Vulnerability flickers in his bleary gaze— the same softness I glimpsed the first time he called me Seba. It vanishes in an instant.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, swatting me off. “It’s just the heat.”
“Bullshit,” I hiss through gritted teeth. I’m no longer trembling in panic. I’m vibrating with barely containedrage.
He tries to wriggle out of my hold, but it’s useless. “Seriously, I'm not a fucking charity case, I’m?—”
“If you say you’re fine one more fucking time, I’ll?—”
“You’ll what?” He snarls.
We’re nose to nose, teetering on the edge of explosion. He’s impossible. I’m unyielding. He’s defiant. I’m demanding. He’s reactive. I’m persistent.
And neither of us will back down.
Each huffed breath is a silent warning. The feral gleam in his eyes is that of a cornered animal, ready to lash out. But he won’t. He can’t. He’s already given me the tranquilizer bullet.
“I’ll tell Declan you fainted from not eating.”
The betrayal ricochets through him. And despite pulling thetrigger, a piece of me dies. Because I don’twantto hurt him. I want him to recognize the damage he's inflicting on himself.
His stone-cold stare bores into me.
“You don’t understand,” he whispers. “Ican’tlose control.”
Chills wash over me in sheets. I’m immobilized, tongue fused to the roof of my mouth. He rises on unsteady legs, stiffly heading back the way he came.
I can’t let him leave like this.
“At least let me drive you home.”
He keeps walking. “No need,goodSamaritan.”
The usual bite in his tone is lost, though the reference alone twists the knife. If I stood behind the teaching in that parable, I'd chase after him. But something keeps me on my knees— a heaviness, weighing on more than my body. Because what he’s getting at isn’t literal. It’s figurative.
We're on opposing sides. Our beliefs pit us against each other in every way. Unless those beliefs are cast aside, we’ll always be at war. We’ll never understand each other.
And for some ungodly reason… Iwantto understand him.
Twelve
ANDREA
I crane my neck,tracking the blonde boy retreating through the chainlink gates without a sulking football player in tow. The entire thing, from the altercation with Grant to Seba stomping off behind the bleachers to Cade slinking back there too, doesn’t sit right with me.
I gnaw on the inside of my lip.
“Drea!” Coach Mindy barks.
I’m a count behind.Again. But focusing on line dance choreography is impossible when I have no idea what turned reserved, brooding Seba into a raging bull. Or why he didn’t go to the locker room.Orwhy Cade showed up, then left alone.
“Six-seven-eight!”
Melissa shoots me a concerned look as we switch lines.
I flash a sheepish grin.
One last count and I’m out of here.
