22. Chapter 22

22

Heath

Two days later Hope and I are sitting in my room making bracelets—she's making them and I'm handing her the beads. Why I'm doing this is beyond me.

I've stopped thinking about why I do stupid things around her. There's no point in looking for a reason when there isn't any.

I just do things for her.

Hope is wearing that fucking red turtleneck again when it's sweltering hot outside. It's September for fuck's sake.

The sun has set, but the summer heat is moving with humidity. Fortunately, the AC is working, and she isn't sweating.

I'm certain her neck has bruises. This is the second time I'm seeing her wear this fucking red article. She also missed school for two days.

My mind is a ticking bomb. I'm seconds away from interrogating her, but I'm holding my tongue.

Sebastian said that she'll talk to me if I become her friend. After our conversation at the hill, I know it'll take her some time to give me the name of the person who's hurting her. Until then, I have to resort to clenching my fingers a million times to unwire the cords of tension wrapping around my arm.

I'll call Ryan and ask him to set me up for three fights. I need to direct this fucking rage somewhere else.

"Heath," she says in her sweet voice.

My stomach churns strangely. What the fuck is wrong with me? She just said my name.

"What?" I gruff out.

"There's something I wanted to ask you," she says hesitantly, as if she's afraid.

She doesn't have to be.

I'm here making bracelets with her. At this point, she can make me agree to anything.

"I don't have time to wait until next year," I remind her after a minute of silence.

A soft laugh bubbles out of her and hits me right across the chest. I stare at the delicate lines of her smile and the glint of humor in her eyes. She's just so fucking beautiful.

Taking a deep breath, she meets my gaze. "Would you like to have a small commission out of every sale I make? It won't be much, but still."

Not happening, Rose.

I harden my gaze. "I don't need the money. I've got plenty already. Besides, you should save as much as you can and invest it somewhere."

"I know you have plenty, but it feels wrong to me because you help me so much." Her gaze softens.

I arch an eyebrow. "Why don't you gather my proportion and buy a new phone? I'd like that very fucking much instead of making these."

Hope watches as I pick up beads, line them for her to put through the string, and make the bracelet.

"I didn't know you disliked doing this," she mutters.

"No fucking guy likes doing this," I grumble.

"I can ask Marie. I bet she'd—"

"No need," I add quickly.

If she does this with Marie, then she won't need me. And I can't let that fucking happen.

I hate having anyone in my room, except her. When she's here I don't feel alone. We don't talk much but it's better than me sitting around and smoking as I kill time.

"But you said—"

I give her a sharp look. "Focus. I'm hungry and I want to get it done soon."

She bites her lower lip.

Blood rushes from my chest to my dick. I curse myself.

For fuck's sake. Maybe it won't be that bad if Marie helps her.

By five p.m. Kelly brings us tacos and nuggets. If it isn't clear already I love nuggets and chicken wings.

She lingers until I send her a glare and she scurries out of the room. Between Derek and her, there's less chance of her calling my father and feeding him gossip. But that doesn't mean she won't question me later.

I switch on the TV and flip through shows. "What do you wanna watch?"

Hope looks at me with wide eyes. "I-I get to pick?"

I roll my eyes. "I asked you, didn't I?'

"I'm fine with anything."

I browse and settle on Lucifer. "How far have you watched it?"

She stares at the screen. "I've never watched it."

I jump to season one episode one. I don't mind watching it again for her sake.

Ten minutes later she asks, "Can I dim the lights?"

I stand up and do it for her. It reminds me of Marie and how it always annoys me, but I don't mind doing it for Hope.

Yeah, shit is different when it's with her.

Settling back on the couch, I end up sitting close to her. We both look at each other. I'm about to move away because I don't want her to feel uncomfortable, but she shoots me a shy smile and turns back to the screen.

My heart beats crazily fast inside my chest and I can hardly breathe. At this rate, I'll fall head-first in love with this girl. It's a stupid, crazy thought, but it lingers somewhere in the back of my mind.

One episode turns into six. When I check the time it's past ten.

"Isn't ten your bedtime?" I look at her for the hundredth time. She looks cute with my black blanket on top of her as she's curled up on the couch in comfort.

I barely watched the show. I kept glancing at her to make sure she was enjoying it—that she did. She smiled, laughed, and even talked to me about who could be the suspect in every episode.

Surprise flits across her face.

"What?" She scrambles off the couch and checks the time on her phone. The color drains from her face and her eyes widen. Her whole body freezes.

"Oh my God. I'm…dead," she whispers before starting to throw things in her bag like a maniac.

I turn on the lights and observe how her hands are trembling. She's fucking anxious.

"I'll drive you home." There's no way I'll let her take a cab at this hour.

She slings the strap of her bag over her shoulder and shakes her head. "No. I'll get home by myself."

Like hell, she would.

"It's past ten at night. You won't even find a cab." I step closer, but she steps back.

"I have to go." She rushes out of my room. I chase after her but she's already outside.

Briskly walking down the driveway, I turn her around by gripping her elbow. Her body tenses in my hold and a gasp leaves her lips.

What the actual fuck? She's never reacted like this with me before.

I assess her stiffened body and feel my heartstrings pull in worry.

I don't like this one fucking bit.

She's safe with me. I'll protect her.

"Hope, look at me." I loosen my grip, but don't let go of her, knowing she'll flee away.

The pretty girl shakes her head and looks down at her shoes. A pair of rugged blue and white Converse she wears every day.

"Hope." I hate how much it bothers me that she isn't looking at me. I can't read her.

"I need to go home," she mumbles brokenly and spares me a glance. It's enough for me to catch a glimpse of her teary eyes and quivering lips.

For fuck's sake. I'm a second away from killing the person who makes her feel this way.

"I'll take you home in no time," I promise her.

She meets my gaze and nods.

"Wait here for me," I say.

I run to the garage and drive my car to where she is. She gets inside and hugs her shaky arms.

I don't know what the fuck is going on, but it's bothering me. More than anything ever has before.

I turn on the AC so she's not sweating in her fucking turtleneck.

Pressing hard on the accelerator, I go over sixty on the speedometer to keep my promise.

Hope is quiet beside me, gazing out of the window and rubbing her arms.

Stay with me. The words sit on the tip of my tongue, but I don't possess the courage to say them.

In a matter of weeks, she's become someone who knows which strings to pull to make me feel something. I've been distant and unemotional for the past year. To the point it feels like I've become heartless. Now here she is, making my heart go above the usual number of heartbeats in a minute.

I can't describe what I feel toward her. With one look in her eyes, I feel like she understands me. She sees me, not the reputation that's built about me.

Slowly and quietly this girl is getting under my skin, I can't do anything about it. Or maybe I don't want to.

Much to my dismay, I pull up into her neighborhood and switch off the headlights.

"Just park here." Hope points to the curb.

"That's ten houses down from your house." I stare at the long stretch of deserted road.

"I know."

Before I can argue, she's out of the car and running down the street.

I follow her and watch her go inside her house.

I wait for a few minutes, but nothing happens. However, my gut twists and turns like something bad is supposed to happen. I try to shake off the feeling, but it grows.

"Fuck it!" I switch off my car and get out.

Stealthily, I go around the side of the house and look up at the window to her room. There's no light or shadows, which is fucking odd.

Concern scratches my insides like barbed wire and my curiosity spikes high. Go check on her.

Looking around, I search for a trash can. Putting it under her windowsill, I climb up and peek inside. I find her lying on her side. Her back is toward me and she's reading a book under the little light of the lamp. She's okay.