by Nicole Fox
I know more than anyone how cruel John can be. If he threatened her or hurt her, I’d never blame her for trying to get information out of me and telling him what she knew.
I just wish she’d talk to me.
Caleb has told me to forget about her. The couple times I’ve confided in him about my friendship with her and how it has dissolved over the last few months, he has told me to write Estefania off and move on.
“There’s no excuse for disloyalty,” he said, kissing my temple before he spun around and lunged for my throat.
I brought my arm up, twisted my upper body, and then dropped my elbow down on his wrist, successfully breaking his hold.
A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. “Very good.”
Caleb has never been weak. At the fights and at school, he is a hero. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be overpowered by someone else, to be made small by someone who is bigger and meaner than you are.
I know what that’s like, and it takes his black and white version of disloyalty and muddies it to gray.
There are a thousand excuses for disloyalty. I want to hope Estefania has a good one.
I’ve lived in Texas my entire life, and I’m still amazed by the enthusiasm human beings can have for a Friday night high school football game.
The hallways of Ravenlake Prep are decked in black and white streamers, balloons, and signs cheering on the team. When I walk with Caleb from lunch to fourth period, students clap him on the shoulder and make obnoxious bird calls—like ravens, get it? So clever I could puke—that amuse me to no end.
Caleb, per usual, smiles and indulges them all.
The more time I’ve spent with him, the more I’ve seen that I really was the only exception to his charm.
I crossed Caleb the night I lied about him attacking me and got him beat up, and that betrayal cost me the smiling, warm Caleb the rest of the world got to see.
Thankfully, he has mostly forgiven me by now, so when I flap my arms and circle around him while cawing, he grins.
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“Oh no,” I say with a fake pout. “Am I hurting your reputation?”
He rolls his eyes. “Literally every second I’m in your presence.”
I laugh, but he isn’t lying. Caleb is a known lady killer, and spending so much time with me is raising some eyebrows. I don’t care, but I worry that he will start to.
It’s why I haven’t asked about our relationship or tried to push anything. I feel comfortable with where we are now. Safe.
I don’t want anything to change.
When we reach my biology class, Caleb tugs on my ponytail and spins as he passes me, walking backwards without a thought for who he might bump into. He doesn’t have to think about it because everyone moves out of his way.
“I’ll see you at the game tonight?”
I shake a pretend pom-pom in the air. “I’ll be there.”
“Please bring a pom-pom,” he says with a laugh. Then, his face lights up with an idea. “And if you happen to have a skirt and a crop top you could wear, then—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. “Save your breath. Not going to happen.”
He pouts, his full lower lip looking deliciously kissable. When I shake my head to punctuate exactly how much that is not going to happen, he shrugs, gives me a quick wave, and turns to saunter down the hallway.
Caleb once said there are other ways to fight than with fists, and right now as he walks away leaving me hanging, I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
He is devastating.
33
Haley
Endurance is just as important in a fight as strength. Or, so says Caleb. So, on the days we can’t train, I go for a run.
I’ve been running since middle school. I joined the track team briefly, but my long legs meant I was a shoo-in for the hurdles, and I felt far too much like a show horse doing an obstacle course, so I quit.
But I never quit running.
It’s my alone time. A guaranteed window of time where I can put in my earbuds, listen to music, and tune out everything else.
Usually, I keep my phone on “Do Not Disturb,” even though it’s not like my phone is exactly blowing up with notifications on a normal day, but today I forgot.
Still, I’d normally ignore the vibration and check my phone when I finish my run, but I can’t quite push away the thought that it could be Caleb.
Even though I know Caleb is getting ready for the game tonight, and he never has his phone on him before a game, I still think he might need something or want me to wish him luck or … I’m not sure. I have to check it.
I slow to a stop, veer off the sidewalk and into the shaded grass, and unstrap my phone from my arm.
Caleb didn’t text me—shocker.
But Estefania did, which is an actual surprise.
I fumble to unlock my phone, cursing when the fingerprint recognition fails to recognize my sweaty fingerprint. I wipe my hand on my shorts and try again before I give up and punch in my six-digit PIN code.
Can we talk?
Weeks of unanswered texts and calls and voice mails, and now this. Estefania wants to talk. Just like that.
I’m too excited to be suspicious, even after the knowledge of her betrayal the last time she texted me.
Yes! When? I’m free whenever.
I sound desperate, but I don’t care. I tap my foot nervously in the grass, waiting for her response.
Now? I’m at the park across from the nail salon we used to go to.
I glance up from the screen and laugh at my luck. I can see the nail salon from where I’m standing. It’s in a beige strip mall along with a laundromat, a pizza place, and a pawnshop. Directly across the street is the entrance to the park.
For the last few weeks, I’ve been running to the park and then making two loops around the running trail before jogging back home. Even if Estefania hadn’t texted me, I’d have run into her at the park.
I’m literally just down the block. I’ll be there in three minutes.
I clutch my phone in my hand and kick my run into a near-sprint, eager to see my best friend.
Nerves twist my stomach, which I find ridiculous. I’ve never been nervous to see Estefania before. Why should I be?
She was there the time I got diarrhea at the movie theater and the time I thought a tiny perfume bottle at the mall was a free sample and set off the security alarms.
She has witnessed or heard about every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done, so I shouldn’t be scared of her now.
But I am.
The sidewalk branches off to the left, and I follow it between two stone pillars and into the park. It’s a long, narrow strip of land surrounded by trees on three sides.
The main trail has tributaries that go into the trees, winding and curving through the woods, before meeting back up with the main trail again, but I expect Estefania to be in the main part of the park.
I scan the picnic tables and the benches but don’t see her amongst the late afternoon crowds of moms and kids swinging on playground equipment.
Just as I’m about to text to see where she is, she texts me.
In the meadow.
I look to the tree line at my right, expecting to be able to see Estefania through the trees. The “meadow” is a cleared circle of space with dense trees. It’s shaded and secluded, and as kids, we would hide away in there and pretend we were forest fairies and wood elves.
The location gives me hope. If Estefania is waiting for me in what is essentially our childhood clubhouse, she can’t be moments away from ending our friendship for good.
Clearly, she remembers our past fondly, as I do, and everything will be fine.
With that hope giving me some extra pep in my step, I jog across the grass and walk into the trees.
The shade dampens the Texas heat, but my sweat is still cooling in a sticky layer across my skin. I tighten my ponytail and smooth down the curly flyaways that are
no doubt sticking up around my face.
I see the opening to the meadow up ahead. The entrance is overgrown but obvious, and I push through a thin covering of leaves to step inside.
The meadow is shaded and covered in a thick carpet of grass. It still feels just as magical as it did when I was a kid.
I’m so distracted by memories that it takes me a second to realize I’m alone.
Estefania isn’t here.
I frown and am about to pull my phone from my armband to text her again when I hear footsteps behind me.
A smile splits my face wide, and I spin around to face my friend.
Except, it isn’t Estefania.
It’s Levi
His face is discolored and bruised from the beating he took on Saturday night. Paired with his deep scowl, he looks menacing.
Chills rock through my body, and I freeze. I don’t scream or run. I stand perfectly still, eyes wide as Levi moves towards me.
Suddenly, another figure walks through the opening. I don’t recognize him, but he has on a leather vest with the Hell Princes logo, and that’s all I need to know.
I’m fucked.
“Stupid girl,” Levi croons, looking up at me from beneath heavy brows, his nostrils flared. “You shouldn’t have come.”
His words drive home the sharpest dagger of them all—Estefania did this.
She lured me here for this.
Whatever this might be.
Heartbreak forces tears into my eyes, and my chin begins to wobble.
The two men line up in front of me, shoulder to shoulder, blocking the exit. Panic bubbles up inside of me, and I feel my legs begin to shake. I don’t know what they are going to do to me.
Is this a kidnapping? Or an ambush?
Flashes of what Levi did that night at the abandoned schoolhouse appear in my mind, and I want to be sick.
How could Estefania do this? A tear rolls down my cheek, salty and hot.
Suddenly, I hear Caleb’s voice in my head.
Don’t freeze. Stay calm. Pay attention.
I take a shuddering breath, blink the tear away, and force myself to stare at my soon-to-be attackers. To study them.
I don’t see any obvious weapons on them. No ties, cuffs, or blindfolds, either. Plus, we are in a public park. To kidnap me and get me out of this park, they’d have to carry me past children playing. So, unless they’re idiots, kidnapping is off the table.
Which leaves an attack. A fight.
This is what I’ve been preparing for. I expected John to send someone after me, and now he has.
Time to walk the walk.
Levi is talking to me, but I’m not paying any attention to his words. I’m watching his body and his eyes. Caleb told me that inexperienced fighters give you clues about where they’re going to strike first.
When Levi is just beyond arm’s reach, his eyes flash towards my left arm.
When he reaches out to grab me, I spin out of his reach, swing my right arm back, and bring it down hard on his forearm.
Pain shoots up my arm to my shoulder, making my fingers tingle, but Levi curses.
He pulls his arm in tight to his chest, and I use the opportunity to throw a left hook. My fist lands dead center in the middle of a bruise on his cheekbone—a bruise Caleb left, almost like a road map for me to follow.
I’m so pleased with myself for fighting back that I don’t notice the other man draw close and reach for me.
He grabs my right arm, lifting and spinning it until my shoulder begins to scream.
I cry out in pain, and then, just as Caleb taught me, I relax, lean into the hold, and then circle my weight around, using the momentum to kick the man in the side of the knee.
His hold on my arm loosens enough for me to slip my hand free of his sweaty palm.
I could run through the trees, but most directions would take me deeper into the forest and away from people.
Plus, I could easily trip over something and roll my ankle, making it impossible to run at all.
What I need to do is get the two men away from the opening so I can sprint past them.
I know I can outrun them.
I just need the chance.
I turn on my heel and run towards the back of the meadow, but before I can even make it a few steps, Levi kicks out at my shin, and I feel myself tip forwards.
Instinctively, I tuck my head and roll over my shoulder, landing on my back. The fall knocks the wind out of me, but I don’t have time to catch my breath. And I especially can’t be caught on the ground. If that happens, I’ll never get back up.
With nothing but a fierce determination to escape, I throw my weight forward and make it to my feet just as a fist drops down on my spine.
The blow shakes my entire body, dropping me to my knees, but I keep moving forward. I get one foot under me and then another. Levi grabs my arm and pulls me around.
I jerk back and lean away from him, but it isn’t enough to avoid his punch entirely.
His knuckles land on my cheekbone. They don’t connect fully, rather skimming over my face, but the blow still makes my brain shake and my mouth begin to water.
I know the tree line behind me is getting closer, and if I don’t reverse positions with my attackers now, I’ll be backed into a corner.
Stay calm. Stay focused.
Caleb’s voice is in my ear, reminding me to lean on my training.
Reminding me that I’m not as helpless as I feel.
Levi still has my arm in his right hand, and he pulls me in closer, trying to get his arms around me. He is struggling for my right hand, and his friend is close behind, ready to assist him.
This is my chance.
I angle my fingers back and throw my arm forward, slamming the heel of my hand into Levi’s nose.
The feeling of his face giving under my force is unexpected and shocking. With Caleb, I never actually landed the hit. I had no idea what it would feel like, but I never suspected it would feel like this.
Like partially hardened clay collapsing.
Like pressing into sea-soaked sand.
Blood explodes from his nose immediately, and he drops my arm, staggering back several steps to get away.
There’s my opening.
Without hesitating, I circle around Levi and drop into a dead sprint. I’m aware of the deep male voices behind me, of cursing and scrambling, but I don’t focus on any of it. I lower my head, pump my arms, and run.
I run until my body thrums with blood, until the bruises on my face, my back, and my arm pulse with adrenaline and pain. I run until my feet are numb and I’m so soaked through that I can’t tell what is from sweat and what is from tears.
No one is home when I arrive. I lock the doors, set the alarm, and unlock my phone.
My conversation with Estefania is still up on the screen, and I back out of it quickly, unable to think about that right now.
I can’t think about anything right now except keeping myself safe.
I call Caleb.
34
Caleb
I turn my phone off after sending my dad to voicemail for the third time.
I don’t answer my phone before a game anyway. But I especially don’t answer calls from my dad, so it’s an easy decision to make.
Except, I can’t help but wonder if Haley is going to try to text me.
J.C. has been making cracks about me being whipped. Joking is as natural as breathing for him. But he’s not totally wrong.
I’m not whipped.
But I’m definitely… something.
I haven’t been with anyone else in weeks. Haven’t even wanted to be with anyone else. I’ve spent my free time with Haley, training and fucking and … talking.
Talking?
When is the last time I talked with a girl? Never. Not because I’m some asshole who thinks women don’t have anything interesting to say. But because talking to a woman implies you want something more than a good fuck out of them.
Before Hale
y, that had never been true.
Now, I don’t know what the fuck I want.
I want to keep her safe. That has become one of the most important things to me.
Seeing how scared she was of even the memory of Bumper is part of the reason I couldn’t keep hating her.
It’s a lesson I’ve learned over and over while fighting. When someone is weak and helpless, you can be annoyed by them, and you can feel bad for them, but you can’t hate them.
Unfortunately, Haley is no longer weak or helpless.
So I’m officially in uncharted waters.
After the game, Noah and J.C. and the guys want to go get drunk to celebrate, but I’m not in the mood. Haley never showed at the game. It’s got me pissed off.
I’d like to spend some time with my mom anyway. She has been coming and going so much, taking on extra shifts at work and the bar to cover some of the unexpected costs we’ve incurred, so I haven’t seen her much.
“If you’re going to see your girlfriend instead of hang with us, I swear—” J.C. says, grinning and rolling his eyes.
“Not my girlfriend.” I raise my brows in an unspoken threat when he opens his mouth to argue.
J.C. shakes his head and holds up his hands in surrender.
I nod bye to everyone and hop in my truck. Briefly, I consider turning on my phone to see if Haley sent some excuse.
But if she did, it will still be there in the morning. I’ll respond then. Let her think I didn’t care enough to check.
On some level, I know thinking through all of this is its own kind of desperation—even if no one is witness to it.
But I shove the thought away and head home.
I’m so lost in my head that I don’t pay attention to the car parked along the curb in front of my house.
I don’t even register that, instead of the usual silence I’m met with when I walk through the door, I hear voices.
The same voices I grew up hearing all my life, laughing and fighting and bantering.
I follow the voices to the kitchen, stopping just outside the door when the realization washes over me.
