Page 29 of Like You Know

“I’m not being abused,” I rushed out, a little irritated. “Unless you count the years of neglect from my mother.”

“I do,” he responded immediately, but I ignored him.

“It’s just that they didn’t even give me a chance to say no. I mean, shouldn’t I get a say in who lives in my fucking house?”

“Of course you should.”

“I just don’t understand what the hell is happening, you know? Like, Mom’s suddenly around all the damn time, and it’s kind of suffocating, even though I don’t really feel like she’s there for me. Like, I don’t really have a mother back becausehe’saround all the fucking time too. And I’ll straight-up murder you if you repeat this to anyone, but I actually think he might be a decent guy. Like, he’s good for her or something. But ... I don’t know. It feels like everything is changing around me and I don’t have anything solid to hold on to, ya know? Like nothing is certain, and that’s fucking terrifying.”

I took a deep breath and dug my nails into the dirty wood of the table.

“Yeah, I know how that feels. Change can be scary.”

“Oh god.” I sat up and ran my hands through my messy, frizzy hair. “You must think I’m such a drama queen. You don’t have either of your parents, and you live in a shitty apartment on your own, and here I am complaining about my mom being around more and feeling like my literal mansion is not big enough to give me space from her boyfriend.”

“Did you say my apartment was shitty?” Jet chuckled. “You’ve never seen it. How’d you know it was shitty?”

I looked up at him with wide eyes, mortified. “Oh crap, I’m so sorry. It was just ... I was just trying to say ...”

He cut me off by getting to his feet and coming to stand in front of me. “Amaya, it’s OK. I’m just teasing. I know you didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think you’re a drama queen. And I can totally see why your situation at home has you upset. Please don’t pile guilt on top of it all. Just because other people have problems that may seem bigger than yours doesn’t make your problems any easier to deal with, or any less valid.”

I looked up at him, tears stinging the backs of my eyes, everything from the past few weeks spilling over. Last time, I’d made myself hold the tears back until he was gone. This time, they tracked down my face as he stood close enough to taste them.

That time I’d been crying over him; this time I was crying for a whole bunch of other reasons. That was how I justified it to myself.

Something cracked in his expression, and he looked pained at the evidence of my own pain. He gently cupped my face with both hands, wiping the salty moisture off my cheeks with his thumbs. The tenderness in his touch, the broken expression on his face, made me cry harder.

He pulled me into his chest. One arm banded around my waist, and the other gripped the back of my neck, his fingers tangling with my hair. I held on to him so tightly my hands ached, and I let go completely in his warm embrace. Just for a few indulgent moments. His strong arms, his firm chest—he made me feel safe.

Even though he’d been the one who made me cry last time. How fucked up was that?

The thought was sobering, making it easier to stem the flow of tears and lean back. I still struggled to fully pull away from him though, and my fingers clung to the front of his new, old shirt.

“Why ...” I started to ask what I’d been dying to know for weeks. Why had he not kissed me? Why was no one good enough for him? Why wasInot good enough?

But I stopped myself before the rest of the words tumbled past my trembling lips. I forced a deep breath into my lungs and made myself release my grip on his shirt.

“Why what?” He tilted his head to the side, trying to catch my gaze.

I couldn’t help it; I looked into his eyes.

He saw it right away. As if the image of that beach at night, of our lips nearly crashing together like the waves on the sand, was reflected in the depths of my irises. His expression hardened, something like regret flashing across his features before he took a tiny step back.

I wrapped my arms around my middle. I couldn’t take another blow to my softest parts.

“Take me home, Jet.” I was so fucking tired.

CHAPTERTEN

Freshmen scurriedout of my way as I marched through Fulton Academy after the end-of-day bell. They always scurried, but I was in a particularly shitty mood, so they scurried particularly well.

I didn’t let any of it show on my face as I headed for the library, forcing my shoulders back and striding as if I owned the place. Which, to be fair, most of these freshmen would tell you I did.

The library doors were in sight ahead when the one asshole who never scurried from me came around the corner.

“Hey, Amaya.” Jet walked directly toward me.

“Jethro.” I barely spared him a glance as I walked past—or tried to. He stepped sideways and blocked me, forcing me to come to a stop a few feet away from the library.

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