Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)(57)

Ryan…Ryan? Why do you keep staring over my shoulder?”

Sarah puts her hands on Tim’s chest and pushes him. He doesn’t move, but I do.

“Excuse me,” I mumble to Gwen.

She blocks my path and I halt, irritated she’s still here. “What?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

Something about homecoming and Beth.

“Can we talk about this later?” Sarah pushes Tim again. “Your friend needs help.”

Gwen steps to the side and I advance to the tree line. Tim becomes touchier and Sarah keeps smacking him.

“Hey, Tim,” I say. “I think Sarah wants to head back to the party.”

“No, we’re fine,” Tim responds.

Sarah swats his hands away. “Get off of me.”

“Tim,” I say in a low tone. I’ll back up my words with action and he knows it.

Tim releases Sarah and his chest puffs up as he watches her stumble back to the party. I ready myself by widening my stance. Tim owns a reputation for his dedication to the football team and his anger when he’s drunk.

“What’s your problem, Ryan?”

“Don’t have one as long as you give Sarah her space.”

He sloppily points at me, then sways. “You made her think she wanted space.”

“Come on, Tim. Let’s go back to the party.”

Tim rolls his shoulders back. He’s looking for a fight. I’m not.

“You know what I think?” he asks.

“I think we should head back.”

“I think you’ve got a problem with girls.”

My back straightens. “What did you say?”

His lips turn up into a smirk. “Yeah,” he says. “You have a problem with girls. You dumped Gwen and she’s hot. You g*y, man?”

Rage ignites inside me and as my muscles tighten to rush forward, delicate fingers wrap around my arm. “He’s not worth it,” Beth says in a smooth voice.

Chris and Logan slide in between me and Tim, a barrier of skin, muscle, and bone between me and the guy I want to pound.

Tim continues to taunt me. “Real men aren’t saved by girls.”

“You’re drunk,” Logan announces to him in a bored voice.

From the other side of Logan, Tim holds out his hands. “Come and get me, Ryan. Prove that you’re a man.”

My fists curl and I step closer. “I’m game, Tim. Let’s do this.”

Chris pushes against my chest, but the pressure does nearly nothing to hold me back.

He yells at Beth, “Get him out of here!”

Her fingers intertwine with mine and that soft, feminine voice breaks through the anger.

“Let’s go.”

My eyes flick over to her. “Ryan,” she says.

“Please.”

Her one please breaks through the chaos disorienting my brain long enough to propel me in the opposite direction of Tim. I tighten my grip on Beth’s hand and lead her back to my Jeep, but not before snagging a six-pack of beer from a cooler.

Her fingers still clutch mine as we walk through the tall grass without saying a word. I release her when we reach the Jeep and we both hop in. My heart bleeds and anger courses in my veins. I turn on the engine and peel out of the clearing.

My brother left.

My brother is g*y and he left and he’s never coming back. My father acts as if he never existed. My mother is miserable. My parents—people who once loved each other—hate each other.

Driving alongside the creek, I wait for a shallow part before crossing. I’ve tortured Beth enough. With this Jeep. With my presence.

Isaiah said I made her cry. My fingers tighten on the wheel. Beth’s right—I’m a jerk.

I’ll take her home, then ride to the back field of my house. And drink. By myself.

Drinking may not undo history, but it will cause me to forget for a few hours.

I jerk the wheel to the left when the rushing of the creek slows to a trickle. Water barely laps the tires as I cross, but the moment I hit the other side, I know I’m screwed. Mud.

Too much mud. Deep mud. I press on the gas and pull the wheel to the right to try to force the front tires on solid ground before the back ones sink, but it’s too late. The back tires whine and halt all forward progress.

“Shit!” I slam my hand on the steering

wheel. Knowing that fighting will drag us deeper, I cut the engine. I’m stuck. I yank the hat from my head and throw it to the floorboard. That sums everything up—I’m in deep and I’m stuck.

My leg sinks a foot into the mud. Beth will be full of colorful words when I tell her we’re going to have to walk. The mud acts like slow-drying concrete, making each step nearly impossible. My jeans rub and slosh in the filth.

I’m a complete mess, but I don’t have to let Beth get this dirty.

I haven’t been much of a gentleman to her. In fact, I’ve been the opposite. Not that her shining personality has made it easy. I open her door and hold out my arms. “Come here.”

Her forehead furrows. “What?”

“I’m going to carry you out of the mud.”

She lifts an incredulous eyebrow. “The show’s over, Bat Boy. You don’t have to be nice to me anymore.”

Not in the mood for her mouth or an argument, I slip my arms underneath her knees and lift her out of the seat. She won’t be bitching me out the entire walk home because I ruined her shoes.