Spinning Out(The Blackhawk Boy #1)(43)

"I'm just thinking." I shift and take a deep breath. He's going to think  I'm crazy. I should be able to drop this, but I can't. "I have this big  list of people who got body work done, but except for my crazy gut  reaction about Coach, nothing's jumping out at me. And I know you're  right and I should probably let it go, but I have this list and I feel  like I should do something. What if one of those people is responsible  for what happened?"

He puts down his fork and swallows his bite. "Why is it so important  that you find out? You don't strike me as an eye-for-an-eye type. Is it  just about revenge? Justice?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah. The truth."

"I can't stand everyone thinking my brother was responsible. He screwed  up. He was a teenager and thought it'd be easier to take care of me and  Dad if he was dealing. And I'm not saying it was right, and I'm not  saying there aren't other ways to get by, but he wasn't the horrible,  hardcore gangbanger the people in this town paint him as. After my mom  left, he saw an easy way to make money, and he took it." I take a drink  of my tea, hoping to wash down the memory of the disappointment I felt  when the police found the meth in Nic's trunk. I was in high school and  had always idolized him, and he let me down. But I do believe he learned  his lesson, and when he was released from prison, he didn't touch  drugs. No using. No dealing. "As long as no one is arrested for this  crime, people will go on thinking Nic was dealing again. They'll think  this horrible tragedy happened because he couldn't stay out of the  game."

"I guess I understand that," he says. "The accident reports weren't any help?"

"Accident reports?" I ask.

He grins. "Yeah. You can get them online-assuming a report was filed."

"I didn't know that."

"I'll tell you what. I'll do it for you. I should have some free time in  the next few days or so. You have a lot going on with the Woodisons and  Brogan and everything."

"Thanks. That means a lot to me."

"I do want to help you," he says. "I like you, Mia."

I stare at him a long time. "I like you too, Sebastian. But . . ."

He groans. "I knew that but was coming."

This should be easy, but it's not. After months of feeling so little,  I'm overwhelmed with emotions that seem to contradict each other. One  moment, I'm frustrated with Arrow and confused about where I stand with  him, and the next I'm so swamped by grief I can hardly breathe. Brogan  is dying, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Even if I should give  Sebastian a real chance, I don't have the emotional energy. "No, it's  just that I like you too, but I'm not ready."                       
       
           



       

He picks up his fork and nods. "Okay, but for now . . . friends?"

I smile, relieved. "Yeah. Friends would be great. Thank you."



I lie in my room in the darkness and listen to the fall of Arrow's footsteps down the hall.

When I came home from my date with Sebastian, Arrow was out at the pool  with Mason, Chris, and a few others I don't know very well. I heard  everyone leave half an hour ago, and I've been lying here trying to  convince myself not to go to Arrow. I don't care what Gwen thinks. My  reluctance to go to him isn't about her. But every time I think about  Brogan dying-about putting him in the ground in the same cemetery where  my brother is buried-I feel numb all over. I'm scared. I'm the tightrope  walker standing on her platform and knowing her net is gone, knowing  the only way forward is to take a step.

Arrow keeps telling me I didn't die that night, and I want that to be  true, but I'm not sure it is. I'm not sure I'm brave enough to keep  going.

With a deep breath and shaking hands, I go to his room and open the door  without knocking. He stands by the window, illuminated by the bedside  lamp. He's in a pair of gym shorts, his chest bare.

"Did I wake you?" he asks.

Closing the door behind me, I shake my head. "I wasn't sleeping."

"How are you holding up?"

I walk to him. I don't want to talk. And I know I shouldn't, but I take  his hand and slide it up my shirt, pressing it between my breasts and  against my beating heart.

He draws in a ragged breath and squeezes his eyes shut. "Mia."

I guide his hand down again, lead his fingertips to sweep across my  belly and under the waistband of my shorts. Through every inch I guide  his hand, his eyes lock on mine, dark, intense, as if he's searching for  truth.

"Touch me again," I whisper. I'm reaching out, trying to take that first step. Every inch of me trembles.

He grips my hip tightly and his eyes scan my face, study my lips, then  he releases me and steps back. "I can't, Mia." He turns back to the  window and buries his hands in his hair. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I just  can't."





This is my fault. I touched her. I lied to myself and touched her when I had no right.

I want to touch her so badly, I can practically feel the slick heat between her legs, but I can't. Not tonight.

Last semester, I tried everything to erase the memory of her from my  mind. Pot, meth, alcohol binges, lines of coke-nothing worked, and I was  lucky because even though the judge made me go to rehab, I wasn't an  addict. Even when I was chasing my next high, there was nothing I wanted  as much as I wanted Mia Mendez.

"You . . ." she whispers. "I thought . . ."

It's still true. I can't think of a single thing I want more than her.  Especially at this moment when these secrets are too much and my guilt  is too heavy. I could lose myself in her. Touching her would chase away  the ugliest parts of this world, let me hide from the ugliest parts of  myself.

And that's exactly why I can't do it.

"Mrs. Barrett called before I came up." I swallow hard as I watch her moment of mortification melt away. "I'm sorry, Mia."

"He's gone." She wraps her arms around her waist and squeezes her eyes  shut. "Shit. I'm sorry I came in here. I'm sorry I . . ." She shakes her  head and rushes from the room.

"Mia." I go after her, but she closes her door before I can get there. I  lean my head against it and spread my fingertips over the wood. "Don't  shut me out." I'm not being fair. I pushed her away, and now I'm asking  her to let me in.

"Go away, Arrow. I need to be alone."

Turning my back to the door, I lean against it and spot Gwen just outside the baby's door.

She studies Mia's closed door and then looks at me. "Would you tell Mia  that Uriah and I are taking an impromptu trip to Louisville? Mom's  keeping the baby, but we'll be gone a few days."

I grimace. "Brogan just died. The funeral will be this weekend."

She sighs heavily. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Dad should be there. It's not a bad drive. He could come back and-"

"It's not always about you, Arrow."

I clench my fists and bite my tongue. "Fine. Have fun."

She nods and starts toward the stairs, then stops and turns back to me.  "Piece of advice, Arrow?" She tilts her head to study my face. "About  Mia?"

I don't want any advice from her-especially not now and especially not  about Mia-and I can only set my jaw and stare at her, hoping she'll go  away.                       
       
           



       

Her façade seems to crumble with every second she stares back. No more  perfect trophy wife, only a vulnerable young woman. "Don't try to  compete with a dead man," she says. "The dead always win. Take it from  someone who knows."





The line at the visitation extends out the door of the Blackhawk Valley  Catholic Church and all the way around the block. It's full of college  students, football players, coaches, Blackhawk Hills University  professors and administration, and residents of Blackhawk Valley who  have probably known Brogan from the day he was born. Some of the crowd  he grew up with gathers here and there. Some of them make jokes, tell  stories, and laugh together while they wait. Others wait in complete  silence, stepping forward when they can, pausing when they must. A  receiving line of grief.

I keep thinking about what Brogan would think of this line. I think he'd  be surprised to see all these people came out for him. I think he'd  say, "Don't you all have something more interesting to do than stare at  me? I mean, I'm good-looking, but I'm still a dead guy."

But in a world full of ugliness, you just have to take the time to say  goodbye when you lose one of the good guys. And despite what Brogan  thought in those last lucid moments on Deadman's Curve, despite his  mistakes and terrible judgment that night, he was one of the best.