Her head came up and our eyes met. For a split second, her expression softened, then turned passive. Not pissed off but worse. As if I were inconsequential.
I deserve that. And it’s better this way.
As if to punctuate the fucked-up futility of it all, Frankie Dowd and Mikey Grimaldi called out to me and approached. Frankie was scrawny next to the bigger football player. Grimaldi usually hung out with his friends on the team but slummed it with Frankie now and then. Holden said it was their mutual lack of brain cells that brought them together.
“Trouble in paradise, Wentz?” Mikey pretended to check his watch. “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours and you fucked it up with Barrera already?”
“Yeah, Wentz.” Frankie cackled. He looked like an underfed hyena. “What did you do to piss her off?”
I stopped, leveled both of them with my flattest stare as they approached, while inside my blood was rushing, muscles coiling.
“It’s probably for the best,” Mikey said casually. “She’s a little out of your league, don’t you think?”
“A lot out of his league,” Frankie said. “But I hope you got some of that sweet ass before she came to her senses—”
His words choked off as my hand shot out and gripped him by the collar of his shirt. I hauled him to me until we were nose to nose. Frankie’s pale blue eyes lit up with fear but were manic with a wild energy too.
“Don’t fucking talk about her like that,” I seethed. “Don’t talk about her, ever.”
“Or what?” Frankie managed. His grin was full of yellowed teeth.
My fist twisted and tightened in his T-shirt, and we stared, locked in the moment where I battled with the urge to punch the smug smile off his face, to beat any thought of Shiloh out of his head…
“Go ahead, Wentz,” Frankie said. “What are you waiting for? You know you want to. Or are you scared of the consequences…?”
“Fuck you.”
I wasn’t afraid. Not for me.
You’re not like him, my mother’s voice whispered.
But what if I was?
My grip on Frankie loosened.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Holden sidled up beside me in a long coat and scarf, though it was warm out. He put his hands in the pockets of his slacks and rocked back on his heels, casually taking in the scene. “Two nocturnal discharges about to have their asses handed to them by my dear Ronan.” He grinned. “And it’s not even noon.”
I released Frankie with a rough shove. He staggered back, relief flashing over his face then quickly replaced by a sneering grin.
“That’s what I thought,” he taunted. “Chickenshit.”
“This is an unexpected turn of events,” Holden muttered, shooting me a confused look.
“No, it isn’t,” Frankie said. “Wentz turned into a giant pussy.” His sneer sharpened. “Or maybe my dad broke you. Was that it?” He cocked his head. “I think that was it. He broke you like a dog.”
“A dog.” Mikey laughed. “Good boy, Wentz. Who’s a good boy?”
When I didn’t take the bait, he and Frankie high fived each other and walked away, still chuckling. I inhaled through my nose, forced my fists to uncurl.
I felt Holden’s eyes on me.
“Leave it alone, Parish,” I said and strode to our space on the low wall.
But Holden couldn’t leave it alone if you paid him. He joined me, leaning casually against the cement bricks.
“You feeling okay? Feverish? Delirious? The Ronan Wentz I know wouldn’t walk away from a chance to beat Dowd’s ass.” He narrowed his eyes. “Your name is Ronan, isn’t it?”
“Fuck off,” I said dully and glanced down at my calloused hands with their scarred knuckles. “I don’t always fight. Do I?”
Like father like son…
The teasing tone fell out of Holden’s voice instantly. “No. But when you do, it’s for a good cause. Like defending Miller and me at the Blaylock party.”
“You jumped in front of me when Frankie had the broken glass.”
“That was nothing. You were ready to take one for the team when Frankie pulled out the Taser. You did it out of pure honor whereas mine was more of a psychotic death wish.”
I glanced over at him. “You still have a death wish?”
“Life and I have called a truce. For now.”
“Keep it that way.”
“What’s the fun in that?” Holden waved a hand. “Forget me. I heard what Frankie said about Shiloh. If I didn’t know how you are about things like ‘talking,’ my feelings would be horribly wounded that you haven’t shared whatever’s going on there.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
Holden coughed, “Bullshit,” into his fist. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?”
“That you need to stay away from her. For her sake. To heroically protect her from whatever you think it is she needs protecting from while sacrificing your own needs and desires, blah blah blah.” He rolled his eyes.
“I do have to protect her.”
“From Frankie fucking Dowd?”
From his father. And mine.
I didn’t answer.
“You haven’t brought her to the Shack.”
“I asked. She said no.”
Holden blinked. “Oh.”
I raised a brow. “So it is possible for you to shut the fuck up.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
He started to speak again but I cut him off. “Stay out of my business, Parish.”
Holden sulked, then nodded his chin at something across the quad. “Oh look. Here comes my other dumbass friend, being miserable instead of being with his one true love.”
I looked to where Miller walked with Amber Blake. They’d hooked up at Homecoming. He felt he owed it to her to stick around while trying to get over Violet at the same time.
It wasn’t working.
Amber went to kiss him goodbye and got only a peck on the lips. She snapped at him, tossed her long blond hair behind her, and stormed away. Miller’s shoulders slumped and he joined us at the wall.
He frowned at our silence. “What?”
“We were just admiring you and Amber,” Holden said. “The very picture of relationship bliss. Blinding, really, how radiant you two are in your happiness.”
I shot Miller a commiserating glance. “He’s in a fucking mood.”
“I can tell,” Miller said with a small smile, then sighed. “Not today, Holden. You either,” he said to me, since I usually gave him just as much shit for staying with Amber.
“Ronan is in no position to talk,” Holden said. “The two of you are the poster boys for pointless self-sacrifice and deprivation.”
Miller frowned. “What’s he talking about?”
“No idea.” I cocked my head at Holden, my stare hard and pointed. “Seen any good football games, lately?”
His mouth shut with a clack. “Assholes, the both of you,” he said and walked away, his coat flaring behind him.
Miller’s brow furrowed. “What was that about?”
“It’s Holden,” I said with a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”