An Act of Courage (Acts of Honor Series Book 4)

by K. C. Lynn

  Her eyes fall shut, bottom lip trembling as tears slip down her bruised cheeks. The sight has a burning sensation spreading through my chest, my teeth grinding against the stark pain. It all becomes too much, and I know I need to get out of here.

  I lean over her to say good-bye, my lips resting on her forehead. The gesture was meant to be quick but I find myself glued there, unable to move.

  She reaches up, her fingers fanning my jaw, keeping me anchored in place.

  Silence ensues as our past hangs heavily between us—a past we cannot change, no matter how badly I wish we could.

  It wouldn’t matter anyway. I’m even less likely now to ever fit into her world than I was before. In the past it was my reputation that made us impossible, now it’s the demons that haunt me. The one act of dishonor I was forced to commit makes me unworthy.

  The cold realization has shame clawing up my throat. Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight to hold onto my restraint when all I want is to keep her forever.

  “Do us both a favor, Alissa. Stay home and stay safe.”

  Without making eye contact, I pull back and force myself to leave, walking out of her life for the second time, and it’s just as hard as it was the first time.

  I may never get to have her again but I will keep the sweet memories I have of her close, just like I always have. No one can take those away. Not her mother or stepfather.

  Not even the monster that lives inside of me.

  CHAPTER 8

  Alissa

  The past

  A smile graces my face as I jog up the church steps and run inside, looking for only one person. When I don’t find him, I head over to Faith as she walks out from the back, carrying a box.

  “Alissa, hi,” she greets me kindly.

  “Hey, Faith. I’m looking for Christopher, have you seen him?”

  “He’s at the skateboard park. He’ll be home in an hour. Did you want me to give him a message?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll head there now, thank you.”

  What I have to say to him needs to be done in person.

  Bounding back out of the church, I take off down the street, my book bag slung over my shoulder.

  It’s been a few days since I found Christopher in the music room and worked up the courage to speak to him. Other than a smile and a hi here and there, we haven’t had the chance to speak again. I worried he was avoiding me. It hurt to think that he doesn’t feel this same connection as I do. However, my insecurity was laid to rest when I opened my locker today and found the small present inside. There was no note but it wasn’t necessary. I know exactly whom it’s from. My heart is still bursting from the sweet gesture.

  By the time I arrive at the park, I’m out of breath and have a cramp in my side but it’s worth the sharp pain when I find Christopher alone. His back is to me as his skateboard slides up the half-pipe onto the metal bar. He glides across the beam effortlessly, his body twisting with precision and skill as he skates back down.

  I smile at the silver headphones slung around his neck, music blasting loudly from them. His lips move as he mouths the song. One I have no doubt he could sing better.

  I take advantage of the moment, my eyes drinking him in. Christopher doesn’t dress like the other kids at our school and I like that about him. Where most of the guys are clean-cut jocks, Christopher is not. He often wears a black hat, his brown hair long enough to poke out the bottom. His dark jeans are loose and well worn, a black belt with metal spikes cinched low on his hips. Today he wears a plain white T-shirt with his usual black hoodie that’s been left unzipped. The sleeves are pushed up his forearms, revealing a thick black band on his left wrist, something I noticed he began wearing after he moved in with Faith. I like it. It suits him.

  My feet start forward, butterflies flocking in my tummy. “I see you have more than one talent.”

  His head snaps up in surprise and he comes to a stop, stomping on the edge of the skateboard to make it pop into his hand. The simple act is crazy hot.

  “And I see you still enjoy intruding on someone’s private time,” he tosses back, but his tone is light.

  “Public place again, Dennison, remember?”

  He grunts but says nothing else.

  “Does that mean you want me to leave?” I hold my breath, praying the answer will be what I think it is.

  “No.”

  Smiling, I reach into the side pocket of my book bag and pull out the pack of pink Hubba Bubba gum that was in my locker. “Did you leave this for me?”

  He drops his skateboard, shoving his hands in his pockets as his feet shuffle nervously. “Maybe.”

  Even though I already knew it was him, it still has my heart warming. “It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “It is.” I may have been given things that are more expensive but never something as meaningful as this. He listened to what I said and gave me something for no reason at all. That means more than anything money could buy.

  “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a pack of gum.”

  “It’s a big deal to me. Thank you, Christopher.”

  “You’re welcome,” he mumbles, his Vans kicking at the cement.

  When silence falls awkwardly, I move on to another subject, not ready to leave him yet. “You’re really good on that thing,” I say, pointing down to the skateboard.

  He shrugs at the compliment. “I’ve been doing it for a long time.” Clearing his throat, he finally looks up at me. “Do you want to try?”

  “No way.” I laugh, holding my hands up. “I’d probably break my neck.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  A beat of silence passes before I find myself agreeing, knowing it will mean I get to stay with him longer. “Okay.” Dropping my book bag, I join him on the concrete.

  “Are you right or left-handed?” he asks.

  “Right.”

  “Then put your right foot on the board.”

  I do as he instructs, placing my strappy sandaled foot on the skateboard. Definitely not the best shoes for something like this.

  “Turn your body forward, in the direction you want to go.”

  Again, I follow his order.

  “Good, now push off with your left.”

  My knees are a bit wobbly as I give a little push, barely moving a couple of inches.

  “You can push a little harder,” he says, amused.

  “Yeah, I can, but then I will lose my teeth. I like my teeth, Christopher. I want to keep them.”

  Chuckling, he moves next to me, his warm hand swallowing my smaller one as he takes it in his.

  My breath races, goose bumps traveling up my arm.

  “I won’t let you lose them. I like them, too,” he whispers.

  A shy smile takes over my face, the soft admission making my heart do somersaults in my chest. Taking a deep breath, I grip his hand and use more power for my next push.

  My fingers tighten on his as I wobble like crazy. I try to keep my balance but it’s useless and I end up bailing at the last minute before I face plant and completely embarrass myself.

  Christopher offers me a sympathetic grin. “It takes a lot of practice.”

  “I’m sure it’s fun when you can actually move more than a few inches at a time.”

  “It is. Want me to show you?”

  “Are you trying to kill me?” I ask, lifting my brow.

  His smirk spreads into a smile, stealing my breath.

  It really is stunning.

  “Come here,” he orders, extending his hand to me.

  I don’t think twice about taking it, my heart craving the contact.

  “Step on with both feet, side by side.”

  Once I do, he plants his foot behind my two. My breath stalls as his arm curls around my waist, warmth flooding every part of my body, especially my chest.

  “Trust me, I won’t let you fall,” he says, his breath next to my ear.

  I nod, my throat t
oo dry to speak at the moment.

  He pushes off slowly at first, his arm hugging me closer when I begin to slightly sway. I tense my muscles, finding it helps to keep my balance. We remain in a straight line, each push moving us a little faster.

  Smiling, I close my eyes and raise my arms out at my sides, letting go of all my inhibitions. The soft, warm breeze dances across my bare skin as I bask in one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

  Unfortunately, it all comes to a screeching halt when the skateboard lurches forward.

  “Shit!” The curse flies from Christopher, his arm tightening around my waist as we’re jerked off the skateboard. We’re unable to gain our footing, mainly because my arms are flailing wildly. We hit the hard ground, Christopher taking the brunt of our fall as he brings me down on top of him, my face hovering a mere inch above his.

  “Are you okay?” My question is breathless from feeling his body beneath mine.

  “Yeah, you?” he asks, his voice gruff.

  I nod.

  “I’m sorry, Alissa. We must have—”

  I cut off his apology with my mouth, brushing a kiss across his lips. The brave act has my heart ready to escape the confines of my chest.

  His hazel eyes darken, captivating the moment. I fear I overstepped and am just about to apologize but don’t get the chance. One of his hands anchors in my hair at the back of my head as he closes the distance between us, bringing my lips to touch his again.

  There is nothing quick about it the second time around, his soft lips coaxing mine timelessly and gracefully. When his warm tongue tentatively licks the seam of my lips, I open, giving him what he silently demands.

  My gasp and his groan mingle in the hungry breaths between us. His fingers tighten in my hair as he steals every bit of precious air from my lungs.

  They say you will always remember your first kiss, but in my case, that’s a lie. Because any kiss I had before this one was obliterated the moment his lips fell upon mine.

  CHAPTER 9

  Christopher

  My stomach is tangled into one giant knot when I walk into the music school the following week. The sound of laughter and Justin Timberlake drifts down the hall as I approach my impending doom.

  Drop me in a battle zone and I’m calm. Put me in a room with a bunch of kids I don’t know and I want to hurl. If it weren’t for Faith, I would have bailed already but I won’t do that to her. I’ll stick this out, even if it means torturing myself.

  Rounding the corner, I walk into the last room on the right where a bunch of children are dancing to “Can’t Stop This Feeling” until the music is shut off by Faith.

  They all freeze in place, holding their poses like statues.

  “You guys are so good at this game,” she praises. “I haven’t caught any of you yet.”

  It’s a lie. I see several of them moving but Faith would never call someone out if it could potentially hurt their feelings.

  Her eyes shift to me, noticing my presence at the door, and she smiles. “Okay, boys and girls, take a seat.”

  There are about a dozen of them as they scramble to claim a seat on the blue carpet in the middle of the room. Dread pools in my gut as I make my way over to them, my palms sweating.

  Get a grip, man; they’re just a bunch of kids.

  “Boys and girls, this is Christopher,” Faith introduces me as I come to stand next to her.

  Their heads crane all the way back, their eyes widening and mouths dropping.

  “He will be your instructor for this semester. Can you all give him a big welcome?”

  They lift their hands in a half-assed wave, mouths still gaping.

  “Hey,” I greet them back awkwardly.

  “Okay then.” Faith claps her hands together, her smile a hell of a lot more enthusiastic than I feel. “I’ll be down the hall if you need me.” She gives my shoulder a reassuring pat before leaving the room in tense silence.

  I search for a seat that doesn’t belong in munchkin land but find nothing. Instead, I remain standing and cross my arms over my chest. “Let’s start by introducing ourselves. One by one, I want you to stand up, state your name and what instrument you like to play. Who wants to start?”

  No volunteers.

  “Anyone?”

  Crickets.

  “All right, I’ll pick then.” My eyes wander over the group and settle on the boy at the end whose finger is shoved so far up his nose that I’m afraid he may gauge his eyeball out. “You.” I point, hoping it will stop him from continuing the nasty habit.

  Thankfully, it does.

  “Me?” he asks, jerking his thumb at his pudgy chest.

  “Yeah, you.”

  He rolls to his knees to stand and I instantly feel sorry for the kid. His khaki shorts are hiked over his belly and held up by green suspenders. If that’s not bad enough, he wears socks that are raised to his shins and brown shoes that look like they belong on an eighty-year-old man.

  He pushes his red-rimmed glasses up his nose then grabs those shit ugly suspenders, nervously pulling at the elastic straps. “My name is Arnold Egbert Elmer the second.”

  I stare back at him, wondering if he’s fucking with me. Surely, a parent wouldn’t be so cruel.

  “But my friends call me Arnie.”

  I guess so. At least I can tell Ruthie I met someone with a shittier name than her. “What’s your favorite instrument to play, Arnold?”

  He shrugs. “Don’t know. I’ve never played one before.”

  “Never?” I ask, not liking the sound of that.

  He shakes his head. His finger eventually finds its way in his nose again so I tell him to take a seat and call on the girl next to him.

  She stands and cocks a hip. “Latisha, with an L.” Her introduction ends with a snap of her fingers.

  I frown, wondering what other letter it would start with. “And what do you play?”

  Her shoulders lift in a shrug as well.

  “You’ve never played either?”

  She shakes her head.

  They can’t all be beginners. Faith wouldn’t have them performing this quickly otherwise…right?

  I gesture for her to take a seat again then point at the next kid. “You.”

  The small girl with wild golden locks climbs to her feet. Very—fucking—slowly. She twirls her curly hair around her finger and inhales a small breath. “Hi. I’m Trinny, and I’m six years old, almost seven. I like Barbies, Pokémon, cookies, and radishes.”

  “Radishes?” I repeat, wondering what any of this has to do with music.

  “Yeah. ’Cause. Um…” She licks her pink lips and scratches her cheek, close to her nose. “’Cause, um…”

  I swear, if she doesn’t spit the fucking words out soon I’m going to die of old age.

  “They’re red and healthy for you. And…” She lets out a tiny breath and scratches her cheek again. “My dad says they put hair on your chest.”

  Chuckles fill the air as she smiles back at me.

  “What instrument do you play?” I ask, getting back to the task at hand.

  Her eyes lift to the ceiling, her tiny finger tapping her lip as she thinks about it long and hard.

  I swear the kid is trying to kill me.

  “I’ve played a whistle.”

  “What do you mean, like a flute?”

  “No, a whistle you blow. I can hum out ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ I taught myself,” she tells me proudly.

  My frustration grows by the second, and not for the first time, I wonder what the hell I got myself into. “Look. I want everyone to raise their hand if they have ever played an instrument before.”

  No one moves.

  You have got to be shittin’ me.

  “None of you have ever played before?”

  They all shake their heads.

  “Why do ya think we’re here, Einstein,” Latisha with an L throws back at me, tossing around a whole lot of sass.

  My head drops in my hands, defeat settling over me
.

  “What’s wrong?” Trinny asks.

  “Nothing,” I grumble the lie, feeling an ache building behind my eyes. “Let’s finish the introductions quickly. Just tell me your first name. You don’t have to stand. Just throw it out.” I point to the kid next to Trinny and he continues to stare at me. “Come on, kid, spit it out.”

  “Tommy.”

  I point to the next one.

  “Katy.”

  The next one.

  “Madison.”

  Eventually, they get the point and start tossing out their names without any help.

  Silence falls when we reach the last kid who sits behind all the others. His head has been cast down the entire time I’ve been here. Something about his slumped shoulders stops me from calling him out.

  “His name is Rafe,” Katy informs me quietly. “He doesn’t like to talk.”

  How am I supposed to work with a kid who doesn’t communicate?

  “Fine. Let’s move on.”

  “Wait,” Trinny says. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You didn’t introduce yourself.”

  “I don’t need to. Faith told you my name.”

  “But what’s your last name?”

  “Walker,” I answer.

  “Like Miss Faith’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you married to her?”

  “No.”

  “Is she your sister?”

  “No… Not really.”

  “What do you mean, not really?” Latisha asks.

  “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t concern you. She’s family. That’s all you need to know.”

  She harrumphs but it stops the fucking interrogation.

  “So what do we call you?” Trinny asks. “Mr. Walker?”

  “No. Christopher.”

  “Mr. Christopher?”

  My jaw locks. “No. Just Christopher.”

  “Do your friends call you Chris?” Arnold asks.

  “No.”

  One did, but I don’t let myself think about him.

  “Now does anyone have any more questions or can we move on?”

  Trinny raises her hand timidly.