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My words trail off when Rome jerks me by the arm, pulling me away from the crowd.
The next thing I know, my spine is slammed into the side of the house and I’m staring back into the eyes of Satan—the same ones that bore into mine in the storage closet earlier today.
“Jesus Christ,” I bellow. “You want a thank you for catching me, then thank you.” Rome really has no chill.
“You think this is about me catching you? It’s not!” he shouts. I glance around and suddenly realize no one would be able to hear me over the music if something were to happen. “This just adds to the number of times I’ve saved your ungrateful ass. You wanna know why I didn’t play in the game tonight? It’s because I was benched for half the season…because of you.”
My eyes go wide in shock, my jaw practically on the ground as I stare at Rome, waiting for him to tell me he’s fucking with me. But he doesn’t. In fact, he shows no sign that this is a joke. There is no way he got put on the sidelines for half the season for throwing gum in my hair.
“Well shit, Freckles. Cat got your fucking tongue? You don’t even give a damn, do you?”
“I do…I do care, Rome. I don’t understand, though. How can I be to blame for you being benched?” My voice cracks as I speak, an immense amount of guilt heavy on my chest for reasons unbeknownst to me.
“I’m suspended from playing because of the nice little assault charge on my record. Because some rat decided to call the cops on me last year—Ravencrest fucking cops.”
No!
My mind goes blank as I stare at Rome. A flood of memories from a year ago come rushing back to me. Those icy blue eyes, his voice as he told me to run. I’ve thought about the guy who saved me for so long, and here he is—standing right in front of me.
And the rat he’s referring to is me. I called the cops—but not on Rome. I called them so he could have backup because those guys were ganging up on him.
This explains so much. The constant jabs, the pranks, the threats. Him thinking I owe him my life. Rome truly does hate me, because he blames me for his suspension and I have no doubt that charge caused a lot of other things to happen in his life over the past year.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea…”
I reach out and touch his forearm, but he jumps back. His head shakes in utter disappointment. “You ruined everything. I lost my offer to play ball in college. No one wants me now. My whole future went up in flames because of that impulsive fucking phone call.” He clenches his fists as some of his hair falls in his face, and I see it all now.
The knife just keeps digging deeper into my chest. He lost so much and it’s all my fault.
“Rome,” I whisper, trying again as I reach for him.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” He backsteps before dragging his fingers through his hair and walking back toward the front of the house.
When Rome said I ruined his life, he meant it.
Tears blur my vision as I watch him walk away, his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved into his pants pockets. Rome saved me from those guys last year, and when I thought I was helping him, I was actually digging the grave for his future as a football player.
Brady walks up to Rome and hands him a cup. In a violent motion, Rome smacks the red cup out of Brady’s hand. It flies through the air, beer spilling in its wake before the cup hits the ground.
Brady’s eyes are wide with caution as he comes toward me, my back still flush against the side of his house. “What the hell is his problem?”
It’s not my place to share Rome’s troubles, so I just shrug my shoulders. “It’s Rome. Everything is a problem to him.”
I know I should leave Rome alone and give him time to calm down, but the agonizing ache in my chest tells me I need to go after him and try to fix this. Explain to him that I didn’t have ill intentions when I called the police. Maybe then he’ll forgive me and let me off the hook he’s hung me on.
“Actually,” I say as I jump away from the house, taking small steps toward the front as I speak. “I forgot to tell Rome something important. I’ll meet you out back, okay?”
His eyebrows nearly hit his forehead. “You’re sure it’s a good idea to go after him when he’s in a mood?”
“I live with the jerk. I can handle him.” Before Brady can say anything to stop me, I jog out front. My eyes scour every face in search of Rome and after a minute of looking, I find him. Stopping for a second, I watch as he walks up the stairs to the front door. A couple people try to talk to him—stop him—but he brushes them off and keeps moving forward with his head down.
I pick up my pace and hurry up the stairs and through the front door, only to be submerged in what looks like a mosh pit at a heavy metal concert. A crowd is gathered at the entrance. Some trying to enter, others trying to leave. The musky scent of sweat fills my senses and when I look up, I see why. Right beside me is a guy who is at least six and half feet tall with his hands in the air holding a large cooler. “Out of the way, assholes,” I hear him say as he makes his way through the door.
I'm at a standstill, waiting for people to move, because no matter how hard I push, someone pushes back harder.
Feeling defeated, I’m about to turn around when I see Rome going up a winding staircase. I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, “Rome!” But my effort is futile as my small voice is swallowed up by the riotous sounds around me.
“For the love of God. Let me through,” I whisper-yell. Then, giving it all I’ve got, I lunge forward, breaking through the wall of bodies. Once I’m away from the entrance, I’m happy to see there is breathing room.
