Finding Delaware (State of Us #1)

by Bree Wiley

While I may get violent with Huckslee because I’m forced to, the thought of anyone else touching him pisses me off. He’s mine to torment. No one else’s.

Turning toward him, I freeze when I see the look on his face. There’s a smile on his lips, excitement shining in his eyes as he takes in the track, and it reminds me of that day in PE three years ago when I thought I’d get to see that look on his face forever. I didn’t realize until this moment that I’d missed it.

Something warm floods my chest, an emotion I can’t place, and as I race after him, a dangerous thought bounces around my brain. Maybe, at least for the next year, things will be okay. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

It had been fun until Maisie started asking him about his dating life, and I had to watch him shut down. He’d immediately thrown on a mask, turned into a fucking robot, and pulled away from me the rest of the night. It bothered me more than I’d like to admit.

I can see how nervous he is, and I’m not gonna lie—it’s kind of adorable.

Staying the night with my best friend had been the plan. I should still do it. But after spending a few hours doing jumps and getting high in his backyard with the guys, I just wanted to see Huck without being scrutinized by our parents or peers.

With a smirk, I reach over and pry the remote out of his sweaty palm, little jolts of energy skittering over my skin when our fingers brush and push a button to bring up the title screen.

“You’re fucking cute when you’re flustered,” I blurt out, cutting off his rant, and my smile grows when his lips part at my words. His dark eyes widen, twinkling like a starry night sky as he flounders like a fish for something to say. I enjoy the sight for a few more seconds before pressing play. “I’ve never seen this one before.”

Any excuse to keep ‘accidentally’ bumping my knuckles with his, I’ll take.

Between the high I’m riding and Lasagna purring on my lap, I must have fallen asleep because sometime later, when I crack my eyes open, the title screen is back on again. I’m lying on my side, stretched out on the couch, my head inches from Huck’s thigh, and…his fingers are in my hair, playing with the strands. His movements falter as he inhales sharply, both of us freezing, analyzing the situation. When I make no effort to get up, Huck slowly resumes massaging my scalp. It’s lovely. Different. Soft. I like it. My entire body relaxes, and I’m asleep again within minutes. When I wake once more, hours later, I’m alone. The TV is off, the house dark, the couch cold.

Something like disappointment has my shoulders drooping, which just confuses me. Who was I expecting to see? A certain mop of blond curls, maybe…

When I told him he wasn’t invited, I’d been half-lying because I wanted him to come anyway so that I could watch him— My brain scratches to a screeching halt. Why the hell do I care where Huckslee is?

Leaning against the wall, I close my eyes as she works me, but something’s off. Her hands feel too small, her grip too light. And when she wraps her lips around my shaft, even the tentative flick of her tongue sets my teeth on edge. A whine leaves her throat at my half-hard dick, but when I open my lids to stare down at her, it jumps painfully to full attention at the dark brown eyes looking up at me. Because they’re her eyes, yes, but they’re also his. No. That’s not the reason. It’s just that I have a girl on her knees for me. It has nothing to do with that. But I keep staring down into those eyes, my hips beginning to move against her tongue as I tangle my fingers in her hair. And even that doesn’t feel right, the dry, straight strands sticking to my skin. Unlike silky soft curls, which would feel amazing. No. I pump myself inside her mouth harder, pleasure vibrating my body as I grip her head in both my hands. She moans around my cock, her eyes fluttering closed, but I command her to keep them open. And fuck, the tears glistening in those brown eyes are almost enough to have me spilling my load down her throat. She’s whimpering as I fuck her face, but the sound is too high. Too breathy. Too feminine, so I slide my cock deeper to hush her up. And still, I watch those eyes, imagining a bigger, muscled body connected to them. It feels wrong, but in my drunken state, it’s the wrongness about it that’s getting me off right now.

Fuck, why? Why does he have to be so gorgeous?

And Huck…God, he looks like hell. He’s cradling his arm against him, curls falling over his brow as he keeps his head bent. He won’t even look at me. There are tear tracks on his reddened cheeks, and though that usually satisfies me, right now, it only makes me feel sick.

The hospital comes into view, and shame wars with disgust in my bones. Disgust at myself for losing control like I did last night. For turning into him. Between what happened with Tatiana, the fucking video of Huck stroking his goddamn cock—which had done things to me I’d rather not think about—and his mention of what happened between us years ago, I’d just...snapped. Fucking lost it. But there’s no excuse.

The last few hours have been torture. Not even the music blasting in my ears could distract me from the video replaying over and over in my head of Huck’s girthy fucking dick, so I tried to occupy my time by doom-scrolling social media. All that resulted in, though, was me stalking my stepbrother’s profile, searching through his friends list for whoever this ‘Royce’ guy is that he’s sending nudes to. I try to lie to myself, thinking I just want to make sure Huck is safe and not getting catfished or something, but the reality stares me in the face, and I can’t ignore it—I’m fucking jealous. And I have no goddamn right to be.

He eyes me sideways, curls a mess around his face, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching out to touch them. Honestly, it’s a problem how much I want to do that. It’s wrong. Boys don’t touch other boys’ hair.

“Let’s sneak under the bleachers, Tay.” He jerks his chin to where they sit a few yards away, and I widen my eyes at him. “Hell, no. I heard they found a cougar under there last week.” “Aw, are you scared? Need me to hold your hand?” I open my mouth to swear at him, but then his palm drifts down my arm, and his fingers curl around mine, suddenly making it hard to breathe. “Come on.” Next thing I know, I’m being tugged off the field toward the bleachers quickly, and he doesn’t drop my hand when we climb under them. Neither do I, for some reason. Though I should, I really should. My dad would flip if he saw this. “Well, no cougars.” Huck turns toward me with a grin, dark eyes glittering, and I can’t look away from him. We’ve never been alone before, usually surrounded by friends or peers, but here it’s quiet. Dark. Close. His gaze drops to where I’m biting my lip, and the fingers holding mine flex. “So, I saw you hanging with Salem Vaughn in homeroom.” “Uh, yeah,” I swallow hard, finally tearing my gaze away. “She’s cool. Hot, too.” He shrugs in response, shoulders dropping slightly, but when he goes to pull his hand from mine, I tighten my hold, not ready to let go. “She’s not really my type.” “Oh, yeah?” I lick my lips, mouth going dry when his eyes track the movement. “What’s your type then?” My heartbeat thumps wildly when he steps closer, backing me against a metal beam. “Not Salem, that’s for sure.” “Then what?” There’s something in his eyes that I don’t understand as ...

Checking my thread with Huck, I see he’s read my text but hasn’t responded, which means he’s awake and ignoring me. So I throw on some clothes and leave my room, taking a deep breath before knocking on his door. “Huck? It’s me. Taylor.” Duh, dumbass. Pretty sure he knows. “Look, can we talk?” Seconds go by, and there’s no answer. But somehow, I can sense him on the other side of the door, listening. “Okay, you don’t want to talk. I get it. You don’t have to, but please open up.” His muffled voice reaches me through the wood. “What do you want, Taylor?” I open my mouth, then shut it. Because what do I want? His forgiveness? No, I don’t deserve that. To explain? I can’t, not really. Not without telling him about my father. Would it be the end of the world if he knew? No, I shut that thought down. The last thing I need is Dad in prison, and my sponsorship lost. It’s my only hope of leaving this place behind. So I clear my throat and say, “I want to see you.” Fuck, that sounds gay as hell and clingy and so damn stupid, but it’s the truth, so I just roll with it. A full minute passes without a response, and the word please leaves my lips softly, almost like a whisper. Finally, the door opens. My breath catches at the wary, guarded expression that meets me on the other side. “What?” He spits the question flatly, so void of emotion that I cringe. “I just...” My voice trails off as a slight shock rolls through me, the look in his eyes unnerving my system. Their depths are empty an...

Taylor’s hand found mine again somewhere between the house and the backyard, causing my brain to short-circuit. Half of me wonders if I’m hallucinating. The anxiety meds and pain pills must be scrambling my brain because there’s no way Taylor fucking Tottman is holding my hand right now. What do you want, Taylor? I want to see you. Please. His palm is warm in mine as he leads me onto the track, and he squeezes before letting go. Moonlight shimmers down from a clear night sky, giving his dark hair blue hues under the stars. His teeth dig into his bottom lip as he glances at me sideways, uncertainty rippling across his features. It reminds me of the night after the wedding when we opened up to one another, and I can’t force myself to look away. I should be furious with him. Hell, I was furious with him. Last night, I sat in bed and cried until the sun came up. When I couldn’t handle the pain in my arm anymore, I knocked on Dad’s door to tell him I tripped. The whole time, I was cursing Taylor in my mind, wishing every bad thing on him I could think of, even coming up with ways to make him feel what he made me feel. But then, he surprised me at the hospital by telling my dad the truth. And yeah, I’m pissed at him for it because my dad ripped into me for lying to him, but Taylor told the truth. And then he apologized. An honest, genuine apology, too. Not a fake one, for Dad’s sake. Still, I was pissed at him. Not in the ‘I want to hurt him’ way any longer, but definitely in th...

Stepping closer, I place myself in front of him, looking down into his eyes with raised brows. “Why do you hate me so much, Taylor?” His tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “I don’t hate you, Huck. Not even close.” “Then what? Why have you made my life fucking hell the last few years? Was it because of what happened in eighth grade? Because if you didn’t feel the same way–” He tenses immediately and backs away, causing me to stiffen as well. Multitudes of emotions war across his face—guilt, anger, apprehension. “I told you not to bring that up again,” he grits through clenched teeth, his hands fisting like he’s physically holding himself back from taking a swing. “Why? Because you kissed me? Because you liked it?” An almost pained grimace hardens his features. “Don’t.” “Or what? You’ll break my other arm?!” With a scoff, I turn away. “This is pointless. I’m fucking done trying to find something good in you. Your friendship would have been enough even if you didn’t like me that way, but I’m just a fucking queer, right? And God forbid you associate yourself with a faggot—” “Shut the fuck up, Huckslee,” he growls, cutting off my words. Before I can process what’s happening, he’s spinning me around and crushing his mouth to mine. It’s like an electric shock to my senses, the feel of his soft lips sliding over mine like velvet. “What are you doing?” I murmur. Taylor laughs, a husky, breathy noise that shoots right to my dick. “Silencing your bullshit.” His fingers snake up th...

I relax slightly, taking him at his word, and he surprises me by stepping forward to grasp my wrist. “I need that scholarship, Huck,” he says again, eyes burning into mine with such intensity that I find myself drowning in their oceanic depths. “I’m not good like you. I don’t have the potential of a full ride or wealthy parents. I really don’t give a shit about football. Motocross is my life—the only thing that matters to me. And with the possibility of college, I can actually leave this place and make something of myself. So you see, don’t you? I can’t risk losing everything.” “Okay, I get it,” I grumble, because really, I do. I understand. We are similar in that I don’t really care about football, either. But I’m good at it, and it offers me a chance to leave this town for good. So I get it. What I don’t get, though… “So tell me why you turned into such a jackass,” I demand, pulling my wrist from his grip. “After the eighth grade. Why did you hate me so much?” Taylor sighs, covering his eyes again with a hand. “I was a little...obsessed with you,” he admits, grinning sheepishly, and I hate how fucking cute it makes him look. “Even more so after we...kissed. My father kind of caught on and made some comments, pretty much told me that if he caught us hanging out again, he’d take my dirt bike away.” I go still. “Your bike?” He’s kidding, right? “Yeah. So I pretended to hate you even though I didn’t. And I guess, over the years, it just kind of became easier to lie to myself...

A deep, rolling laugh pulls me from my wallowing, and I turn to glare across the cafeteria at the source of the laughter. He’s been eating lunch here more often now that I’ve stopped messing with him. At first, I liked it. The opportunity to observe him from a distance was too good to pass up, but lately, the sight of him has been grinding my gears. The impulse to go over there and say some shit or do something to piss him off is intense. Old habits die hard.

It’s been a dull few months, that’s for sure. Mainly because I’ve been trying to do like Huck asked and stay away from him, but it’s been so fucking hard. Especially after I got a taste of him. I’ve tried to bury the memory of that disaster of a night at the track, but it won’t give me peace. It just runs on a loop in my head, the feel of Huck against me and the shit I could have said differently. Logically, I get why he didn’t understand. He doesn’t know the whole story, after all. But there’s a toxic side of me that’s screaming how fucking dare you walk away when I opened up to you, motherfucker. To him, it’s just a bike. An object or something fun to pass the time with, but to me? That bike is everything. Not only is it my ticket to freedom but a reprieve from the shit my father slings at me.

I’ve been a good boy. Real good. And I need something to take my mind off the current subject of my obsession, sitting ten feet away, smiling at his best friend like he has no care in the world. My eyes drift back over to him reluctantly. He looks good. Got a haircut, so the curls are shorter on the sides and longer on top, falling over his forehead. My fingers twitch against my fork, remembering how soft his hair felt when I ran them through it. His teeth on my bottom lip, stiff muscles pressed against my own, and then the confusing way my cock hardened when he had my throat in a death grip— No. No, no, no. No. I will not pop a boner in the middle of the lunchroom. Absolutely not. Mentally, I shove those thoughts inside the box that’s beginning to overflow in my mind and bury it again for later. Because I’ll definitely be thinking about that again later, in my room. With my hand down my pants. Fuck, I need to get laid.

“Hey, Taytortot.” Salem grins up at me, her gray eyes glowing against the reflection of the snow-covered windows. Returning her grin, I feel myself relax in the presence of my second best friend. “Sally Mal. What’s shakin’, babe?” She laughs, tossing her long red hair into a messy bun on the top of her head before leaning in and pressing a kiss to my throat. After weeks of no human contact, the feel of her lips on my skin has my dick perking up almost immediately, and I stifle a groan. With this one gesture, she’s telling me that she let Brad go, and now it’s my turn again. See what I mean about our relationship being easy? This girl just gets me. Throwing an arm around her shoulders, I lean in, pressing my nose against her hair. She always smells fantastic, like lilacs or some shit, and it always calms me down. Salem is the only soul on the planet who knows about all the shit with my father, and only because she witnessed my near mental breakdown over it one night a few years ago. She saw the worst parts of me and stayed, which is more than I can say for some people.

Speaking of one of those people… I feel his attention burning a hole in the side of my face, and I turn to meet Huck’s stare. A frown pulls at his lips, his gaze bouncing between Salem and me, some form of anger burning in his irises that I can feel from here. The sight gives my sick and twisted brain an idea. Keeping my eyes locked on Huckslee, I turn Salem’s face and plant a kiss on her lips, cutting off whatever she’d been saying to Xed. She purrs, relaxing into me, her mouth parting to grant my tongue access. It’s slow and sultry, nothing like the desperate frenzy of kissing my stepbrother, and though her lips are as familiar to me as my own, the kiss lacks any real heat. But that’s okay because the way Huck’s jaw visibly tightens as he watches us tells me I’ve achieved my goal. Turning back to Salem, I find her gazing at me with narrowed eyes, and I break the kiss with a grin. “What?” “Who are we making jealous?” She looks around the cafeteria, searching for whoever I’d been staring at. Debating for half a second, I decide to tell her the truth. “Huckslee.” Her manicured brows rise as she snaps her eyes to Huck, who’s glaring at us from across the room, and she smiles broadly as she waves at him. “Not who I expected, but it’s hot, and I’m down for it.” Fuck, this is why I love her. Salem is always down for anything.

By the time the lunch bell rings, Huck is gone. And I’m still left on read, surrounded by friends but feeling lonelier than ever.

Winter break officially started today, and everyone’s gone home for the week. While some would feel spooked in an empty school alone, I find it calming and peaceful. It’s like the world has finally stopped turning for a moment, and all that exists is myself.

I just wish I could sleep. Something is brewing under the surface, steadily rising inside me each day. My mask is slipping. I snapped at Logan this morning, and the way he looked at me as if I’d lost my mind made me want to jab a fork into my neck. It’s all because of Taylor. I’ve been hyper-aware of his presence since that night at the track—everywhere he fucking goes, I feel it. In the house, at school, in the gym, running drills. And even though he hasn’t messed with me in months, I find myself waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me. Like, I’ll wake up and find a severed horse head in my bed or something. It’s the type of apprehension I can’t shake anywhere but alone in the pool, knowing he’s home and not waiting around a corner to fuck with me. Like kissing Salem in the cafeteria three days ago and then having the audacity to ask me if I’m talking to anyone. Like, what the fuck was that about?

It’s been nice. He’s a fun and sweet guy. The only issue is, well...I can’t get myself to kiss him anymore. Putting my mouth on his dick seems to give me no problem, but the thought of anyone else on my lips other than my fucking stepbrother makes me nauseous. Which is why the sight of him kissing Salem sent me spiraling. Cue the mental breakdown.

Fuck. “Is there a reason you’re here,” I growl irritably, turning around to jolt with surprise when I find him inches from me, close enough to feel the heat of his skin. Sneaky fucker. “I was lifting late.” His eyes search my face. “Saw the door to the pool open. Figured I’d investigate.” “Well, it’s just me.” My voice is rough when I respond, watching the reflection of the water shimmer in his eyes. “So you can leave now.” He swallows, moving closer, and I tread backward to keep the distance between us. “Is that what you want?” he asks softly, licking his bottom lip. “For me to leave?” Say yes. Say yes, my mind screams at me, but when I open my mouth, no words come out. I can only float and stare as his gorgeous face moves toward me. Our chests brush and my breath hitches, his eyes intently holding mine when he leans in close enough for our mouths to barely touch. “I don’t think you do,” he whispers, gazing at my lips. “I think that you want me to stay.” But I don’t. I don’t. My nerve endings feel like they’re on fire when his fingertips brush my biceps, trailing over my shoulders and leaving molten lava in their wake. He presses himself against me, cupping the back of my neck, and I can feel when my heart jumps as if it wants to leap out of my chest and into his. Warm breath caresses my face. “Say it. Say you want me to stay, Huck.” No. “I don’t.” It comes out breathless, barely audible over my speaker, so I raise my voice louder. “I don’t want you to stay.” It sounds un...

Fuck. The pool. Memories from last night come pouring back, and I shift to adjust my morning wood. To be honest, I hadn’t planned on nearly drowning my stepbrother and then jerking him off when I found him yesterday. But life’s a lot easier to deal with if I go with the flow instead of fighting it, so here we are, I guess. In Huck’s bed. With a massive boner at the memory of the sound he made right before he came. Jesus. What the fuck had I been thinking? Well, that’s just it. I hadn’t been thinking, had I? Not with the right head, anyway. One look at Huck’s glowing skin and damp curls was enough to push me into insanity, apparently. What’s wrong with me? He mumbles something in his sleep, moaning low, and I feel it go straight to my balls. I’m horny as fuck right now. Did I like what I did to him last night? Hell yeah. Hottest experience of my life. Never given a handjob before, but the way he turned to putty in my hands tells me that I did just fine. If the roles had been reversed, though? If he’d been the one to slip his hands into my pants instead? Pulling my cock out, I stroke myself slowly next to Huck’s sleeping body, imagining his hand instead of mine. I picture him gripping me, his lips on mine like I was the answer to his salvation. A bead of precum forms at my tip, and I roll my thumb over it as the fantasy in my head changes. I see Huck on his knees now, kneeling with my cock in his mouth, those big brown eyes looking up at me while I thrust into his throat— Th...

He opens his mouth, dark eyes flashing in what I’m sure is anger before they zero in on something near my neck. His fingers pull down the collar of my shirt. “Who the hell did this?” he demands, brushing a knuckle along my collarbone. I already know he’s seeing the bruises my dad left when he held me in place on Thanksgiving, drunkenly screaming in my face for burning the food he’d forced me to make. With everything happening, Huck must have missed them last night in the pool. Clearing my throat, I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. “Matty. The other day, he was excited about something and grabbed me a little too hard. No big deal.” The lie burns, but it flows off my tongue so smoothly. I’ve perfected this art over the years, though Huckslee is usually the one I’m blaming. His nostrils flare as he looks at the bruises, pupils dilating in what I can only describe as pure rage. His jaw ticks at the corners, and for some reason, it looks like he’s really fucking bothered by it. “Hey,” I reach up, pressing my thumb into the crease between his brows, “it’s fine. It was an accident. Matt’s a big doofus who doesn’t know his own strength.” It’s honestly the truth. As a kid, he got so excited about holding a baby duck that he accidentally squished it. His sister made me promise never to tell. Huck is quiet for a moment before he leans down, closing the distance between us as he touches his lips to my collarbone and fuck. My barely deflated cock swells to life. “I don’t like seeing som...

Glancing over at my phone, I resist the urge to pull up his message thread. He’s been texting me all day like a drunken idiot from his bedroom, but I haven’t responded. Focusing on the panel for the comic I’m working on, I try to block out the memory of what he did to me in the bathroom yesterday, but it’s been at the forefront of my mind since I opened my eyes. Steam from the shower fills the bathroom, thick and heavy. The heat from the water feels good against my skin as I stand under the spray, letting it roll off my back. It soothes the slight ache in my arm that’s been present ever since Taylor held me under in the pool. I know I should be worried about it—fractures can be delicate. But the pain has been serving as a reminder this past week that what happened wasn’t in my head. Tipping back my chin, I run my fingers through my wet curls, closing my eyes as I remember what it felt like when Taylor touched me. Everything has been so confusing between us. We’ve barely spoken since I kicked him out of my room, and the few times I’ve caught him in the kitchen or passed him in the hallway, he’s been plastered. Dad ungrounded us for the Winter break, and Taylor spent Christmas at his dad’s, plus a day in the mountains with his friends. Not having him here was a welcome reprieve from the chaos of feelings that cyclone inside me whenever he’s near. Five months ago, his status in my life was clear. Public enemy number fucking one. Then he kissed me on the track, which threw me ...

He never reads that message, either. Looking back, I probably should have taken his silence as a warning. Taylor never ignores my texts. But I’m so done with him, and all of his bullshit that I take one of my meds to calm the thoughts that are opening a black pit inside my head, ignoring the feeling in my gut that’s screaming something is very, very wrong. Hours later, after falling into a restless sleep, Dad throws open my bedroom door, startling me awake. He flicks on the top light and rushes in, a phone pressed to his ear with panic in his voice. “Huckslee, did you give Taylor your car keys?” “What?” Quickly jumping from my bed, I pull down the blinds to look down into the driveway. Sure enough, my Honda is missing. “Huck.” Dad’s hand lands on my shoulder, and when I take in the alarm in his eyes, it feels like the ground just opened up and tossed me into free fall. “Son, there’s been an accident.”

Honestly, it’s fine. School was never my strong suit, anyway. I was barely passing enough to skirt by, mainly going just to escape. See my friends. Antagonize Huck. I hate how much I miss him. Hearing his dumb music from the bathroom when he showers every night, his messy curls when he comes down the stairs first thing in the morning. Seeing him in the halls at school, watching him at football practice. Fighting with him. His voice. The kisses… I hate it even more that I admit to missing him at all.

I wish I could enjoy anything at all.

Not only does this stuff tamp down the anxiety, but everything else, too. I haven’t decided if I like it. The last medication I tried didn’t make me feel this numb, but the nightmares from it were brutal. Dreams of Taylor’s body mutilated and twisted from the crash, his rotting corpse holding me under water… Yeah, it’s been a fucked up few months since he left.

I can see behind his glasses that his eyes are searching for something, expecting a reaction from the Huck that would have been buzzing and offering to take a goofy picture for social media. But I feel like that guy drowned in a pool in December, so I nod and smile, flashing him a thumbs-up.

Taylor says nothing as he watches me approach, expression blank. I don’t mean to get as close to him as I do, but when I’m within touching distance, it feels like I’m a satellite that’s finally returned to orbit. I was knocked out of his gravitational pull, but now I’m back in place.

“Good luck, Huck,” he whispers before wheeling his bike away. His shoulder brushes mine, sending an involuntary shiver through me, and before I know what I’m doing, my hand is gripped around his arm, pulling him toward me. I don’t care that we’re in the middle of the driveway in broad daylight—I need to kiss him. At least just once, even if it’s the last time. Even if it’s to say goodbye to whatever this is between us. Just one kiss, and then we can go back to the fucked up way we were before. But right before our mouths collide, he’s snarling in my face. “Why the fuck did you tell the cops that I borrowed your car?”

I’m off my bike instantly, Huckslee’s coat gripped in my fist as my other one clocks back. He flinches, eyes squeezing shut to brace himself, and in that moment, I pause. My heart is racing, blood rushing to my ears as I fight every impulse inside of me to punch his gorgeous fucking face in. Old Taylor would have done it without hesitation. But I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t. I’ve hurt him enough. So I pause. Take a breath. Close my eyes. Slowly lower my fist. And step back, and back, until I’m once again on the bike. When I open my eyes, Huck studies me like we’re strangers, and it hits me that we are. It’s unreal how quickly two people can change in four months. “You weren’t there,” I accuse softly, gripping the handlebars. He must not have heard me because he tilts his head and steps closer. “I don’t know what we are, Huckslee. Maybe at one point, I did, but all of that changed. And I know I can’t undo everything I’ve done, but I almost fucking died, and you weren’t there.” I tried to play it off like it didn’t bother me, but that court-ordered therapist is actually good at her job. She presses into my bruises until I have no choice but to bleed, and honestly, it’s cathartic. I’ve seen her more than just the three times I was supposed to. It feels good to talk to someone about stuff when you’re not worried about their bullshit. “My dad tried...” Huck’s voice trails off, and my bike roars to life as I nod grimly. “Yeah, he did. But you didn’t.” With a deep breath, I t...

I don’t even care at this point if the crash re-ruptured my spleen, and I bleed out internally. It already feels like I’m dying inside.

Skin prickles on my neck, and I can feel Huck’s gaze, but I don’t seek it out. The thought of looking at him right now makes me violent. I need to leave before he tries to talk to me because I know he will. Despite all the times he’s told me to leave him alone, he can’t fucking stay away. Neither can I. But I’m done with that.

“We dropping your bike off at your dad’s shop?” Christian asks as he hops into the driver’s seat, Xed and Matthew taking up the back, and my world just… Stops. Slams to a halt so hard that I feel myself reeling from it. “No. Take it to the dump,” I spit through clenched teeth. Because I’d rather spend the rest of my life never setting foot on a dirt bike track again than be in my father’s presence. Apparently, I’m done with motocross, too. And it feels like the line on a heart monitor just went flat.

I feel antsy. Skittish. It’s a side effect from a different medication since the last one made me feel like fucking Eyore from Winnie the Pooh, and I can tell it’s another one I’m not going to like. I hate them all, honestly, but what can you do? Sleep is a human necessity, and without it, I’ll die. So until I can finally get some shut-eye, the Russian roulette of anxiety pills continues. I just wish they didn’t make me feel like pitching myself headfirst off a bridge. I’m barely holding on.

Texting is fine—it’s safe. Face-to-face, though, is always tough for me because of the effort it takes to maintain my mask. People exhaust me. Except for Taylor because he sees me as I am.

Taylor and Logan are in each other’s faces, clearly locked in a heated argument. Shit. I shout over the music once we’re close enough for them to hear. “Hey, what’s going on?” They both turn in my direction and when Taylor’s eyes take in Royce, he freezes. There’s a moment where something like pain crosses his features before it morphs into pure, unadulterated rage.