Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(24)
I drop against my seat, scanning over the windows of the place, unable to see beyond my own reflection shining back.
A minute tops passes, and then he’s storming out, sliding back in and peeling from the parking lot.
It’s not until we’re parked outside of my house that Royce’s head shifts my way, but his glare is locked on my front door.
“Your cousin, she’s gonna start shit for you, isn’t she?”
I nod. “Probably, yeah.”
“She’s a bitch.”
“Definitely.” I laugh. “She’s got her reasons, so it’s whatever.”
“Don’t make excuses for shitty, stuck-up people who treat you like shit.”
My head snaps toward him, and I’m taken aback by the gravity of his expression.
Frustration crowds my ribs, tightening them. “You don’t know her. You have no right to judge her.”
“And you have no reason to defend her.” He flashes. “Nobody should come at you like that and think it’s their right, bullshit reasons or fucking not.”
“Imagine how you would feel if someone was dropped on your doorstep one day and your life changed overnight. Literally.”
Something flashes in his eyes, but he looks away to hide it.
“I can handle her,” I reassure when I’m not sure it’s necessary.
“No such thing as handling jealousy.”
“Ciara, jealous of me?” I laugh, readying myself to climb out. “That’s a no.”
“It wasn’t a question.”
Annoyance pricks at my throat, but I don’t allow myself to clear it.
He has no clue what he’s saying.
Ciara’s not jealous of me, she has zero reason to be.
She’s gorgeous, has friends who care about her, a home that’s hers to love, a town she can make a future in. A life.
Purpose.
All the things I don’t.
“Don’t pretend you don’t notice,” he accuses. “Playin’ dumb is unattractive.”
“And assuming I care what you think is attractive is arrogant.”
“Don’t mean it’s untrue.” He shrugs unapologetically. “The dickbag from the court—”
“His name is Franky.”
He studies me a long, quiet moment before saying, “The punk wants you, and she hates it. That shit was obvious.”
“Oh yeah, she’s all sorts of sad about it.” I tilt my head like an asshole. “So sad, in fact, she pulled a random stranger’s cock into her mouth a whole five minutes after waking up today.” I glare. “Weird, right?”
Royce gapes at me, and then a loud laugh leaves him.
He leans against the door, fully shifting his body to face me.
“Well, fuck me, little Bishop.” He wipes at his mouth with a smile. “Didn’t expect the big C word to be your noun of choice.”
“Didn’t expect you to know what a noun was, so we’re even.”
He grins. “Say it again, she sucked my cock.”
I open my mouth, but quickly close it on a low laugh, shaking my head.
I’d say she more like tried to suck your cock, but whatever.
Another deep laugh leaves him and I swear, this time my chest grows warm.
Royce takes a quick drink of his chocolate milk, his attention coming right back to me. “I’d have fuckin’ swore you were a ‘penis’ kind of girl.”
“Yeah, well, guess I’m full of surprises,” I joke.
When I look to him, he licks his lips, his gaze floating toward the school.
The playful banter disappears. The newfound silence is unnerving and lasts for several minutes.
“Why aren’t they afraid of your brother?” he asks suddenly.
I couldn’t stop the ache from showing itself as I tried, and Royce doesn’t miss it.
Realization has his face falling and unease swims in my stomach.
I shrug against the seat. “They’d have to know he existed in order to fear him.”
I look at my house, at the sliver of a light peeking from a broken blind. “I’m not allowed to talk about my life before this place, about why or how I ended up here. It’s been almost four years now and not once have I ever gotten to speak to anyone about him. Until today, with you.” I look back to Royce who faces away, but has his eyes locked with mine. “I can’t be me, and I can’t talk about me... how messed up is that?”
A heavy, unshared thought shadows his brown eyes, thick tension now written across his brow.
“I need you to remember what I said, Brielle.” His eyes meet mine, a weighty seriousness suddenly woven within them. “Let those assholes think what they want. Don’t fight it, try and change it, or hide from it. Do you. They’re gonna judge you either way.”
I search his face for a sign of rehearsed nonsense or hidden agenda, only to come up short.
Maybe I’m broken or messed up in the head, but I almost wish the devil within would show himself—I’m not so sure what to do with an honest, hotheaded flirt with a loose belt and unclear intentions.
I’m also not dumb enough to assume those intentions aren’t driven by anything but destruction. Regardless, his words from last night come back, so I whisper them between us. Sort of.