The Lovely Reckless(9)

He doesn’t notice me.

A girl with a thick mane of black waves pulled into a high ponytail stands beside Marco. The combination of her delicate features and the way she’s staring down the linebacker with her arms crossed gives her a pretty but tough vibe. Her white tank, dark jeans, and old-school gray-and-red Nike high-tops are borderline tomboy.

It’s a look I wish I could pull off.

“Leone!” The linebacker points at Marco. “I’m talking to you.”

The pretty girl with the ponytail grabs Marco’s sleeve. “Walk away. He’s a little bitch.”

Marco’s expression is calm and calculating, as if he knows something the rest of us don’t. He crosses the lawn and stops in front of the linebacker, only a few feet away from Lex and me. “You really want to do this, Coop?”

The other guy’s jaw twitches. “Nobody tries to take what’s mine.”

What’s his? He’s talking about the redhead like she’s a personal possession—a jacket or a textbook he can toss into his locker.

Asshole.

“It’s not my problem if you can’t keep your girl happy,” Marco says. “But don’t worry. She’s not my type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The linebacker’s hands curl into fists.

Marco cracks a cocky smile. “I’m not into girls who only look good from the neck down.”

The guy in the Ravens jersey throws the first punch, and it catches Marco above the eye. Marco staggers, his feet crisscrossing.

Lex tries to yank me back, but there’s a wall of people behind us now.

Marco regains his balance and charges. He jabs an uppercut into the linebacker’s stomach, and the guy keels over, groaning and clutching his gut. Marco stands over him. “If you come at me like that again, you’ll end up with more than a couple of scratches on your face.”

As he turns to walk away, the linebacker pushes himself onto his knees. “I’d still look better than your sister.”

The girl with Marco gasps and covers her mouth. I have no idea what the linebacker means, but everyone else seems to know. Whispers ripple through the crowd, and a few people call out.

“Aww, shit!”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Beat his ass, Marco.”

Marco’s cocky grin instantly vanishes. He charges and grabs the linebacker by the shoulders of his jersey. Marco jerks the linebacker down and simultaneously brings up his knee to meet the guy’s nose. The linebacker’s head snaps back violently on impact, and blood sprays across the grass.

I suck in a sharp breath, and the sky tilts.

Deep breath. Don’t freak out.

A wave of dizziness crashes over me. My mind spins. I hear the crowd urging Marco on, the crack of bone against bone, as my vision blurs.…

I’m in the parking lot next to the club.

Noah gives me the look—the signal that means, don’t come over here. I drop to my knees and duck between two cars. The wet asphalt smells like beer and stale cigarettes, but I don’t care. I have a clear view of Noah, and that’s what matters.

The guy closes in on him. Why can’t I see his face? He’s talking to Noah.

No … yelling at him.

Heavy boots hit the asphalt. Cars speed by on the street behind me.

An arm swings. A fist hits Noah’s jaw, and he staggers.

I can’t see him anymore. Where is he now?

Something moves under the streetlights, and I see it—his baby-blue shirt. But it’s not blue anymore. It’s red.

Another fist rockets toward Noah’s face. I don’t hear the crack, but I swear I feel it.

One thought runs through my mind over and over.…

I can’t let him hurt Noah again. I have to do something.

The guy has his back to me, and I lunge at him from behind, pulling and clawing his shirt.

“Frankie!” Lex yells.

The guy pivots in my direction without looking, and his elbow catches me in the stomach.

A jolt of pain hits, forcing the air out of my lungs, and I gasp.

Flashes of color, faces, the sky—it all spins by me in a split second—and I’m falling.

My back hits the grass. I hear Dad’s voice in my head: If someone gets you on the ground, roll into a ball and keep your face covered.

I shield my face, but my stomach cramps, and I can’t pull up my knees.

Voices bombard me from every side.

“Someone help her!”

“Holy shit.”

“Is she okay?”

“I didn’t see her.” A guy’s voice. “I swear.”

I open my eyes, expecting to see cars, streetlights, and the side of the club’s marquee with The Sugar Factory lit up in neon pink. Instead, sunlight blinds me. It’s not dark outside. A guy leans over me, blocking the sun … a guy I recognize. A redbrick building looms behind him. I’m not in the club parking lot.

Think. I try to clear my head. I’m at Monroe. With Lex. Lot A. The fight. A hot guy with tattoos …

“I thought you were one of his boys.” His chest heaves like he’s still out of breath from the fight. The hot guy … Marco.

My heart pounds, echoing in my ears.

“Are you okay?” Marco reaches for me, then pulls his hand back.