Page 18 of All Fall Down

Chapter Seven

Jameson weavesin and out of traffic, trying to keep up with the taillights of Hugo’s Porsche. I’m torn between my desire to batter him with questions and my need to clutch the armrest for dear life.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Jonas? About the picture?” His eyes flicker over to mine before returning to the pursuit.

“We haven’t really been talking,” I remind him through clenched teeth.

“And why is that, Duchess? Why are you avoiding me?”

I gasp as he narrowly misses a car pulling into traffic. “That’s kind of complicated.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’d rather you drive, West,” I hiss as he swerves into another lane. “Does he even know where he’s going?”

We’re not on the way to Jonas’s house, but Hugo hadn’t hesitated when he went flying out of the hospital parking lot. I’d barely slammed my door shut before we had to take off after him.

“Don’t change the subject,” Jameson warns me. “I’ve been patient, but if you wanted out, you could have told me.”

“Out?” I repeat. As if whatever this was between us could ever be that easy. “Why would you think that?”

I’m in love with you. My heart pounds against my chest as if trying to break free of the cage I’m keeping it in. It hurts like hell to hold the words back, but I know I have to until I know the truth.

Jameson slams on the brakes and I’m surprised to see we’re parked in front of the Belle Mère gymnasium. He shuts off the engine and dares one look at me. “Because why else would you want to hurt me?”

He’s out of the car and heading inside after Hugo before I can process what he’s said. Tears sting my eyes. I want him to understand. I want to explain why I’ve stayed away, but how can I? Either way, I’m destined to hurt him.

“Now is not the time,” I coach myself. It takes a good deal of effort to climb out of the car, but once my feet hit the pavement I’m running toward the double doors. I have no idea what anyone is doing here so late, but the school must not be locked up. Or Jonas has a key.

The scene that greets me looks as if it’s been staged. Jonas is frozen, basketball in hand, in the middle of the court with Hugo stopped a few feet away, screaming so loudly that I can’t understand him. Jameson glances at me from the door frame.

“Should we jump in?” I ask, my nerves rattled by Hugo’s fury.

“Give it a sec,” he advises, but we move closer. Jonas glances to us as if we might be able to explain what’s happening. But when my eyes meet his, Jonas turns away. It’s enough to confirm my suspicions. I’d given him a chance to come forward to me privately, offering him an out via text message, but he hadn’t taken it. Now he has to face the consequences.

“I don’t know what you’re asking me, man.” Jonas manages to punctuate Hugo’s screams with a response.

“Did you push her?” Hugo repeats, enunciating each word carefully.

“Who?” Jonas looks genuinely confused, but its neither a denial or a confession and Hugo is here for one or the other.

Hugo lunges at his best friend, knocking the ball out of his hands and sending them both flying into a heap.

“Who?” Jonas screams, but the repeated question is met with a right hook to his face.

“Did you push Leighton?” Hugo demands as we rush over to break up the fight, but before we reach them he’s started punching Jonas again.

“I wasn’t the one who pushed her.” Jonas’s answer is nearly lost as Hugo pummels him.

He doesn’t fight back, so by the time Jameson hauls Hugo off of him, Jonas’s face is already swelling from the repeated impact. Scrambling away from the court, Jonas slumps against the wall and wipes the back of his hand over his bloody lip. He inspects it for a second as if he’s surprised. “Let him go.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Jameson’s grip on Hugo doesn’t loosen.

“He’s my best friend,” Jonas says, “and I trust him to let me tell my side of the story. I wasn’t the one who pushed Leighton.”

“It’s your funeral,” Jameson mutters before he drops his hold on Hugo. Despite the rage radiating from Hugo, he stays still. I expected Hugo to pounce again. Even after his change of heart this summer, I didn’t think Hugo could help but allow himself to be more than a mass of impulses, especially given how angry he is at the moment. Apparently, Jonas does know him better than the rest of us.

“Start explaining,” Hugo orders. His hands are still clenched into fists, a reminder that he could strike at any time.