“Did your new town toss you out too?” I snap.
Brett sneers, no longer looking so nonchalant. “Just visiting.Idon’t stay where I’m not wanted, unlike some people.”
“Then go away because you’re not wanted here,” I tell him, turning away.
“Cap!” Cammie shouts.
But I’m ready, smiling wide as Brett shoves me against the side of the building. His right fist is already raised and cocked. Mine are by my sides. He wants a reaction. Wants to prove I’m exactly like my father—who ruined his. He can take as many cheap shots as he wants. I won’t hit him back.
“How’s the shoulder, Nichols? Still pitching softballs?”
“Heard you’re pitchingnothingthese days. That golden arm isn’t looking so good, Bennett.” Brett shoves me again, then steps away.
He’s here with two buddies, neither of whom I recognize. Probably new friends. According to rumors, he moved upstate with his mom after his parents divorced.
Brett stares at me, that maddening smirk still on his face. “You used to be more fun. Still too much of a pussy to punch, huh?”
“Let’s go, Cap.” Cammie appears beside me, glaring at Brett.
I step closer to Brett, effectively blocking her. I know I won’t swing, but he’s unpredictable. I don’t want Cammie to get caught in the fray.
“You’re not worth it, Nichols,” I say, then follow an anxious Cammie back inside.
I’m half expecting to get jumped from behind. But it never happens.
About damn time tonight improved.
12
December
“What about your place?” Ricky asks Wade.
Wade nods. “Cool with me. I’ll check with Cammie when she gets here. Anyone know where?—”
“Cap.” Gus nudges my arm.
“What?” I tug on the constrictive collar of my dress shirt.
The only reason I came to this holiday party was because Gus had begged for a ride, and I’ve been ready to leave since we arrived. Hopefully, he’s finally come to the same conclusion.
“Isn’t that Wren Kensington?”
My head whips left, following the direction of his nod. I don’t have to look for long or very hard. Wren is impossible to miss. Her hair is longer, the blonde strands falling in a cascade of golden curls. Her dress is short and shimmering, black with glints of silver. She’s wearing heels, and her legs look endless.
I walk that way without saying a word.
Wren is talking to a girl I don’t recognize, who appears to be roughly our age.
“… Kit won’t care,” she says. “You know the house?”
“Of course I do,” the girl says eagerly.
“Perfect.” Wren glances my way, holding my gaze. “See you there.”
I grab Wren’s hand as soon as it’s within reach, tugging her down the hallway, past the bar, and toward the kitchen. Even in her heels, she keeps up with me easily.
There’s a small stockroom tucked around the corner, where nonperishables and extra supplies get stored.
