A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(56)

"You let me stay in the race. When nobody wanted me around, you made  sure I could stay," he says, sweeping my hair back again. "I know what  peer pressure is like. I don't hold it against you."

"Still, if I could go back … "

He interrupts me with a soft kiss.

"There are dozens of things everyone would do differently if they could  just go back. How about instead, you move forward," he says, reaching  down and taking the box in his hands. I sit up and take it from him,  then stand and carry it to my bathroom. I dump the few remaining pills  into the toilet and flush them away, watching the water swirl as they  disappear. Except for this weekend, I haven't craved them for months-but  now that they're gone, I feel weak.

"How are you so strong?" I ask Wes, my eyes still on the water. I need  to know, because I feel so helpless right now, but I also still have so  many questions about him.

"I'm not," he says.

My eyes close as a breathy laugh escapes me. I nod slowly, but then  begin shaking my head, moving to the bathtub edge where I sit down, my  hands gripping either side while I look at him.

"You are. You know what I mean," I say, my head sideways. He holds my  stare for nearly a minute before pulling his hands from his pockets and  looking at them, stretching the fingers out slowly, his face void of any  expression at first, until his brow pinches and he grows pensive.

"I was helping TK change the oil on the truck last night," he begins. My  chest tightens, because I feel like he's avoiding my question. I'm  frustrated, and my eyes flutter while my mind races, wanting to beg him  to stop avoiding my question. But something about the way he keeps  telling the story halts me. I listen. "We were using the jack, the one  for tire changing?" His eyes come up to meet mine, and he holds his  breath for several seconds before looking back into his palms. "I was  under the truck when the jack slipped."

He steps forward, open palms facing me.

"I grabbed the axle and exhaust," he says, his eyes on the same hands  I'm looking at-the ones that are soft, no calluses or scars. His hands  are virgin of any trauma at all. "I told TK I rolled out just in time.  But I didn't. It should have burnt the shit out of my hands."

My gaze flicks up to him, but his eyes are still on his palms, his face  wearing a hint of shock. I run my fingers lightly over his skin until my  hands are flat against his. I let their weight fall into his hold and  his fingers slowly curl around mine.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Joss. I don't know why I don't get  hurt, or how I can anticipate things before they happen. The first time I  did it was with you, when we were kids," he says, his eyes squarely on  mine now. He doesn't blink, and his gaze burns through me. He looks  scared.

"Maybe you're just special," I smile, standing up to be closer to him. I can feel his body shake slightly.

"Joss," he whispers, looking back down at our hands, weaving them  together more tightly, pulling them into his chest. "I'm not special.  But I'm strong … I guess. Or maybe I'm fast. I don't know. I can stop a  lot of bad things from happening. But I can't stop that … " he says, his  gaze moving to the empty box on the edge of the tub, then to the toilet  where I just flushed my pills.

"I can't save you from that," he says, his eyes drifting to our feet.  "That's my limit. I cannot keep you safe from you. You have to do that  for me. And I'm so afraid you won't."

His confession slams into me. That's why I brought him here, why I  needed him to hold my hand through this, through getting rid of the  poison I used to seek to take me away. I knew it would be hard. And I  know I am inherently weak when it comes to feeling. I have wounds from  my mother's leaving and my father's drinking that have been bleeding for  years. The Band-Aids have only put off coping with the actual source of  the pain. But I don't know if I'm strong enough to keep walking  away … not without him holding my hand.         

     



 

"I'll fight so hard, Wes. I promise," I say, my eyes swimming in his. He  doesn't respond, but the way he pulls me tight tells me he believes me.  He knows I'm a fighter. That's what he loves about me-the way I fight.

He loves me.

He said so.

And I love him back so very much.





Fifteen





"Your dad is pisssssssed off!" Kyle says as I round the gym toward my  locker room. He grabs my arm and walks me backward, until we're hidden  behind the maintenance shed and giant dumpsters.

It stinks here.

"Nothing really new there, and can we not have this conversation by the  lunch leftovers? It fucking smells," I say, folding my arm over my face.  Kyle pulls me against the wall next to him.

"No, your dad is on the other side of the building-so no, we can't. I  just wanted to warn you," he says, craning his neck and looking around  the wall. He steps out a little and lets out a puff of air, his  shoulders relaxing. "I think he went back inside."

I smack him in the chest hard to get his attention.

"Owwww, damn!" he says, brow knitted as he looks at me, offended.

"What's up with the kidnapping?" I ask, my arms out.

He purses his lips and shakes his head. "You went AWOL all day, and for  once, your dad was looking for you. He tried to pull you out of third  period," Kyle says.

"What? Doesn't he have some PE class or something during that time? And  whatever. I went home, Wes was with me. I had shit to deal with. I kinda  have a lot on my mind, and that's kinda his fault … " I say, stopping  when I see the expression fall over Kyle.

Wes was with me.

"I'm sorry," I say, taking a deep breath. I let my gaze fall down to the  ground and I kick my foot forward, swinging it. I look back up to find  him sucking in his top lip.

"It's okay," he shakes his head.

"No, it's not. It's awkward, you hearing about me being with Wes, and I'm sorry I just blurted it out like that," I say.

His eyes come up to meet mine, and his smile is crooked.

"Yeah, it's … awkward. But still … don't hide it. You shouldn't have to hide it. And I'm good with Wes," he says.

I hold my tongue and keep my gaze on his just long enough to know he's  telling me the truth. I'll probably still try to shield him from Wes and  me, but it's good to know that he doesn't resent me, or Wes, for our  feelings. There was no stopping them.

"Speaking of the shit you're dealing with. Are you … are you dealing?"  Kyle lets the question linger, and it means so many things. He knows I  like talking about my mom almost as much as he likes talking about his  since his parents divorced a few years ago. Kyle and I turn to  destruction to cope when life gets hard-and we've always turned to one  another as allies for distraction. But it's starting to feel like we can  lean on each other differently now, without risk.

"I'm dealing. I haven't done anything stupid either, if that's what you  mean," I say, resting back against the large recycling bin hiding us  from view.

"Well that's a relief. I know how you like stupid things," Kyle says, his familiar grin punctuating his response.

"I like you, don't I?" I say, punching his arm lightly. He laughs, but it fades quickly.

"Yeah, well … I'm a pretty stupid thing," he says.

The awkward quiet starts to creep in, but before it becomes too much, I return us to the reason Kyle dragged me back here.

"So why's my dad looking for me? What's wrong? Any other estranged  relatives pass away? Or is he just looking for a designated driver?" I  don't bother to laugh through my sarcasm; it rings too true.

"Your dad quit the team this morning, Joss," Kyle says, his lip pulled  into his teeth while he looks at me as if this is something I should  already know. My mind is still trying to understand the words Kyle just  said. The thought of my dad giving up the team feels like a goodbye, it  makes me worry-for him.

"What?" I ask, my wide eyes a direct reflection of the shock I'm going through.

"You didn't know? Shit, I thought he at least told you that much. This  morning, he told us all … damn … after you and Wes left," Kyle says, piecing  it together. "He said it was time, that he had to refocus on his life,  and that the assistant coaches were ready, blah blah. I don't know, the  timing was all just really weird."

"No," I say, stepping away from him. I look around the corner, spotting  my father's car-it's still in the lot. "It's not weird timing at all.  He's shutting down. He was gone so much last week, Kyle."         

     



 

I scan the campus, but everyone has gone. I notice a few players  starting to straggle from the boy's locker room, and I know Wes will be  coming out soon too, expecting my father to be there waiting for him, to  mentor him.

I'm sorry, Wes. Eric Winters has just quit on you too.