“It’s not the same.” She seethed. “After what you told me . . . you shouldn’t have to do this.”
Donna knew how abhorrent the idea of violence was to me now, and here I was, about to throw myself into an actual fighting pit. She was trying to look out for me, just as I’d been trying to look out for her all this time. Only difference was, she’d been doing stupid, dangerous shit as an escape. I was about to do some stupid, dangerous shit for a good cause. For her. To protect her.
I rubbed her upper arms and spoke in a low voice, ignoring the others. “Better me than anyone else. My soul is already black.”
She shook her head, her gaze pleading.
“You two done whispering sweet nothings over there?” Amaya barked.
I stepped away from Donna and fixed her sister with a look. “Get everything you have on Frydenberg ready to send to the police.”
She nodded, and I turned to Drew.
“Keep us updated on any changes, but don’t go to the next fight if you can avoid it. Just be ready to talk to the cops when it goes down.”
Another firm nod.
“The rest of you, we all need to pretend like nothing’s changed. Especially around Will. We should definitely not be seen together.”
“Also, don’t text or call each other about this,” Harlow rushed to add.
“I’ll get word to Donna when I have a date and location for the fight,” I said. “If I don’t check in twenty minutes after going in, that’s your confirmation Will’s there. That’s when you do all you can to get the cops there.”
“We’ll make it happen.” Turner looked determined.
“All right.” There was nothing left to say, so I turned to walk back to my house. The others moved in the opposite direction—to where the path led to another street.
“I’ll be home later,” Donna called, then caught up with me, pulling on my elbow. “Wait. Can we talk?”
I just kept walking. “There’s no other way, Donna. It’s late, and I haven’t slept in two days. I’m exhausted.”
“It’s not about that.” She kept pace, looping her arm through mine.
I slowed down and peered at her. Her expression looked uncertain—almost nervous. I wanted to pull her against me so badly, kiss her little nose, which was almost definitely frozen in this weather. But I had no idea where we stood. Not wanting me to get killed was a long way from actually wanting . . . whatever. I hadn’t even allowed myself to fully consider what I wanted from her.
But that look on her face . . . she didn’t look as though she wanted to lay into me or use me as a distraction. It looked like something else. Something more.
“OK,” I said, relenting. “But let’s get out of the cold.”
She nodded. Her hand slid down until it joined my hand in my pocket, and we threaded our fingers together.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hendrix
Donna and I were silent as we collected our phones, crossed the yard, and made our way up to my bedroom. I didn’t drop her hand until I was closing my bedroom door with a subdued click.
She was draping her coat over my desk chair when I turned around; I had to stop myself from rushing over to tidy up the mess of books and papers and pens littering the surface. The sweatshirt she was wearing underneath had a neon-pink pair of puckered lips on the front. It was so clearly not hers it made me smile faintly.
I took a few soft steps toward the lamp, then decided against it. Our eyes were already adjusted to the dark, and the curtains I’d left open earlier were letting in enough light. The moonlight made her hair look silver, ethereal, the soft angles of her face cast in gentle shadow as she looked around. Her eyes wandered to the desk, the bed, the window, everything but me.
I came to stand directly in front of her, not even sure what I wanted her to say. But she was here, and I couldn’t find it in me to be anything but pleased.
She looked up at me and swallowed, reached out, then dropped her hands and balled them into fists at her sides. She was clearly anxious, but her brave eyes never left mine as she licked her lips and took a big breath.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and clenched her jaw—as if the words didn’t taste right on her tongue. Or as if she was bracing for my response.
I frowned. “What for?”
“All of it,” she breathed. “For being a bitch to you when you first got here, for making your life hell, for not seeing you were just trying to help me, for not seeing what I was doing to you and to myself. The willful ignorance . . .” She shook her head, that silver-blonde hair falling partly over one eye. “For blaming you for my friends seeing me in that state last night. For the posters and Will and Drew and this whole mess. I’m sorry for all of it.”
She squared her shoulders and gave me one firm nod, ready to accept whatever I threw at her, however I reacted. So strong even in her humility.
I moved closer and allowed myself a single touch—a brush of my fingers against her temple as I tucked that lock of hair behind her ear—before I forced my hands down to my sides. Just because she was here, just because she was apologizing, didn’t mean she wanted more from me.
“I gave as good as I got.” My voice was as low as hers but just as decisive. “I goaded you, Donna, and a part of me wanted my life to be hell. I didn’t feel like I deserved happiness, friends, light after what I’d done. As for the other shit, I chose to follow you and push you, and I was probably crossing lines and sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, and for that I’m sorry too.” She shook her head and opened her mouth to object, but I rushed on before she could. “As for Will and Drew and that whole mess—I promise you none of that is your fault. I was getting dragged into that shit before Will realized there was anything between us. That’s not on you.”
She searched my gaze for a long time, then gave a tiny nod and a barely audible “OK.”
“OK.” I resisted the urge to pull her against me, hold her, protect her, devour her. There was barely a sliver of moonlight between us, our bodies drifting closer and closer.
“Hendrix?” Those round, perfectly imperfect, mismatched eyes still held me prisoner in my own room.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. For pushing me. For seeing what was happening when no one else did—when even I didn’t let myself see the extent of it.”
“I’d do it all again in a heartbeat, take every mean thing you said and did, to make sure you were safe.”
“I know.” She reached up and finally touched me, gripping my shoulders. “I know . . . I . . .”
My heart beat so fucking hard in my chest I was sure the thudding would wake the neighbors. I dared not speak as she tried to get whatever she was trying to say out. But with a slight shake of her head, she gave up on words altogether.
Instead, she lifted onto her toes and tilted her face up to mine, her eyes already half-closed as I reacted to her—naturally, instinctually. My hands went to her back as I met her halfway in a kiss. Her nose was still cold from being outside so long, but her lips . . . her lips were warm and soft and perfect.