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Shaking my head and fighting back a smile, I look at Blaise. “Am I going to have to come over here every morning?”
“Maybe,” he replies distractedly, fumbling to get his keys out of his pocket. Then he turns for the door, nodding for me to follow.
As I trudge after him, Rhyland whispers to me, “Go easy on him this morning, okay? He’s really stressed out about some stuff and is having a rough morning.” He doesn’t wait for me to nod, just brushes his finger along the inside of my wrist and takes off down the hallway.
Goosebumps sprout across my flesh where he touched me, and my stomach flutters a bit, but I’m going to dismiss it as indigestion.
“You coming?” Blaise asks grumpily from the doorway and drawing me from my thoughts.
My initial instinct is to fire a snarky remark at him, but Rhyland’s words replay in my head, so I end up just nodding. Call me a softy, but I have a tender spot for people who are stressed out, especially eighteen-year-olds who have guardianship over their younger brothers, and maybe his sister, too.
While mine and Blaise’s stories aren’t exactly the same, they’re pretty close. What I wonder, though, is: how did he get guardianship of his siblings? Not just in the sense of legal terms, but what led him to the point where things were so bad that he decided he needed to become a parent at eighteen? It’s kind of remarkable when I really think about it, and tragically sad at the same time. That he had to do something so selfless—giving up his future for his siblings. And as much as I’ve despised Blaise over the last week or so, I question if he’s a better person than me in some ways.
Because, while I may ponder the idea of getting guardianship of my sisters, I’ve never actually looked into it, even with how bad my dad is getting. Instead, I’ve been daydreaming of taking off. Of makingmylife better.
Does that make me a bad person? A selfish one?
I’m not sure, but the thought makes a heavy amount of guilt weigh down on my shoulders.
17
HADLEY
Blaiseand I spend the next ten minutes silently driving toward town in his SUV. He doesn’t even turn the radio on to fill the silence. I’m left wanting to bang my head against the window. Seriously, I’m getting so desperate I’m even starting to miss arguing with him. Plus, he hasn’t told me where we’re going.
About fifteen minutes into the drive, Blaise receives a text. After reading the message, he mutters, “Fuck, he’s worse than I thought.” Then he drops his phone into the cupholder and grows quiet again.
Finally, I can’t take the maddening silence and uncertainty anymore.
“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going and what I’ll be doing for you?”
His jaw is set tight as he focuses on the road. “I’m still deciding what part I’m going to have you play in this. As for where we’re going, it’s to a house Alex is at.”
Okay, evasive much?
“And why are we going there?” I check the time on the dashboard clock. “And how long is this going to take? I’m supposed to drive my sisters to school this morning.”
“Shit, I didn’t even think about that.” He rakes his fingers through his hair then gives me a sidelong glance. “Can Londyn maybe drive them? This might take a bit.”
“How long is a bit? Because school starts in less than an hour.”
He rubs his lips together. “Yeah, you might be a little late.”
“Being late to school wasn’t part of the deal,” I stress. “And I can’t be late. Not after being tardy to all my morning classes yesterday, and then skipping out on the last half of the day.”
He looks at me with one hand resting on the wheel. “Yeah, I noticed you weren’t in last period. What was that about?”
“We have last period together?” I ask, and he nods. I’m not sure whether to frown or not. I don’t know how I feel about him after what I heard last night and with what Rhyland just told me.
Conflicted. That’s what I am. Conflicted because he sometimes seems like a nice guy, yet seems like an asshole other times.
The edges of his lips kick up into a smile, but his eyes remain clouded with worry. “Aw, come on. You don’t need to look so sad about it. I promise not to bug you too much. Or, well, at least I’ll try not to.”
“I’m not sad,” I reply with a shrug. “I’m undecided.”
His brow meticulously arches. “About what exactly?”
“About having you in my classes.”
