AllFreeNovel
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Me: Can you please slap me in the face the next time I see you?
Isla: Damn, the drama. What’s up, girlfriend? Is it that Sabine woman?
Me: Oh, you know, just watching Spence undress a gorgeous blonde with his beautiful eyes. Nothing too dramatic here.
Isla: You ever going to tell him you have feelings for him, Dec? How’s Kade? *winking emoji* Or is it Kade you think you wanna try things with now? You have to keep me up to date, girlfriend.
Fuck. I want to scream.
Spence was the guy who was there for me when I switched high schools my freshman year after the fallout at my previous high school. He was the one who, quite literally, healed my wounds and helped me see that life could be something more than what it was. I owe him my life in so many ways, and I can’t just throw it all away. Kade ripped me into a thousand pieces after I let my walls down.
Me: Never.
I slide my phone back into my pocket, letting Isla decipher what my Never was in reply to, and stand as Miller pulls me into his side.
“I already know what you’re thinking. She’s got nothing on you, Declan.” He looks down at me as he lets his dark hair down, smooths it, and then flips it backward, retying it into a little man knot. I’d chop it off myself if it didn’t look so good on him. “So knock it off.”
I laugh and it hits me for the millionth time—these guys are like my brothers. Miller, Bordeaux, and Flynn—my band. The guys I can count on for anything. They know me better than I know myself most days.
I catch myself looking over at Spence again, and I can’t help but allow myself to be taken over by the first time I met him. The moment replays in my mind often, no matter how much I wish I could forget that time in my life. I don’t want to remember those memories from the weeks and days before I met Spence Reid.
“You’re bleeding.”
His voice is smooth. Velvet and honey collide, swirling together. I turn toward him, follow his gaze to where it’s fixated on my shirt sleeve.
Shit.
I should have put more bandages on my self-inflicted wounds. Hell, I shouldn’t have them in the first place, but here I am, standing in the middle of the school library, bleeding through my shirt like a fucking basket case.
“Can I help?” he asks, his eyebrows knitting together. I look at him, really look at him, for the first time now. His eyes are the first thing I notice before immediately looking away, looking anywhere other than at his penetrating stare. Brown… but green. Hazel, but not. Something entirely different than I’ve ever seen.
The lightest of dark, the most soul-piercing blend of the prettiest hues, too beautiful for words. Despite only briefly taking them in, they stick in my mind like glue.
Warm liquid seeps down my arm, a demanding ache pulsating just underneath my skin.
“Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my hand before I can utter a protest. His palm is smooth, warmth to my ice.
I trail behind him as we quickly walk out the library’s side door. He strides in front of me in dark denim jeans, his white T-shirt clinging to his frame, the cuffs of the short sleeves tightly circling his large biceps.
“Can you tell me what we’re doing?” It’s the first words I say, and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around, doesn’t acknowledge me. Not until we’re in an abandoned office that is very clearly for a nurse. I scan over wellness posters telling me about food groups and body dysmorphia.
“We’re going to clean you up,” he says, and there’s that voice again. It’s got to be the most soothing sound I’ve ever heard. My stomach spins at the thought that a voice can be so calming to me, but it is. And I don’t understand why.
He opens a few cabinets before finding what he’s looking for—bandages and antiseptic.
“Come here,” he says, beckoning me with a nod of his head as we walk toward a sink.
“Where’s the nurse?” I ask. “I’m fine, really. I’ll just wait for her, and you can go back to class.” I know there’s not a chance in hell I’m waiting here for a school nurse to diagnose my crazy and call my mother.
He turns back, bandages and antiseptic still in hand, and just looks at me. He sets down the first-aid supplies and reaches toward me. I wait a beat.
Our fresh start wasn’t supposed to begin with some beautiful boy seeing my scars. Some beautiful boy I don’t know, who I’ve never met, who can tell this entire new school what he sees and ruin everything before it even has a chance to not suck. He can tell the entire sophomore class that I’m crazy and everything could blow up in flames.
But for some reason, I don’t feel like he’s going to set my life ablaze.
If anything, he’s trying to control the chaos.
“Please?” he says, although it’s more of a demand and less of a question. His voice is deeper than before, more desperate.
