My arms fall to my sides, my knees threatening to buckle and crash to the pavement.
Finn is his half brother?
He never mentioned that before. Before, when Finn showed up, Colson acted…strange. Like it wasn’t safe for me to be around him. Colson couldn’t have known this then. It makes me wonder if Finn knew. Or maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe he did know and that’s why he didn’t want me around him.
Confusion swirls in my head, and I don’t know how to get a grip on it.
“Did you know this when you were here that day? About being brothers?” I decide to ask, putting a stop to my whirling thoughts so I don’t have to overthink it.
His response is a one-worded, “No.”
“So then why wouldn’t he want your help? If both of you were in the dark about it…”
He rubs his hands over his face as if his patience is dwindling that it’s taking so much for me to agree to go with him. But I need proof. I needsomethingthat tells me I’ll be okay. That he’ll lead me to Colson, and I won’t end up disappearing after I just promised Olive I’d be okay.
“Because a lot of fucked up shit has gone down. Shit you don’t need to know.” He digs his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open. He fishes out his license. “Take a picture and send it to your friends. They’ll know exactly who to come after if you don’t come home.”
Because I don’t know what the hell is going on, I do just that. I slip my phone from my small clutch and snap the picture. I decide not to send it to Olive and make her worry unnecessarily but send it to Everleigh and ask her to cover for me. She sends me a thumbs up, and then I find myself following Finn to his car.
The interior matches him perfectly, everything set in shades of grays and blacks, and as I slip into the passenger’s seat, I can’t help but think how stupid I am for getting into a car with a stranger. Until I remind myself that this is for Colson.
And for Colson, I’d be a lot more reckless.
Finn straps his belt over his chest and reverses out of the space before heading toward Main Street. The tension in the car is constricting, squeezing me as if it has nothing else better to do. It’s hard to ignore, even when he turns the knob on the stereo system and soft rock streams out through the speakers.
“So,” I start, glancing out my side of the car, as I watch the streetlights pass us by. “Where are we going?”
He doesn’t bother looking my way, but I feel his gaze all the same. He has that presence about him. Dark and alluring. Mysterious and moody. Could also be that I’m hyper aware of my surroundings. I have no clue if he’s going to reach under his seat and whip out a pistol or grab the closest thing that can be used as a gag and yank the car to the side of the road to tie my hands behind my back. The thought sends my nerves into overdrive, tiny little goosebumps dotting my skin.
“Harrison Heights.”
It doesn’t take long for us to reach the mouth of the Sycamore Memorial Bridge. “I don’t understand why you can’t tell me what’s going on. It’d be nice to know what I’m walking into. The mess yousayColson is in.”
From the glow of the dash lights, I catch the tensing of his jaw. It took courage for him to show up at my place, to wait for me, and get me into his car. Perhaps he isn’t coated in that hard gobstopper layer after all.
He repositions his hand on the wheel as we make it to the bridge’s peak before bringing both up to grip it. There aren’t a lot of cars out at this time of night, which means it doesn’t take as long to cross the Sycamore River. I notice the way his hands relax, and he goes back to his one-handed grip on the steering wheel once we hit solid ground.
“He found his way into The Battleground.”
He says it like it’s a place. “The Battleground?”
“Underground fighting essentially. No one knows about it unless you’re in it.”
My stomach coils the way it always does when it comes to fighting. I’ve never understood why grown men fight or how it’s even considered a sport. I can’t fathom the idea of wanting tobloody an opponent. To make them bleed and hurt for no other purpose than to call yourself a winner.
When Colson initially told me about his love for boxing, I was revolted by the idea of seeing him in a ring with another man. But as much as using fists to deal with life doesn’t make sense to me, I’ve pushed my opinion down for Colson’s sake. I know how boxing is an outlet for him to release whatever stress he may have. I just never thought he’d take it any farther than a boxing bag. I never thought he’d willinglychooseto hurtpeople to make himself feel better.
Disappointment fills me. I try not to let it come through in my voice. “So he likes to box. I’m not sure what you want me to do about that.”
“I’m not talking about just boxing. If he was just slipping on some gloves and pounding away at a bag, I wouldn’t give a flying fuck, nor would I have you in my car. I said he’s underground fighting. The opponents are a lot meaner than a leather boxing bag. And the guys that run it are fucking heartless.”
I turn in my seat and look at him. “How would you know? How do you even know what he’s doing? Are you following him around, too?” There are so many gaps in what’s going on, and it all comes from the distance between Colson and me. However, if wewerestill close, and he didn’t let his current circumstances get between us, I’m not entirely sure he’d come to me about this crazy want to slip into this underground scene, anyway.
There have always been things he’s kept from me. Hell, one of them sits next to me. And while I was okay with that for a while because we both had our own stuff we were going through, I’m realizing how terribly wrong that is. How off is it that as close as we were he never told me about Finn? It makes me wonder what else he’s hiding.
My curiosity about him pushes up through the dirt and reaches for the truth. “How did you and Colson know each otherbefore? He didn’t want me around you that day, so what was he doing with you if he didn’t know then that you’re his half brother?”
“Not my story to tell.” His hand changes position on the steering wheel. “Listen, I’m just trying to fucking help.” He says it in a way that tells me he doesn’t do this often. They’re the most uncomfortable words that fall from his lips. I remain quiet, stuck inside my head over not getting the answers I seek. Suddenly, I’m mad at myself for not pushing Colson harder on the matter when it happened.
