All I can do is tip my chin at her. “Thank you,” I mutter.
She flashes me a smile—afull-blownsmile—and I have to scrub a hand over my face when it almost knocks the breath out of me. It’s just a goddamn smile. But there’s something so unrestrained about it, the way it radiates off her skin, glitters in her eyes, and—what the hell, man?
I pull my attention away from her, noticing the funny look she’s giving me, then exit the classroom. Ignoring the muscles still throbbing from yesterday’s fight, I pace down the hall toward AP Science and use the moment to get my head on straight.
Blue
“What are you doing?”
I jump at the deep grumble behind me. Hunched forward in the grass, I look over my shoulder—and up, up, up. Irritation written all over his face, Joshua Hunt towers over me. I bite my lip to hold back a laugh. Even standing at the poolside on a sunny day like today, he just can’t relax.
After glancing at the trowel in my grasp, my hands speckled in soil, I look back at him. A corner of my lips lifts at the obvious. “Gardening.”
“Yeah, I see that.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Butwhyare you gardening when Tim hired me to do that?”
My brows knit when I scan the perfectly trimmed lawn. “You do all this?”
“Lawn and pool. Part of the deal for living here.”
“Deal? What deal?”
He looks away and rakes a hand through his hair. “I pay half the rent if I keep up the yard.”
“You?” My frown deepens, and I drop the shovel before sitting back on the soles of my feet. “You pay rent?” My eyes dart to the guesthouse beside us, and I realize I’ve never seen anyone else there with him. No siblings, no adults. No friends. “You live here on your own?”
His expression is unreadable when he looks back at me. He gives a small shake of his head. “No.” He flicks his gaze to the ground. “I meant my dad. My dad pays the rent.”
I squint, watching him, taking in his discomfort, and I know I should drop it, but I can’t. “So ... where is he? Your dad?”
“He travels for work. Tim knows all about it.” He shoves his hands in his jean pockets, cocking his head. His tone is smooth and lazy when he adds, “Anything else you need to know about my personal life?”
“Not today.”
His grey eyes turn a shade darker, but when he glances down at the bag of soil beside me, he nods toward it. “That’s not the right kind.”
“I know.” I follow his gaze to the bag. It’s traditional, not nearly light enough for lavender. “It’s all I could find.”
Still staring at the bag, Joshua rubs his palm across the side of his jaw. Then he turns, and my heart wilts as he walks away. But he stops at the shed, pulls it open, and disappears inside. Clanking and thumping echo out the door, and not a minute later, he reappears with a giant bag of light soil propped over one shoulder.
My face breaks into a grin, and I push off the ground, then wipe my palms on the back of my shorts.
He side-eyes me, annoyed, and drops the bag onto the grass.
I’m about to thank him, but one side of his shirt has lifted from bending down. It’s only a quick moment before the material drops again, but that’s all it takes for me to see them. Red and purple bruises, one nasty cut trying to heal, and another that looks like it reopened.
“Joshua ...” I don’t know when I moved, but I’m right in front of him sliding his shirt back up. A gasp escapes me, and his whole body goes rigid. There are so many more than I thought, bruises and tears of all shapes and sizes, some old, some new. I drag my gaze up to his and find him already watching me closely. “What happened?”
His face is hard and intimidating, but his voice comes out reluctant. “I thought you were through asking questions.”
I don’t say anything because he’s right. I told him I’d stop. I drop my gaze back to his stomach, and something twists inside my own the longer I stare at the wounds etched into the contours of muscle. Keeping one hand on his T-shirt to hold it up, my other hand connects with his skin before I know what I’m doing. Softly, I trace the tip of my finger outside a fresh scrape. My cheeks burn, and warmth spreads down my body.
When he sucks in a breath, I grimace and drop my hands, glancing back up at him.
“Sorry,” I mutter sheepishly, wrinkling my nose. “Did I hurt you?”
He doesn’t look at me, just gives a barely discernible shake of his head. “You done?”
Letting out a soft sigh, I peek behind him at his little guesthouse. It’s so quiet in there, all the curtains drawn. My chest sinks when I look back at him. Just like his place, Joshua Hunt is closed off from the rest of the world. I don’t know where his dad is or if he was being honest with me. But I do know what it’s like to be alone more often than not.
