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“You enjoy this too much.” There’s a bite to his tone that rubs me wrong.
“Let’s not pretend you don’t enjoy giving me shit too.” I shove to my feet.
“Yeah, but did you ever consider I have a lot going on? That I’m stressed the fuck out? Then you had me making an extra trip to the metal yard only to find out you bought it and probably sold it to someone else!”
I try not to flinch at his accusation. I know I’m a dick, but am I really that bad? He thinks I would buy the part, tell him about it, and then sell it to someone else? I would never do that. As much as I hate anyone having that much control over my emotions, it hurts that he thinks I would. “Fuck you, Troy.”
“Fuckme? Fuckyou. I’m not the asshole here.”
Apparently, I am. Even more so than I thought. Hearing him say that makes me feel lower than it should, so I shut it off and try not to feel anything at all.
Without a word, I walk to the hallway, open the closet, and grab the box with the alternator. “Here’s your part. Your big bad stepbro bought it for you.” When he looks from it to me but doesn’t take it, I set it down. “You can go now.”
“You didn’t buy that for me.”
“Oh, now you’re a mind reader?” I toss back.
“What am I supposed to think when you sent me there for a part you already bought?”
Again, a sharp stab of hurt pierces my gut. I might like to get under his skin, but none of it is supposed to be cruel. Selling a part out from under him would be cruel. “Notthat I would tell you, get your hopes up, buy it, and then sell it to someone else—definitely not that. Maybe I’m wrong here and it was a bad joke, and maybe I should have told you before you drove out there, but I assumed you’d see it as me giving you shit.” That’s what we always do to each other.
His gaze softens, forehead wrinkling like he’s deep in thought. When the corners of his mouth turn down, I’m pretty sure he realizes I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe it’s just that he has so much going on, he wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Fuck…fuck.” Troy tugs on the strands of his hair with both hands, then walks over and sits down on the couch. “I’m a dick.”
“That makes two of us.” Because I am, in fact, a dick. So maybe he was right in thinking that about me after all.
He chuckles softly. “You can’t really blame me. It’s not like you do that many nice things for me for no reason.”
I was pretty sure Icouldblame him, and also, that I did do nice things for no reason. But part of it is my own fault. People don’t know about Activate Kindness. Troy doesn’t know that while he thinks it was just me being a hothead when I got into the fight at his frat party, that it was really because I heard a homophobic prick say something about Troy. That shit wasn’t going to slide. Not around me.
“I’m just freaking the fuck out. This Thermo class is kicking my ass. I studied like crazy, and I still got an F. I’ve always been good at math and science. I just get it, so I don’t know what the hell I’m missing here. And then you saw my grade, and I’m sure you got a huge laugh out of that. On top of the alternator, and Mom packing up Brandon’s things, and—You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to get into this. Last thing I need is for you to use it against me.” He stands and starts walking toward the door, without his alternator, but I step in front of him. “Move,” Troy orders.
My thoughts are suddenly going in a direction I’m not sure I like. The thing is, Troy is smart as fuck. I know he can figureout this Thermo shit. Sometimes he just needs a little push, something to inspire him.
An idea forms in my head, one that part of me wants to totally pretend I never had because it would mean letting him know something about me I don’t want him to know, something that makes me feel raw and seen. It’s no secret that I don’t like opening up, showing people the real parts of me, and volunteering is one of my biggest secrets. The people who matter—Glen, Ellie, Troy, my friends—I just don’t know how to let them in. There’s already enough shit between me and Troy, enough complicated feelings. The last thing I want is to give him this.
But then, this is who we are, Troy and me. We make dumbass bets and do stupid shit. He’s clearly a fucking mess because Troy is perfect and has probably never gotten an F in his life, and though I’ll never admit it, I don’t like to see him this way. “What if I have a way to help you?”
7
Troy
“Youhave away to helpmewith my grades?”
After assuming the worst about him while he actually bought me the alternator, maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt, but what if he’s fucking with me because of what an ass I was about it? It’s hard not to be skeptical.
“If you’re just gonna assume I can’t, then you’re welcome to leave.” He steps out of my path. I’m tempted to head straight for the door, but as is Atlas’s talent, he said the one thing that can keep me on the hook. I’ve never withdrawn from a class in my life over my grades. I don’t hide from my problems; I face them head-on.
“What is it?” I ask as he plops back down on the couch. He opens a pizza box on the coffee table and grabs a slice of pepperoni, eating it as though I’ve already walked out. “Atlas?”
Chewing, he leans back on the cushion, his gaze wandering like he’s working something out in his head. After he swallows, he says, “You remember that panty bet we made junior year?”
“How could I forget it?”
“Remember what it was about? You were running your mouth that the Raptors were going to beat the Eagles, who were undefeated that season—”
“Yeah, I remember how annoyed you were.”
