Burn Before Reading(49)

" - even know what a date is?" Fitz laughed. "I know you and he-who-must-not-be-named never went on one.”

"I just said it to get her dad out of his room," Wolf scoffed. "It was never going to be a real date."

"Because you definitely don't like her," Fitz drawled. "Even though you can't stop talking about her all the time, and the second you see her frumpy ass in something remotely girly you start gaping like an idiot."

I froze in place. Wolf's eyes flashed at Fitz. Burn heaved a sigh.

"You are seriously acting weird, lately, Wolf."

Wolf pulled his helmet off, dark hair askew and sparks all but flying from his gaze.

"It has nothing to do with her," He snarled.

"Oh, I'm sorry – but I'm pretty sure the moment you asked me to hack Dad's computer for that essay and read it was the moment you got all obsessed with her." Fitz argued.

His words rung like a five-times struck bell in my head. Wolf Blackthorn? Obsessed? With me? Wolf closed the distance between Fitz and him, Burn shifting as if he was getting ready to put himself in the way if the situation escalated.

"I'm not...obsessed," Wolf pointed in Fitz's face. "I pity her. That's all it is - pity. I was her, alright? You know that. You saw me back then. I was just like her, and every time I see her face I'm reminded of how pathetic I was."

Pity. Pathetic. All the good feelings I'd amassed towards him or what he did this morning went cold, inert. I heard Fitz chuckle.

"Just because she has a sick dad -"

"You don't know what it's like," Wolf hissed, with so much venom I felt poisoned just listening. "You don't know what it's like to wait around for someone to kill themselves. You have no idea what it's like to hear someone you care about say they'll do it, knowing there's nothing you can do to stop them."

Fitz knitted his mouth shut. Wolf didn't.

"You wait, and the fear infects you like a maggot, eats you from the inside. Every waking moment you're apart from them, you imagine all the different ways they could be dying. Dead. And all you can do is stand there and say 'I'm here for you'."

"And that’s enough -" Fitz started.

"But what if that’s not enough?" Wolf pressed. "What if your best isn't enough to save them? Then what? What if you try desperately, every day, to give them a reason to stay alive, even if it means you cut off parts of yourself like a sacrificial offering?"

Burn stepped up. "Wolf –”

"I'm done." Wolf ignored him, turning furiously on his heel and putting his helmet on. "You guys can never understand, and I'm done taking your shit about her. She's nothing to me, and she never will be."

It felt like a frigid iron stake had been shot through my heart as I watched Wolf get on his bike and drive away. But why the hell did it hurt so bad to hear him say that stuff? I knew he didn't care about me - I never expected him to. We hated each other, at school, out of school. Today was just some freak experience, like a blue moon or an aurora in the sky. The quiet moments between us meant nothing. I meant nothing.

And he meant nothing to me.

I squared my shoulders and repeated it to myself. He meant nothing to me. He tried to take my scholarship. He was confrontational and nasty. Nothing about him was appealing.

If I said it enough times, that would make it true.

"Hey guys!" I bounced up to Fitz and Burn, looking around. "Oh, did Wolf leave?"

Burn quirked a brow. He and Wolf shared a love of that motion.

"That's one way of putting it."

"He was sort of my ride home," I trailed off. "Any chance I can bum a ride with you guys?"

Fitz's grin came back. "Sure thing. Hell, we can go over a few tutoring points at the red lights, huh? We haven't even covered the whole 'Catherine de Medici's coup' thing."

"You ask a steep price," I groaned and jumped in the back when Fitz held the door of the convertible open for me. I spent half the ride pretending not to know anything about French history, and the other half directing Burn to my house. Despite his languid personality, Burn drove the exact opposite of Wolf - dangerously, speeding through yellow lights and doing close passes. It was such a weird thing, to see such risky driving from what I thought was the most sensible brother of the three.

But the Blackthorn brothers had already unpleasantly surprised me once today. What was one more upset?

Burn and Fitz dropped me off at my duplex, Fitz waving goodbye as Burn tore off from the curb. I went inside only to find Dad in the kitchen, the smell of vanilla and dough wafting from it. But that couldn't be right - Dad hadn't baked since before he was sick. He used to do it all the time, but now? No way.

"There you are," Dad, his old cooking apron on and his front covered in flour, hugged me. "I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," I said. "What are you making?"

"Cinnamon rolls," He shrugged. "We had everything the fridge already, and I thought I'd give it a shot."

"They smell great!" I smiled. "Can I help?"

Dad ruffled my hair, and showed me how to roll the dough out. We worked together at the counter, our hands moving in the same rhythm as we transformed the lumpy dough into delicious-looking rolls.