A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(24)

Six





My body is going to be a painful reminder of stupid decisions for a few  weeks. The gash on my elbow is deep; the blood soaked through the  bandages overnight, leaving me with a dried and hardened cast of my own  making around my arm. I showered with the bandages on, letting the water  melt them away rather than peeling them off and risking opening up  wounds. Things are going to be raw no matter how I look at it though,  and I am going to need something better than ankle wrap to heal.

I put on a loose sweatshirt and my running pants and pull my wet hair  through my favorite Giants ball cap so I can walk to the drug store a  mile or two away. Normally, I'd call Kyle or Taryn to take me, but I  wasn't ready to face either of them, for different reasons. I'm pretty  sure they're okay having a little space from me too.

I'm too sore to run. My overzealous workout from the day before has left  my legs feeling weak, and my two-man tumble from the moving car took  care of anything that didn't hurt. So I walk. I walk slowly. In an hour,  I get to the store and spend the last twenty that my grandmother sent  me for my birthday over the summer on real gauze, ointment for my cuts, a  king-sized Reese's pack, and a thank you card. I borrow the pen at the  counter to write a short note to Wes, then lick the envelope closed  while I walk back into our neighborhood, this time counting until I see  Sycamore Street-Wes's street.

I did my best to commit it to memory last night. Somehow just knowing  where he lives feels better. It makes him less of a mystery, but it  makes me more curious all the same. I woke up thinking about what he  did, the text he sent and the fact that he walked away unscathed. I'm  not stupid enough to think that superheroes are anything real, but  Wes … he makes a mighty good argument.

The closer I get to his house, the more I start to think that coming  here in the first place is a tremendously bad idea. I'm a  driveway-length away, and I have time to bail, but before my brain sends  the run signal to my feet, TK stands up from the bed of the truck, a  bucket in one hand and a washrag in the other, soap dripping over the  side.

"Hey! Look who's up and walking today. I do believe it's the dead!" His  laugh is raspy as he sets his cleaning supplies on the tailgate of the  truck and hops down next to me, shaking the water and suds from his arms  before pulling me into a tight hug I don't see coming. I stand there  awkwardly and let him hold me for a few seconds, my hands clutching my  pathetic thank you card and quickly-melting chocolate and peanut-butter  candy.

"Hey … uh … yeah," I say, looking at my feet as we pull apart. "So … I'm sorry for what you guys had to deal with … yesterday-"

"Stop," he interrupts me, swinging his hand toward me and brushing my  arm. I look up at him, squinting from the glare of the high-noon sun.  He's smiling softly, and it's almost making me feel worse. I think I'd  prefer if he were just pissed at me. He's not though. "We're just glad  you're okay. You talk to Taryn yet today?"         

     



 

I shake my head no and let my eyes fall back down to the comfort of my running shoes with a hole in the toe.

"You should call her. She was pretty upset last night. Not … not at you.  More, for you, if that makes sense?" He's looking right at me when I  tilt my head up, and I offer a barely-there smile and nod.

"I'll call her tonight. If you talk to her, just tell her I'm okay," I say.

TK nods in return, then gives his attention back to the bucket of water  on the truck, pulling it to the ground now and kneeling to wash the tire  rims. There's mud crusted everywhere.

"That from last night?" I ask.

TK tilts his head up with a slight laugh before answering. "Yeah, that  was as close to off-roading as this truck's ever been. It's sixteen  years old. I'm kind of shocked it held up."

"Sorry," I say. He just waves a hand at me and goes back to work on the  wheel. I watch for a few minutes, glancing toward his house every so  often, nervous to ask if Wes is home. I feel like practicing talking  with TK is good for me, so I set my things down in the plastic bag from  the store and reach into the bucket for another rag, moving to the front  wheel to begin scrubbing.

"You don't need to do that," he chuckles.

"I want to," I say, my sore arm no match for the clod of caked-on mud  deep inside the rim grooves. I do a decent job, but save the tough  cleaning for TK. "You three share this thing?"

"Yeah, it usually works out because we're going to the same place. We  try to respect one another and not take it out for long if we know one  of the other guys has plans or needs to go somewhere. And we can take  our mom or dad's cars if we really need to. They work so much, though,  that their cars aren't always home."

"That's cool. It must be nice to have two brothers, to grow up like  that. Have you all always been close?" I'm fishing now because I'm so  hungry to know more about Wes-and TK and Levi seem to be deeply woven  into his life.

"Yeah, we've always been tight. We were adopted around the same time, when we were like nine or so," he says.

I pause and think about his answer. Nine. That would be about the age Christopher would have turned.

"You guys ever fight?" I ask. I wait a few seconds for an answer, and I  start to think he didn't hear me, so I begin to ask again. My words are  stopped cold by the blast of water that hits me from behind, soaking  through my pants and shirt in an instant.

"We like water fights, Joss. And you have just been christened," Levi is  yelling, poised with the hose behind me, the end capped in a sprayer  that gives him precision accuracy and makes the water sting when it hits  me.

"You shit!" I yell, dunking my rag in the soapy water and throwing it at  him. It hits him with a thud in the chest, but he laughs it off,  spraying at my legs as I scurry to the other side of the truck.

"Come on out, Joss. Nowhere for you to run," TK says. I'm tucked behind  one front tire to hide my legs, and I can hear them behind the other,  the pressure of the water building up and making the hose buzz. I left  my bucket on the other side of the truck, so I'm completely unarmed. But  I am fast, even though my legs are on fire with every step. Still, I  might be able to make it. I think about making a break for it when I  feel a hand flatten on my soaking, wet back. I startle and turn to look  Wes in the eyes, holding my tongue when he has a finger pressed to his  lips. I'm sure he can feel my heartbeat against his hand through my  spine.

"I'll come out when you put down your weapon," I say, holding my gaze on  Wes and buying us time. His lip curls into a slight smirk on one side,  and I suddenly want to kiss it.

"Yeah, that ain't happenin' sister. Might as well give up now," Levi yells.

Wes's hand finds mine without looking, and my breath catches at the feel  of his fingers sliding through mine. He holds his finger against his  lips again, and for a brief second, his eyes slip to my mouth then back  up again.

Breathing is becoming harder.

Wes leads me several feet from the truck until we have a chance to make a  break for it to the side of the house. He tugs my hand, encouraging me  to run with him until we find the safety of the brick wall, our backs  flat against it. His hand lets go, and I miss it. We both hear TK  taunting me, under the assumption that I'm still where I was, and it  makes both of our mouths pull into tight smiles, holding in laughter.

"There's a hose on the other side. We have to go fast. Come on," he  whispers into my ear. I'm suddenly grateful that my arms are beaded with  goosebumps from being wet and cold, because the shivers from his voice  against my neck and ear would have the same effect, and I don't want him  seeing that.         

     



 

Now in his backyard, we both run around to the other side of the house,  unlooping the heavy hose from the hook anchored to the wall. Wes bends  it, cutting off the water supply, and nods to me to turn the water on  high. I do it and then step up next to him, our bodies touching on the  sides. He's wearing a torn tank top and sweatpants, and I can see his  stomach and ribs through the large holes on the sides. I'm distracted by  the thought of running my hand inside his shirt and feeling his tight  body as we creep slowly behind his brothers, but I shake myself out of  my fantasy quickly when Wes looks down at me and nods again.

"You better run, suckers!" I yell, just as Wes cuts the hose loose and  lets the spray drench Levi and TK, who both run, leaving the second hose  behind. I grab it quickly, and Wes and I each take on a brother,  soaking them until they climb up into the back of the truck and grab the  last bucket of soapy water and fling it at both of us.

Wes shakes his head fast, the wet ends spraying in all directions. Jesus holy hell does that boy look good all wet.

TK manages to pull the other end of my hose away from me, and I reach  for it, but too late-he tugs it to his body quickly, pointing the spray  right at me, soaking anything that was remotely close to dry. Wes comes  to my rescue quickly, spraying his brother in the face until he has to  turn and let go of the hose.