Every Hidden Truth (Far From Ruined Book 2)

by Nikole Knight

  Ben and Eric were beating each other to orange-pulp, and Thing One was busy with my savior whom I quickly recognized as Ronnie. Pimples was still out for the count, struggling to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. Thing Two stood indecisive as he watched the scuffles.

  Copper saliva flooded my mouth, and I wiped at my lips as I stumbled to block his path should he decide to go after Ben.

  His light eyes narrowed and his fists tightened. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  I flipped him the bird. “Bite me, asshole.”

  Like he’d been sent from heaven, Ben’s coach, Coach Kane, appeared around the corner, face red and furious. “What in Sam Hill is going on here?”

  Thing One paused his fist mid-air, straddling a bloodied Ronnie. Ben didn’t hesitate as he landed one last punch to Eric’s face. Unbeknownst to me, a crowd of athletes had gathered to witness the show, and two more adults fought their way through the masses.

  The basketball coach made it through first, followed by the wrestling coach, Coach McKinney.

  Coach Kane dragged Ben off Boyt by his collar, and my chest constricted. Ben’s hair was in disarray, his clothes stained, and crimson streaked across his face. He favored his side as his coach growled something I couldn’t hear.

  Ben was hurt. I wanted to die.

  “Hank, get Peter to the bathroom and clean him up,” Coach McKinney barked, and Thing Two nodded as he lifted Pimples from the floor. “Shawn, Eric, get your butts in my office, now.”

  Rolling off Ronnie, Thing One rose to his feet, sparing me a vicious glare. “Yes, Coach.”

  “Clear the hall!” the basketball coach commanded, ushering away the onlookers. “Anyone left receives detention.”

  Ronnie retrieved his cracked glasses and waved off my stammered apologies as he folded them and slipped them into his pocket. His eye puffed, already swelling shut, and guilt swamped me as he wiped at his bleeding nose.

  “Anyone wanna explain this?” Coach Kane growled, but no one spoke.

  Boyt unfurled from the ground, his nose crooked and eye already turning black. Ben looked two seconds away from murdering him where he stood when he smirked at me through the gore. “Ask that psycho! He attacked me for no damn reason.”

  “You son of a bitch!” Ben lunged, but Ronnie and their coach managed to grab him and haul him back.

  “Ben, for Pete’s sake, calm down before you force my hand!” Coach Kane captured his jaw and forced their eyes to meet. “You could all face suspension for this. Don’t push it.”

  “Come on, now, Kane. Let’s not be hasty. There’s no real harm done.” McKinney grasped Boyt’s shoulder.

  Ben’s coach set his jaw with an audible clack. “Your boy looks like he broke his nose, McKinney. We can’t just—”

  “They’re just boys being boys. We’re in the middle of the season. You handle yours, and I’ll handle mine. There’s no reason to make a mountain out of a molehill.”

  “Yeah, it was just a misunderstanding.” Boyt shrugged and spit bloody saliva onto the floor.

  Coach McKinney scowled and pointed to the wrestling room. “In my office, now.”

  Rolling his eyes, Boyt scoffed. “Whatever.” He glanced my way, licking the blood from his lip, and bile teased my throat. “See you around, Brigs.”

  Expecting the reaction, Ronnie tightened his grip on Ben as my boyfriend surged forward. “Ben, think. This will just come back on both of you.”

  As he blinked away his blind rage, Ben glanced my way, his beautiful face swollen and bleeding. “Silas?”

  “Keep your boys away from my team, McKinney.” Coach Kane finally surrendered as he yanked Ben away from me. “As for you two, get to my office. I have half a mind to give you both detention for the rest of the semester.”

  “Coach, I need to walk Silas to his truck.” Ben’s voice cracked as he scrutinized my injuries. “Coach, please.”

  “You’re gonna go to my office now. I’ll make sure he makes it.”

  Their stalemate lasted a good minute, but finally, Ben nodded. Ronnie hooked a finger in Ben’s belt loop and tugged. Ben stumbled back.

  His pained eyes met mine. “I’ll come over as soon as I can, okay? Go straight home.”

  Normally, I’d have flipped him off for telling me what to do, but I was too shaken to do anything but nod.

  His coach pointed in the direction of the pool room as he approached me, and Ben allowed Ronnie to lead him away. I tried to smile but it was more of a grimace as I turned and followed Coach Kane.

  “You wanna tell me why that boy was so adamant about walking you to your truck?” he asked as we left the building.

  “It was nothing,” I denied. “Just a misunderstanding.”

  “Mhm.” His doubtful grunt set me on edge, and I hurriedly unlocked Mabel to escape his suddenly soft gaze. “I’m not the enemy, Brigs. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

  Like the coward I was, I shook my head resolutely. “No, Sir. But, please, don’t suspend Ben. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “I can’t exactly do nothing about this. Those boys are on my team, and there are expectations—”

  “It was my fault,” I blurted, panicking. “I started it. Ben was just defending himself.”

  Coach Kane held up his palm, and I quieted. “You don’t have to lie to me. I know the kind of boy Eric Boyt is. So, I’m going to ask you one more time. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

  Once again, I shook my head, studying the pavement at my feet.

  He sighed, disappointed. “Get yourself home, and put an ice pack on your face.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I mumbled as I climbed into my truck.

  My phone chimed in my pocket, but I ignored it. I shoved my keys in the ignition with trembling fingers and carefully pulled out of the parking lot as Coach Kane returned to the school building.

  I barely managed to make it home before my panic attack hit.

  Gasping against my steering wheel, I tried and failed to keep control. My lungs twisted until I couldn’t catch my breath, and tears pricked my eyes. Boyt’s hands forced their way into my jeans as his weight smothered me. Musk clogged my nose and throat, and I couldn’t breathe.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I’d never passed out from an anxiety attack before, but my vision darkened as spots danced before my eyes.

  Slumping on the bench seat of my truck, I submitted to the terror, and everything went black.

  Nine

  When I surfaced, I blinked lazily through bleary eyes. My jaw ached, I was half-frozen, and the gear stick dug painfully into my hip. Somehow, I’d rolled halfway off the bench seat and now hung precariously at the edge.

  Groaning, I righted myself with a wince as my sore muscles complained.

  I was still in my truck, and judging from the dusk settling over the driveway, I’d been unconscious for almost an hour. Had I seriously passed out from fear? Was that even possible?

  Thawing my frigid limbs, I crawled from my cab and staggered into the house.

  I shed my clothes on my bedroom floor, then took a broiling shower. My face throbbed with every beat of my heart. When I finished, I dressed in loose sweatpants and one of Will’s old shirts.

  I searched through the freezer until I found a bag of frozen peas and proceeded to lie on the couch with the cold vegetables melting on my face. It helped, and the swelling lessened as I moaned like a dying whale. This was why I was a “flighter”, not a “fighter”.

  As I lounged in agony, picturing Ben’s bloody face, worry ate at my gut.

  Boyt wouldn’t even know Ben’s name if it wasn’t for me, and now they’d beaten the shit out of each other. Ben could have internal damage. He could’ve gotten kicked off the team and suspended or, worse, expelled!

  Sure, his coach wouldn’t actually suspend him, but what else was I supposed to think about as I tried not to die on my couch?

  By the time headlights flashed over the walls of my living room, the peas had sof
tened and the cushion beneath my head was damp from condensation. I scrambled to my feet and rushed to the door, breathing a sigh of relief as Ben parked his Impala behind Mabel.

  He’d barely shuffled out of his car before I was flying down my porch steps and rushing to his side. My breath puffed in front of my face as I skidded to a stop, fisting my hands to keep myself from launching myself into his arms. I wanted to hold him, to make sure he was okay, but he moved gingerly, catering to the bruises most likely hiding beneath his clothes.

  “Ben—” My anxious questions were cut off when he grasped the loose material of my shirt and hauled me into his arms.

  I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him like he was the last parachute on a plummeting plane. He grunted in pain, and I loosened my hold instantly.

  “Are you okay?” Muffled by his coat, my words were barely intelligible. “Are you hurt? Fuck, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry.”

  “I’m okay,” he said, his breath fanning over my ear. “Are you? Your jaw was swollen when you left.”

  “I’m fine.” I dismissed my own injury and hauled him toward the front door. My bare feet and arms were screaming in protest to the winter cold.

  As we climbed the porch steps, I inspected his face from the corner of my eye and cringed. His lower lip was puffy and split, his cheek swollen. An ugly bruise darkened his eye above the cut, and he lacked the normal grace in which he moved. He was definitely hurt under his clothes.

  Once inside, I assisted him in removing his winter coat, and he hissed as he bent to untie his boots.

  Pushing his shoulders, I forced him upright then dropped to my knees. “Let me.”

  Unlacing his winter boots, I helped him out of them as his hands rested on my shoulders for balance. This was not how I envisioned my first time kneeling for him. I snorted humorlessly to myself as I tossed his boots to the side.

  I took his offered hand and stood. “Go sit.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You’re gonna order me around, now?”

  My anxiety for his well-being morphed into anger, and I nodded, pointing to the couch. “Damn straight. Now sit your ass down.”

  Leaving him frowning in the living room, I stopped by the downstairs bathroom and poured several aspirins into my palm. I swallowed one dry before filling a glass with water and grabbing a bag of French-cut green beans from the freezer.

  Ben sat on the couch when I returned to the living room, and I gave him the glass and aspirin. “Take these.”

  “Thanks.” He grinned, then winced when the action tugged on his split lip. “You hungry?”

  He motioned to the veggies in my hand, and I rolled my eyes. “No, I just don’t have an actual ice pack for you.”

  Chuckling, he swallowed the aspirin and half the water. “That’ll work.”

  I cautiously lowered myself to the couch beside him, ensuring not to jostle him, and reached for his blood-stained shirt. “I know you’re hurt. Let me see.”

  “It’s nothing, Silas. I’ve had worse.”

  His nonchalance irritated me, and he sighed in defeat at my glare.

  Lifting the hem of his shirt, he dragged it high enough to reveal his perfectly pink nipple, but I couldn’t enjoy the sight. Purple and blue splotches covered the side of his torso, and my self-loathing threatened to drown me.

  “Jesus, Ben.” I touched his torso lightly, and the skin trembled. He didn’t make a sound, but I withdrew all the same. “Here, this might help.”

  He gritted his teeth as I nestled the bag of green beans over the darkest area below his ribs. I blew a frustrated breath through my nose. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “Seriously?” His shirt fell, catching on the wet plastic, and his hand circled my forearm. “After what he said—”

  “What did you expect him to say? He was goading you, you idiot! He would have insinuated worse just to get a rise out of you.” I shook off his grip as his discomfort melted into bafflement. “Did you get suspended?”

  “Of course I didn’t get suspended. McKinney would do anything to keep his star wrestlers out of trouble, even cover up a fight. If there was no fight, then there are no consequences.”

  “And your coach?”

  Ben shifted, grinding his teeth. “He yelled at us and gave us detention with him for next week, which pretty much means we’re gonna be stuck at practice longer. It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal?” I lifted the bag of vegetables off his side pointedly. “This looks like a big deal, Ben. Shit, you could have a broken rib or something. I should take you to the hospital.”

  Dropping the beans onto his torso, I rose to fetch my keys, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Silas, stop! I don’t need to go to the hospital. Just—” He finagled me back onto the couch. “Just sit down.”

  “You could have internal bleeding!”

  “I don’t. I’ll be fine.” Capturing my hand, he brought it to his lips and pecked my palm. “Trust me, I know what a broken rib feels like, and this isn’t it.”

  The statement sobered the atmosphere further, and I caressed his swollen face gently. “You a secret street fighter or something?”

  With a grimace, he dropped his eyes and adjusted the frozen veggies. “Not exactly, but I’ve been in my fair share of fights.”

  His attempt to change positions ended in a hiss, and I propped him up with a few couch pillows to ease his discomfort. “You don’t seem like the fighting type.” A golden brow arched, and I patted his bicep. “I mean, sure you did a great job of beating Boyt’s face in, but you’re usually so… nice.”

  “I have my moments.” He studied his hands in shame.

  I drew circles on the back of his wrist as I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I prompted, “Oh, yeah? Were you the chivalrous knight of the Sacramento school district?”

  Pulling away from my touch, his face hardened. “Not exactly. But I sent a kid to the hospital once. It’s why I got expelled and had to repeat sophomore year.”

  That wasn’t what I expected. “Holy shit, are you serious?”

  He nodded, his eyes jumping around the room, unable to meet my gaze. “Yeah, it was the worst fight I ever got in. He was talking shit, and I… I just lost it. I don’t even remember most of it. It’s like I blacked out. I came to when two teachers pulled me off of his unconscious body.

  “I was a minor, but it’s still a miracle his parents didn’t take me to court.” He swallowed hard, shifting the bag of vegetables on his side. “But I was a poor kid with a loser Dad and a dead Mom, so…”

  Warily, he studied me from the corner of his eye, and I took his hand in mine. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “I almost beat a kid to death, and you’re sorry for me?”

  With a shrug, I nodded and traced the broken skin of his knuckles. “I assume he said some pretty messed up shit to piss you off enough to do that. People are assholes, and he probably deserved it.”

  Chuckling without humor, he cupped my chin, and his thumb traced my bottom lip. “Violence shouldn’t be the answer. The world’s ugly enough.” I puckered my lips against the pad of his thumb, and his sad smile brightened marginally. “I try not to be that person, anymore. I don’t want you to think I’d hurt you; I’d never hurt you.”

  “You’re an idiot.” I nuzzled his hand as he framed my cheek. “You don’t scare me. Though, I wouldn’t ever wanna piss you off, because I have a healthy attachment to my face.”

  This time, his smile was genuine. “As do I.”

  As I flushed at the subtle compliment, I captured his hand and squeezed his fingers. “Well, as long as you’re sure you don’t need the hospital—”

  “My dad broke a rib once, remember?” He patted his chest with a reassuring, lopsided grin. “Nothing’s broken, I promise.”

  At the mention of his dad, the mood soured immediately, and I scowled. “Your dad’s an asshole! You should have just run away or something.” His muscles locked, and I massaged his hand as
I tiptoed over new terrain. “Didn’t you ever, like, go to the cops or tell a teacher?”

  Ben avoided eye contact as he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I was used to it. When Mom was alive, she made excuses for him. She talked about how he never meant it, how he loved us even if he made mistakes. And if that logic didn’t work, she’d blame herself and tell me it was her fault.”

  With a thick swallow, his eyes misted and he shrugged. “When you hear something enough times, eventually you start to believe it. And after she died, the blame shifted to me. If I only did better at school or kept the house cleaner, then he wouldn’t get angry. And for a while, it felt like I deserved it. You know, for not saving her. I wanted to suffer.”

  He sniffed and looked away to collect himself as his neck splotched with color. I didn’t address the moisture he blinked away, not wanting to embarrass him.

  Instead, I carefully crept into his lap, straddling his thighs to keep my weight on his legs. My hands hovered over him as he gripped my hips to secure me, and I chuckled awkwardly. “I can’t even comfort you without hurting you.”

  The corners of his mouth quirked, and I settled for touching my forehead to his as my hands rested on his shoulders.

  I didn’t know how his mom had died or why he would ever blame himself for her death, but his sorrow broke my heart. “It wasn’t your fault your mom died or that your dad was a prick. You can’t think like that.”

  “I tell myself that every day. Most of the time, I believe it.” He massaged my sides, and I kissed his brow then the tip of his nose.

  “And on the days you don’t?”

  His shoulders rolled beneath my hands. “Everybody has bad days.”

  “Well, on your bad days, I’ll remind you until you feel better.” I kissed the corner of his mouth, shivering as his fingers slipped under my shirt. With a wicked grin, I nuzzled his uninjured cheek before purring in his ear. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just jerk you off.”

  As hoped, the heaviness lifted, and he laughed, grimacing and panting as pain battled with amusement. “Shit, don’t make me laugh.”