keep him moving forward. He’s on a very short fuse when it comes to guys being rude to me. It happens often because I have a reputation and many guys don’t respect me. I can brush it off because their words have no power over me, but Dylan doesn’t know how to let it go. Before he pulled his disappearing act, he shoved some guy against the wall for making derogatory comments about me in the hallway.

Simon follows behind us and starts explaining in very graphic detail how he wants me to suck him off like what I did to David. I didn’t even kiss David, but I’m so used to rumors about me snowballing into complete fabrications, I don’t even stop to defend myself. Simon isn’t worth my time.

“So, what do you say? Are you free on Saturday?”

Dylan whips around to face him. “Dude, I’m asking you nicely to leave her alone.”

“And who are you? Her boyfriend?”

I grab his arm and urge him to face forward again. “Don’t pay any attention to him.”

“Are you listening to what he’s saying about you?”

“No, because I don’t care.”

We reach Tommy’s car and Dylan opens the door for me. “I’m gonna get outta here before I hurt this guy,” he whispers to me as I get in. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you into sharing, boyfriend?” Simon taunts from behind him. “We could tag-team.”

I don’t think Simon even cares about me anymore. Now it seems like he’s just trying to get a rise out of Dylan. Boys can be such idiots. It’s like testosterone and ego clog up their brains. Whatever Simon is trying to achieve is working. Dylan thumps his fist against the back window, a sign that he’s becoming increasingly more volatile.

“Just ignore him,” I whisper.

“I’m trying to.”

“We could invite David,” Simon says with an amused chuckle. “She has three hol?”

Just like that, he snaps. No further warnings. Dylan just spins around, throws a punch, and Simon chokes on the words halfway out of his mouth. Simon stumbles back but doesn’t fall.

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