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I rear my head back at Patrick’s words. So, the guy does have a backbone. I give him a slow smile, perching the cigarette in between my lips as I clap his back. “There he is. Sorry if I’m being an ass.”
“It’s okay, I get it,” he says with a shrug. “My parents once sent me to football camp when I was ten. It was miserable. I think I cried myself to sleep every night.”
I appreciate his honesty and try not to feel bad for him. I can see why Patrick would have been picked on his entire life. He’s scrawny, wears these big glasses that take up too much of his face, and he’s too shy for his own good. I think if he showed a little bit more of that sass he gave me, he’d have no problem standing up to Bryce and Joshua, or anybody else who fucks with him.
“Do you think I can…can try one of those?” he asks, pointing at my cigarette.
I raise a single brow. “You want to smoke? I have some weed in my pack back in the bunks.”
“What? No. No drugs,” he says, his face turning red. “I’ve just never had a cigarette before.”
I shrug and hand him the one in between my lips. I only have a certain number of cigarettes, and I don’t want to waste them if he completely hates it. “Help yourself.”
He takes the cigarette gingerly between his fingers and flashes me a hesitant grin before taking a drag. I think it must go down the wrong hole or something because he immediately erupts in a fit of coughs so hard, I’m afraid he’s going to burst a blood vessel.
“Take it easy,” I say, rubbing his back as he continues to cough. “Maybe cigarettes just aren’t your thing?”
“Aw, look at this. The faggot’s comforting his boyfriend. How cute.”
I’m on my feet before I can think better of it. Bryce stands in front of Patrick and me, sneering at us with disgust. He must think he’s absolutely hilarious, but I don’t.
“Yeah, I’m a fucking faggot,” I snap, crowding his face as the rest of the group turns their gaze toward us. “What? Want me to suck your dick, Bryce?”
Bryce flushes and his fists clench by his side. “Fuck you. I don’t want your lips anywhere near me."
"Then what’s your fucking problem?” I ask, giving him a shove as he takes a step back. Bitch. “It’s the first day of camp. Just leave us the fuck alone.”
He shakes his head and laughs. “And where would be the fun in that? You two pussies are just too easy to rile up.”
I’m not known for thinking before I act. I never have been. I think that’s my excuse for why I lunge at Bryce, tackling him to the ground before I can think better of it.
He’s all talk because when I raise my fist in the air and slam it down on the corner of his mouth, he doesn’t do shit back. I can feel hands trying to pull me off him, but I’ve never been one to not finish what I start. Maybe a good ass-whooping is all it takes to get him to shut the fuck up. I could barely handle his big mouth for one day, so I don’t think I could take it for another three months.
Fists land on my temple, something hard hitting my side. I go down flat on my back, and I throw my hands up in front of my face just in time for Joshua to land a solid punch to my outstretched hands. I scramble onto my feet, fist poised in the air, ready to fucking retaliate, but a voice breaks through my violent haze.
“The three of you! Stop!”
I stumble as I turn and face Jarred who’s absolutely red with anger. His eyes dart between me, Joshua, and Bryce as he starts putting the pieces together. He marches up to the three of us, his veins jutting out of his forehead as he points at Bryce and Joshua. “You two. My office! Five a.m. tomorrow! The rest of you, go to bed!” I start to turn and walk away with the rest of the crowd until a hand on the crook of my elbow stops me. “Notyou. You’re coming with me.”
I groan as Jarred drags me away from the bonfire. He takes long strides that I struggle to catch up with as we head to the center of the camp. It isn’t until we pass the mess hall that I realize he’s taking me to the infirmary.
“This isn’t necessary,” I argue, trying to pull my arm away from him, but he has me in a grasp of steel.
“Don’t speak,” he growls, all but pushing me into the infirmary and slamming the door shut behind him. “I don’t want to hear you speak for at least five minutes. Now sit down and let me look at you.”
I hesitantly take a seat on one of the beds they have set up here, twiddling with my thumbs, but shooting him an angry glare as I do. I’m only following his directions because it’s better than bitch fighting with him right now.
“I didn’t think I needed to say it this morning, but fighting is against the rules,” he states, violently rummaging through the drawers until he finds what he’s looking for and pulls out some packets and gauze. “What were you thinking?”
“You want me to speak—”
“Be quiet!” He tears open one of the packets and stands between my spread legs, gripping my chin and angling my head back and forth. “A split eyebrow and a bloody lip. Do you think this is how I want my camp to be represented?”
“Well, not really—”
“Five minutes is not up! I’m going to get you patched up and then, and only then, can you speak!”
I nod and keep my mouth shut. I didn’t think Jarred had this in him. He’s so pissed off right now, his brown eyes like steel as he wipes away some blood from my eyebrow—careful to avoid my piercing— and puts some type of ointment around it. Next, he moves on to my mouth, and I must be imagining the way he discreetly plays with the ring on my bottom lip. He cleans me up, his hands far gentler than his tone, and I can appreciate it.
