Sever

by J. M. Miller

  “Hey now,” I warned and grabbed his hand, bending back his fingers.

  “Ah! I give,” he relented with a laugh, pulling his hand away and cradling it to his chest like I’d broken it.

  I lifted an eyebrow and laughed with him. “So what’s up? You work the real green they have laid out there?”

  He nodded. “Cornerback. Never was as universal as you, but I worked my magic. Most of us seniors are using extra PE time postseason to stay in shape for college. What about you? Still making guys cry on the field?”

  I scoffed and glanced down at my small frame. “Right. I’m sure I would have made it real far, even after battling all that red tape.”

  He frowned for a split second then lifted his lips back into a mischievous grin. “Well, I’m sure I could work up a game for you come spring if you want to show some of these clowns how it’s done.” He pointed around the gym at a couple of guys I supposed were teammates, giving them a chin tilt when they looked our way. They pointed back with little interest until they noticed me at his side and stopped talking to each other, gawking like I had four boobs instead of two.

  A whistle blew and I happily spun toward the distraction. The PE teacher moved around the half-court, swapping players. As I turned back to face Ed, my eyes made a pit stop near the retracted bleachers. Rewind Guy stood in line to sprint. His eyes were still on me, a bit more focused, a little more intense.

  “I should get back to circuits,” Ed said, pulling my attention back to him. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Hey, Ed?” I called out before he had a chance to walk away. “Any of the guys still around? I haven’t seen them.”

  “Not really.” He shrugged. “Carter and Cody moved freshman year.”

  “And Tanner?” I prompted.

  He scrunched his lips a bit. “Yeah, he’s still around, but he dropped out last year. He was working at the marina last time I saw him. That was during the summer, though.”

  “Oh. Okay, thanks.” Dropped out? He used to get straight As. “See ya,” I added. He waved then jogged over to one of the circuit areas and picked up a jump rope.

  With my class still scattered throughout the gym, I glanced around to pick my next shot. My eyes found the guy from Rewind again. Two girls stood beside him, their blond and brunette ponytails shaking as they laughed about something with excessive enthusiasm. He laughed with them while he stood on one foot to stretch his quads, waiting for his turn to sprint. Before my mind had a chance to reject the idea, my feet moved me down the sideline, bettering my position to take his picture.

  He stepped up to the line, twisting the toes of his front sneaker for a better grip. The guy beside him with the stopwatch said “Go” and he took off. I only captured a single picture of him running away, but the shutter worked nonstop each time he ran back toward me. On the last leg of the suicide drill, he looked right at me. I’d already seen the determination in the strength of his stride and the precision of each step, but that look made me feel it.

  He finished fast, receiving pats on the back from anyone within reach, even the two girls. Especially them. They fawned over him, letting their touches linger a little too long on his arms, his shoulders.

  Something gripped at my insides, flashing a wave of heat through my body. I wished I knew him well enough to touch him that way. Was one of them his girlfriend? Were both of them?

  Ugh. Was I jealous? The guy who’d seemed pretty down to earth, almost innocent at Rewind, looked like a preppy, popular jock.

  Jealous? Of course I was.

  I clamped my teeth down on my bottom lip, hard. We’d talked one time. One time. My interest in guys had always been simple. I’d hooked up with a few, but had never wanted more. For some reason, though, simply looking at this guy felt different. I squeezed my eyelids shut to refocus then took pictures of the next sprinters, barely aware of what was happening around me.

  The PE teacher blew his whistle again and I decided I had more than enough pictures to choose from, so I walked back to the open bleachers and took a seat to review them.

  “Told you I’d see you again,” said a voice in front of me.

  I lifted my eyes from the camera’s screen to the black basketball shorts in front of me. My view slowly traveled up, over the Warrior logo on his chest, up his smooth neck, until I met his eyes.

  “Get any good ones?” he asked with a smile as he straddled the bench beside me.

  Feeling other eyes on me, I glanced around. There were several sets looking in our direction with less than enthused expressions. Great. “Yeah, I think I got some.” I tilted the screen toward him and scrolled through a few, quickly realizing he’d stopped looking at them. He was looking at me. My heart jolted and heat rolled through my body, exciting and sedating me all at once.

  “What class do you have left?” he asked, tapping his thumbs on his knee.

  “Um, woodshop, I think. They pretty much stuck me in anything with available seats,” I said with a weak laugh. “What about you?”

  The rest of his fingers joined his thumbs, continuing to tap like he was matching a beat in his head. I stared at his hands, admiring their structure, their size, wondering how they would feel on me.

  “I have calc,” he said, bringing my attention back to his eyes. “I guess we don’t have any classes together.”

  “Is that a bad thing or a good thing?” I asked, considering the question myself. Being in a classroom with him would surely be a dangerous thing—desperately good, painfully bad, and everything in between.

  He let out a breathy laugh, exactly like he had at Rewind. I was beginning to like the sound. “I’m not sure actually.”

  “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Really?” The corner of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile. He glanced over his shoulder to the circuit area. “So I take it Ed was a friend of yours before you left?”

  “We used to play ball at River Park, but I’m guessing you’ve played with him more recently.”

  “That obvious, huh? I thought I was able to hide it pretty well.”

  I smiled. “Not with the way you run. You’re agile, not too bulky, and you seem pretty focused. I’m guessing a wide receiver. Am I right?”

  “As long as you don’t hold it against me,” he joked. “What about you, Annisyn? You still play?”

  “No, I gave up football a while ago.” I dropped my eyes to the camera.

  “You were good,” he stated a little too knowingly. I looked back to his eyes, seeing something there again. “I can tell you were passionate about it.”

  I nodded, realizing that this conversation had taken a nosedive. I needed to turn it around before he decided to bolt. “And I can tell you’re really good.” I laughed and shook my head. “That wasn’t another lame pick up line. I’m sure lots of people have told you how good you are. Maybe even scouts?”

  “You want to know something?” He rubbed his hands over his knees and I nodded. “I’m a firm believer that you should never forget where you came from.”

  “And where did you come from?” I asked curiously. I had no clue what he meant, but he had my full attention, no matter what he wanted to say.

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Sure.”

  “I came from nothing,” he said, lifting his hands to show me they were empty. “Would you believe me if I told you I was a fat kid who could barely run? Until this one person helped me in a way no one else could. They lit this fire—”

  A whistle blew, disrupting him. All the PE students started to switch places and people from my photography class walked past us, heading toward the gym entrance where Mr. Thompson stood.

  “I’m sorry.” I stood up. “I should probably go.”

  He swung his leg over the bleacher and jumped up beside me. “Wait. This wasn’t the way I wanted to tell you, but … I was the kid who got his ass kicked on the train tracks, and you—”

  “Damian!” the girl with the blond ponytail yelled from acro
ss the gym. “You’re up!”

  He turned her way and held up an index finger, telling her to wait.

  Damian? The kid on the tracks. Stripes!

  “Ms. Kane?” Mr. Thompson called my name. “Time to go.”

  I nodded at him, but quickly shot my eyes back to Damian. It couldn’t be. “Stripes?”

  He smiled even bigger and tilted his head as he took a step backward. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard that.”

  “You knew me this whole time and you didn’t say anything?” I didn’t know how I should feel. Hurt? Happy? Stupid? How did I not recognize him? I looked him over, searching for some resemblance. He had been so much shorter then, and a lot thicker. I looked into his eyes as he continued to walk backward, realizing they were the connection. They had been trying to tell me all along.

  “Forgive me?” He pressed his hands together to match his plea. “You should go so you don’t get in trouble. I’ll see you, Syn.”

  When Seth struck my back, I fell onto Damian’s stretched legs, my chest hitting his thighs.

  His muscles tensed beneath me. “What the fuck, Seth?” He slid his feet in, lifting his knees and elevating my body.

  My head and back hurt, and I was thoroughly pissed off about the situation, but even all of that couldn’t stop me from enjoying his light woodsy scent.

  Seth laughed as I squirmed on Damian’s lap, trying to get my knees beneath me. I slid farther down his thighs and my shoulder touched his bare stomach, kicking the urgency up another level. Although the ordeal was looking to only get worse, I hoped it wouldn’t get any more awkward. When I finally settled my weight onto my knees, I lifted myself off Damian and our eyes locked for a few long seconds. I saw sorrow in his hazels, maybe from the situation, maybe from something much deeper. I also felt that that connection from long ago. It was as strong as I remembered, taking me back, wiping all the years away with one look. I bit the inside of my lip and willed my eyes to stay open, holding onto what I’d lost so long ago.

  “Look at this,” Seth said from behind me, killing the connection. Damian’s eyes snapped to Seth, and I blinked before dropping my gaze to the floor. “No wonder you’re back.”

  “You don’t want to do this, Seth,” Damian warned in a rough voice. I stole a sideways glance at him without turning my head. The tattoo on his chest was clearer now, though it still only looked like an abstract design: circular center, semicircles extending from the top and bottom with their edges pointing up and down.

  “Yeah, I do. And believe me when I say it’ll make me feel pretty good,” Seth said. “So I’ll ask you again. Where are the keys?”

  “Would you just knock this off? I’m sure—”

  Seth grabbed the back of my wrists, pulling them up, forcing me to stand again. “That a girl,” he said in a silky tone as I grunted, the pain blazing up my arms. “Now what were you saying, D?”

  Damian’s body jerked. “I gave my keys to one of the guys the other night so he could lock up. I can get them first thing in the morning.”

  Seth’s grip on my wrists loosened as he listened to Damian. I knew I had to do something. I wasn’t about to sit here all night waiting for him to break my arms. If there was any chance at taking him out, it was now. I glanced over my shoulder. The shattered liquor bottle wasn’t too far away, chunks of its glass swimming in a puddle on the floor. It wasn’t as good as my knife, but glass could cut the material. Or cut him.

  “Not happening,” Seth replied to Damian’s request.

  “I can call Wes, the manager, and go grab his.”

  I considered my options as they spoke. With my ankles bound, stomping his instep wasn’t viable. With my elbows and hands bound too, my head was the only thing left to use as a weapon. He was tall, but if I could get under him in the right spot, I could make a jump at his nose. I had to hope it would buy enough time to hop to the broken glass, or maybe to the kitchen for a knife. Preparing to make my move, I shimmied my feet, positioning myself closer.

  “You expect me to believe there isn’t another copy here? Bullshit. I doubt Mom only gave you one key.”

  I bent my knees, leaned back, and sprang, bucking my head back at the same time. It collided into Seth’s face, and I heard and felt a crack. His hands hit my back, spinning my body and pushing me away. After managing to land on my feet, I hopped as fast as I could toward the kitchen. Bouncing. Jumping. Breathing. There was no time to check where he was, no time to see how close. I had to keep moving forward.

  “You fucking bitch!” Seth roared.

  I pushed harder, trying to move faster. The kitchen was ten feet away. I could see a wooden block of knives perched alongside the stovetop. There was a chance. I had a chance.

  The next step proved me wrong. Like each time before, I landed and pushed off the floor, but this time my feet slipped out from beneath me. The small amount of traction I’d had on dry hardwood disappeared when I hit the puddle of alcohol. I slid for a second before toppling face first. There was nothing I could do except hold my head back and stick my chest out to break my fall.

  I hit the wet floor with a grunt and scrambled to my knees the instant I landed. His soles squeaked and shuffled, turning fast on the wood floor. There was no way I’d get away. He’d catch me. My eyes darted around, searching for anything to use. A piece of the broken bottle lay beside me in the puddle. There wasn’t enough time to use it to cut through the binds, but there was enough time to palm it for later.

  “Oh, you’re gonna get it,” Seth said, his feet smacking the floor with each step.

  I eyed the piece of glass and rolled onto my back, fanning out my fingers, hoping that I’d hit my target. Seth was above me within a second, the soft light from the kitchen casting over his hardened face. I felt the glass beside my palm and tucked my fingers around it, wincing as it sliced the pad of my index finger.

  Seth smirked, his expression shifting from angry to sadistic once again. “Wow, Syn. You were never one to back down, were you? And now look at you, covered in one of my favorite drinks, all wet and hot.”

  “Seth,” Damian growled from behind him.

  “I knew that would hit a nerve,” he murmured to me, bending and pressing his hand to my stomach, slipping a couple fingers under the edge of my alcohol soaked tank.

  I inhaled with disgust at his touch, filling my nose with whiskey fumes strong enough to bring tears to my eyes. “Get the fuck off me,” I shouted, twisting my body, trying to escape his hand. The glass dug into my palm from the movement, but I kept hold.

  “I might for now, but later, we have something to catch up on.” His hand moved under my arm and lifted me upright. Whiskey dripped down the front of my body as I hopped forward under his force. “Guess I need to find a way to make you less mobile. While I think about it,” he said, stopping us in front of Damian again, “maybe I’ll have a little fun.” One of his hands grabbed my ponytail and pulled it down, stretching my neck and tilting my face toward the vaulted ceiling. I bounced around, adjusting my balance. His other hand grabbed my throat, smoothing over my skin.

  “You’ve made your point,” Damian snapped. “Enough.”

  “I’m nowhere close to making my point.” Seth’s hand added a little more pressure at my throat. “I owe you. Don’t I?” His voice whispered close to my ear. I stared up at the ceiling’s support beams, recalling the night I’d last seen him, the night my back was pressed into the iron ladder of the lighthouse.

  “There’s another set of keys,” Damian said.

  Seth blew out a sardonic puff of air and his hand slid off my neck. The other let go of my hair and grabbed my wrists again. “Where?”

  I waited a moment before relaxing my neck and dropping my gaze. Damian had moved away from the couch during my struggle with Seth. His legs were cocked sideways and the top of his hair was messier, like he’d struggled while Seth had me on the ground.

  “I can’t remember exactly,” he said.

  “Bullshit.” Seth’s body shifted a
nd I heard a click. Something pointy pressed against my throat. “This is a nice knife, Syn.”

  “Dammit,” Damian grunted. “I’m telling you the truth. They’re probably upstairs somewhere, either in my room or the sound room.”

  “Move,” Seth said, pointing the knife toward the stairs. “You too.” He pushed my wrists and I took the first hop in that direction. “I don’t want you two attempting to hobble away again. Get to the stairs.”

  Realizing that he planned to mess with our ties, I knew I had to hide the piece of glass. I secured it to my palm with my thumb and slipped my fingers into the top of my back pocket. Seth spun me around next to the banister and I dropped the glass into my pocket before he noticed.

  Damian had gotten to his knees and bounced onto his feet without much effort. He hopped over to the stairs as instructed and waited next to me. “You’re just digging yourself deeper, Seth. Have you really thought about this? If you need cash, I can get you some in the morning. This isn’t worth it.” I could tell Damian was being honest, and that he was livid. He struggled to keep his gruff voice calm.

  “I’ve thought about it enough. I knew you’d be here tonight, right?”

  “So this wasn’t a decision made at the bottom of tonight’s first bottle?”

  “And they said you were the smart one.” Seth’s fingers worked the material at my elbows, threading something through. “Sit like a good bitch.” One hand landed on my shoulder and shoved me down.

  “You’re a piece of shit, and you won’t get away with this,” I spat, anger spewing without restraint. Earlier, I’d had no idea what to make of the situation, but now it was clear he had no plan to back off or let us go.

  “Sit,” he instructed Damian, ignoring my comment.

  Damian slid his back down the banister to sit beside me on the floor, his arm brushing mine all the way down.