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“How do you know that?” I pick up my pen but can’t even pretend to pay attention to what the teacher is writing. “I thought you and Nate weren’t talking.”
“We’re not.”
“Why aren’t you? When are you going to tell me what went down between you two that day at your apartment?”
“Nothing.”
“Whatever, West.”
He shrugs. “It was really nothing. He thought I’d kissed you, and was acting like a moron, and in any case, me not talking to him doesn’t give him excuses to get into fights.”
“He thought you kissed me? Why would he….? Wait.” The rest of what he said sinks in, and while I want to hear more about why Nate thought what he thought and how that got them fighting, there’s another bit that seems to matter more right now. “He got into a fight? Nate? He’s never done that before.”
“You only moved here a year ago,” West mutters. “Never is a long time.”
“What are you saying?”
“Only that he used to get into fights a whole fucking lot. It got better for a while, around the time you appeared. And now…” He stabs his pen into the paper, leaving a black smear over his notes, his mouth flattening. “Now he’s backsliding. First the bruises, and now the fights.”
I open my mouth to ask what the bruises have to do with anything, when the teacher comes to stand over us.
“Ms. Carvajal, Mr. Brady. Anything you wanted to share with us? Maybe something about Boyle’s Law?” She gestures at the board behind her.
All I can think of is that she’s interrupting a really important discussion, and then I think, God I hope she doesn’t ask for my parents to come to school. I’m gaping at her, and West is glaring—his default state when he’s confused or upset.
Thankfully the bell rings before I say anything stupid, and before West starts growling. Sometimes I suspect he’s a werewolf, I swear, or at least a distant relative.
He gathers his stuff, shoves it into his backpack and starts toward the door. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
“Did Nate walk you home yesterday?” he asks as we cross the street.
“I took the bus. But yeah, he was with me.”
Nate usually walks me home Tuesdays, but yesterday I got my period and seriously, menstrual cramps suck.
He nods approvingly. “Good. Theo and his gang have been out and about a lot more lately, and I wouldn’t want you running into them alone.”
Suppressing a shiver at the mention of the school bullies—my nemesis from day one, back when I didn’t have Nate and West at my back, just after I first arrived.
“Talk to him, West. I saw him the other day, and…” I try to find words for the look on his face. “And he looked tired.”
He shoves his hands into his pant pockets, gaze shuttered. “We all are.”
I shoot him a sharp look, and yeah, he appears tired. Dark circles under his eyes, his face pale. “More bad dreams?” I venture.
He doesn’t reply, nor do I expect him to. I guess this whole mess affected West more than he wants to admit. Nate wears his heart on his sleeve. He runs, he shakes, he pukes, he spills his guts to me about his fear that West hates him—but West doesn’t.
He won’t talk about it, won’t let it out.
Won’t let me in. Won’t even let me close anymore, and it hurts more than I’d like to admit to myself.
“Those bruises on Nate.” The sun is heating my skin, and I seek the shadow of the trees that line the street. “You mentioned them again. Tell me honestly, was that your sparring?”
West shoves sweaty dark hair out of his face, and some emotion flashes behind his sky-blue eyes. “How the hell can I know?”
“Oh, cut the BS, West. I know when you’re lying to me.”
At least I think so.
