Survivor (First to Fight #2)(30)
He lifts one arm—still as powerful and filled with threatening potential as I remember—and trails a finger over my cheek. My eyes close, my brain filling with thoughts of those hands on other parts of me, his touch just as soft as I remember it can be. A tear breaks through my wavering composure and meets his finger. His body stills and he rubs his finger into the moisture then brings it to his lips.
I tremble under his weighted observation. “What are you going to do?” My voice is barely a whisper and I gasp for breath in between each word.
I don’t know if I can survive it again. Just seeing him now, here, is enough to send my heart into overdrive, enough to drown me in adrenaline. My brothers’ faces flash in my mind, and I clench my stomach and press my lips together to stave off the wave of nausea.
He leans down, his head now inside the car, close enough for me to smell the mint and coffee on his breath. “Whatever I want,” he growls, threading a hand underneath my prim little bun and forcing my head backward. “You tell that to Jack when you see him. Tell him to stay away from what’s mine or you’ll both regret it.”
I choke down a sob, my body now trembling uncontrollably. I manage to nod, feeling my hair tearing at the roots from his inescapable hold. “I w-will.”
He stays there, his eyes roaming over my body like he owns it. And doesn’t he? Didn’t he prove it irrevocably that night?
A few minutes pass and they seem to last both an eternity and a millisecond, when he says, “I’ll be seeing you around, Sofie. Real soon. Remember to tell Jack what I said.”
Tears blur his retreating back before he disappears altogether around a corner. The trembling intensifies until I collapse into a pile of unrelenting convulsions and dry heaves. Apart from the single tear he stole, I don’t cry, though it’s not for my body’s lack of trying. I’m almost certain he stole all my tears the night he took everything else away from me.
An hour later, I pull up to the school having finally regained some measure of self-control. I jam my sunglasses back on my face in spite of the weather turning overcast. Rafe and Donnie don’t need to see my bloodshot eyes and red, puffy cheeks. My fingers grip the steering wheel a little too tight and I can’t quite get my stomach to settle, but I put on a happy face for my brothers, even if it pulls around the edges.
They dive into the car, bringing with them the scent of sweat and feet—must be a teenage boy thing—still dressed in their basketball uniforms and sweating profusely from practice.
“Don’t get on my side,” Rafe growls, buckling in. “I’m sick of you getting in my space dude. You do it on the court, you do it at home.” He heaves a frustrated breath. “God, I can’t wait to get out of here.”
Donnie wilts a little, and I notice he takes extra care not to cross the center of the backseat. He stares out the window to cover his hurt, his eyes bright.
“Hey, guys,” I say with false cheerfulness.
They both grunt, neither looking up. Sighing, I give up, waiting for my turn to pull out of the car pool and onto the main street that will feed out onto the highway. My phone vibrates, and I check it absently, a text from Livvie managing to pull a genuine smile to my lips.
Livvie: Did I tell you Hank got the neighbors’ Jack Russell Terrier pregnant? They just called to let us know the last puppy is available for adoption if we want it. I’m having the hardest time convincing Ben and Cole we don’t need the last one. Save me!!!!!!
I peer at my sullen brothers in the backseat and make an impulsive decision. Ten minutes later, I pull up to Livvie’s house.
“What are we doing here?” Rafe asks. “I’m hungry and I want to go home.”
“You’ll see,” I respond, unbuckling and swinging out of the front seat. I think I need this as much as they do.
Hank, the proud father, a smush-faced Boston Terrier whose whiter in the face now than black, struts up to us and winds around my legs. I squat down to scratch behind his ears. “Hey, handsome.”
Livvie appears on the porch. “Thank God, you’re here,” she says, holding a squirming mass of fur in her arms. “They were about to riot.”
“What’s that?” Donnie asks, coming to stand beside me.
I turn to him, glancing at Rafe, who is now at full attention, and say, “We’re picking up our puppy.”
The boys’ attention snaps to me and for a moment they’re absolutely stunned silent. By this time Livvie’s reached the bottom step and placed the exuberant puppy on the ground. It bounds toward us at full speed and by the time it reaches us, Rafe and Donny are bending down and loving on it with excited sounds that remind me more of kids than two surly teenagers. Cole squeals and bounds down the stairs to join them, the three of them sporting matching smiles.
As I watch them, I soak in the scene and try to forget about everything else.
Present
I KEEP MOST of my tools and a hell of a lot of materials from Dad’s various remodels throughout the years in Ben and Livvie’s shed. Mostly because there’s no-f*cking-where to store them at the gym and no point in keeping them now that I’ve set the ball in motion for reenlistment. There’ll be a bit of a waiting period while I finalize things with the gym and get paperwork and class dates settled with the Corps, then I’ll be outta here.