The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1)(51)

We both order a sandwich each and two coffees. The waitress, Layla, who I’ve known since I was eight, shoots me a wide-eyed look as she scribbles in her notepad. I think she’s trying to signal me in Morse code with her furious blinking. Do…you…need…help? I laugh, shrugging at her, and Alex reaches across the table and takes my hand.

Such a normal, everyday thing that people do, and yet it feels monumental to me. Alex’s smile is tight when I look at him, though.

I kick him gently under the table. “What’s the deal?”

“I know you’re tough as old boots, but you sure you can handle this?” He dodges the balled-up napkin I throw at him in response to the boots comment.

“What? People noticing that you’re a bad boy heartbreaker?”

He pulls a face. “It doesn't bother me, people looking. Never has. But it might end up bothering you if you can't even go out to grab some food without feeling eighteen sets of eyes lasering into your back.”

Layla brings our coffees. I take a sip, watching, a little horrified, as Alex dumps four packets of sugar into his mug. “I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to. I’m stared at way more than you are every day at school. No one thinks twice about your ink there. Well, actually, they do. They probably think it’s hot. Me, on the other hand? Being a lying whore who tries to ruin Raleigh Royalty is not hot.”

Alex’s expression turns stormy. He looks out of the café window, out onto the lake, deep lines furrowing his brow. “Don’t say that.”

I shrug. “It’s just the truth.”

“You’re not a lying whore.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I am or I’m not, though, right? People believe what they want to believe. They believe what everyone else believes, because they’re too scared to stand apart from the crowd. In the end, I am whatever they say I am, Alex.”

He picks up the salt shaker, his hand closing around it into a fist, still staring out of the window. “I’m gonna need to know exactly what happened that night,” he says in a monotone voice.

My ears are suddenly on fire. I want to shrink back into the seat, or under it, or just fucking run away. I do my best to keep my voice steady when I say, “I thought you believed me.”

His head whips around, eyes bearing down on me, full of wild energy. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to fact check.”

Shame spirals through me. ‘Don’t be such a fucking tease, Silver. Show us that pretty little cunt. Come on, princess. That’s right. Open your mouth. Wider. Wider. Stupid bitch. D’you wanna die for the sake of a quick fuck?’

I jolt at the memory of the hand cracking against my cheek. Alex’s eyes widen at the sudden movement. I can’t bear the look on his face, so I avert my gaze, staring down at the peeling laminated menu that’s tucked behind the condiment bottles. “Why then? What’s the point in rehashing it all? It’s all over and done with now. It doesn’t matter.”

For a second, Alex doesn’t say anything. When I risk a sidelong glance at him, he’s running his thumb along the edge of his steak knife, pressing so hard his skin has bleached white. A small, crimson bead of blood drips down onto the table. “It matters,” he says flatly. “I’m gonna need to know who I have to hurt first, aren’t I?”

“Don’t be stupid, Alex. You’re not going to do anything to any of them.”

He puts the steak knife down and quickly wipes away the blood from the table as Layla approaches with our food. Once she’s gone, I repeat myself, needing him to hear me. “Those guys are untouchable. Their families own the school. They own the whole town. Hell, they even own the cops. If you fuck with them, there’ll be hell to pay, and it won’t be any of them settling the bill. Believe me.”

“I believe you. But I still want you to tell me. Do you think…” He knows he’s asking something really hard. He looks like he hates that he’s asking it of me. “Do you think you could do it?”

“I don’t know. What’s the worst, most awful, brutal thing that’s ever happened to you? You think you could tell me all about it in great detail?” I’m not being sarcastic. I genuinely want to know.

He gives me a hard look, jaw set, and then nods. Just the once. “My mother killed herself when I was six. I came home from school. It was a Thursday, so I only had a half day. The kitchen smelled strange, and it made me lightheaded to breathe. I didn't know it then, but the gas burner was still on. If I'd turned on a light, I would have blown the whole fucking place sky high.”

I reach across the table, placing my hand over his. “Alex, I didn’t mean right now.”

He shrugs one shoulder, quirking his mouth up at one side, too. “Ben was only nine months old. He was in the living room, naked, with a cut on his arm. Was screaming at the top of his lungs. I knew something wasn’t right, so I went from room to room, looking for my mom. I found her in the spare bedroom upstairs. She wasn’t dead yet. One of her eyes was missing, and her hair was wet, full of these little white shards. Her hair was dark like mine, almost black, so I didn’t know it was covered in blood until I touched it and my hand came away red. I didn’t know the little white shards were fragments of her own skull.

“She was gaping at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. I was six, so I didn’t really know what had happened. I saw the gun on the floor. It was half under the bed, and she was reaching for it, hand clasping and unclasping. She was making these awful wet, gurgling noises. I started crying, because I knew she was going to die. She was crying too, but she was crying tears of blood, and I didn’t know what the fuck to do, so I tried to leave the spare room to get to the phone, but…” He swallows, then exhales a steady, long breath.