6. Taylor

Taylor

I fucked up.

Like, astronomically fucked up in a way that I can't fix. I feel it the moment Aaron pounds on my door the following day, waking me up to utter words that have my chest caving in around me.

"I'm taking Huck to the ER. He broke his arm."

Fuck. Me.

I'm out of bed within seconds, despite the immediate spinning in my head from the alcohol and the ache in my cheek from Christian's fist. "I'm coming with."

He nods, telling me to get dressed and to meet them downstairs. Dread is locking my muscles, but I push through, throwing on my Lamb of God hoodie without even thinking about it until Aaron's lips thin in the foyer, but he doesn't comment.

And Huck…God, he looks like hell. He's cradling his arm against him, curls falling over his brow as he keeps his head bent. He won't even look at me. There are tear tracks on his reddened cheeks, and though that usually satisfies me, right now, it only makes me feel sick.

We file into Aaron's Prius, both of them taking the front while I crawl into the back. I feel eyes on me, and I meet Aaron's gaze in the rearview mirror. There's something there, an anger or a disappointment that I can't puzzle out, but it has my throat closing with guilt.

Did Huck tell him what happened—what I did to him?

The hospital comes into view, and shame wars with disgust in my bones. Disgust at myself for losing control like I did last night. For turning into him . Between what happened with Tatiana, the fucking video of Huck stroking his goddamn cock—which had done things to me I'd rather not think about—and his mention of what happened between us years ago, I'd just...snapped. Fucking lost it.

But there's no excuse.

We get to the emergency room, and Aaron checks Huck in. After a few tense minutes of waiting, a nurse finally pulls us back. Huck hasn't said a word, which only sets me further on edge. I try to catch his eye but only notice the bruised cut on his brow, and the self-hatred ravaging my mind grows.

The door opens, revealing a doctor with a deep voice and a curved nose.

He asks what brings us in today, typical doctor questions, but what Huck's dad says has my brain screeching to a halt.

"He says he broke it because he slipped down the stairs this morning. "

No, no, no , fuck that.

A memory assaults me, of a night when I was fourteen and I sat in a similar room with a similar doctor, telling them that I broke my hand in three places because of a dirt bike accident while the reason for the injuries stood there looking like the most concerned father in the world.

I'm not him. I am not him .

"I did it," I blurt out, cutting off the doctor as he discusses Huck needing x-rays, "I broke his arm."

Everyone's attention snaps to me, including Huck's. His dark eyes meet mine, a crease forming between his brows. The swollen, puffy skin beneath his lids has my jaw clenching.

Without taking my gaze off Huck, I explain what happened. "We fought last night, and I was a little too rough. It was an accident. I...I didn't mean it."

I really didn't. Not to break him, at least. God, I'm gonna puke.

Aaron removes his glasses and exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You smell like a distillery, Taylor," he mutters, and my pulse races.

Will he kick me out? Send me back to my dad's, away from his precious golden boy and fancy house? Deep down, I know I deserve it. But the thought of living back in that trailer...not that it matters, because Dad still controls me even when I'm not immediately under his thumb. But at least for a moment, the constant beatings have lessened.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I could spend all my time at Christian's like I did before. If he'd let me, that is. After decking me, he'd said we were solid last night, but I still saw the hurt in his eyes. What if he finally decided he was over my shit and dropped me? Who would I have, then?

Shit, shit, shit .

"It was my fault." Huck's raspy voice brings me out of my spiraling thoughts, and I raise my eyes to find him watching me with an unreadable expression. "I started the fight. Taylor just retaliated."

I know that's a half-truth because I was the one who wouldn't give him back his phone in the first place. I pushed him too far. But he pushed me first.

Aaron glances between us, rubbing the scruff on his chin.

"I'm sorry, Huck," I choke, pushing every ounce of sincerity into my words because, fuck, this shouldn't have happened. I should have been in control.

Huck nods, dropping his gaze finally, and the doctor takes him away for the X-rays.

Aaron and I wait alone in the room, tense silence weighing heavily between us, and when they come back, the doctor confirms a hairline fracture in his forearm. He'll have to wear a splint for the next two weeks, but after that, he can continue swimming as long as the X-rays are good. No football for at least six weeks, which isn't so bad since the season is almost over. After that, they'll perform more X-rays to ensure the fracture has healed.

What kills me, though, is the fear in Huck's voice when he asks if this will fuck up his chances at a football scholarship, and I feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. The doctor tells him that if he doesn't push himself and everything heals properly, he'll return to playing in no time, so there's that. An hour later, we're leaving, and Huck has a fresh splint with a painkiller prescription. Aaron speaks quietly once we're in the car, me again in the backseat.

"I'm very disappointed in both of you."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Huck says, and I mumble my apologies.

He looks at his son, "I told you before the wedding to fix whatever grief you two had with each other, Huckslee, remember?"

"Yes, sir."

That black hole in me opens wider, threatening to tear me apart because Huck had fucking tried . That day at the wedding, when he'd sat with me. Showing me the track, trying to hang out with me, to be fucking nice to me, but I was a selfish asshole, unable to let something go that happened when we were kids.

We're almost adults now, for Christ's sake. No, we are adults. We're both eighteen and here I am, messing with him like an adolescent. Things need to change.

"You are both grounded until further notice," Aaron states firmly, turning to look at me from the front seat. "School, practice, church activities, then home. That's it. No motocross."

What the fuck?

Rage ignites in my blood, white-hot. All my earlier sentiments of being an adult leave the vicinity as I scoff incredulously. "You're not my dad."

Huck visibly stiffens in his seat, waves of anger rolling off him.

Aaron's lips thin, his dark eyes flashing as he turns around. "That may be true, but you live under my roof and will abide by my rules. And your mother agrees with me."

Goddammit .

I know I deserve it. Hell, I expected to be kicked to the curb for hurting Huckslee, so I know it could be worse, but taking motocross from me? Seriously? Winter's coming, and I only have a few weeks before it's too cold to ride. There isn't another official race until the spring, but still. The one fucking thing I live for, and now I can't even enjoy it?

Yeah, I'm pissed off.

"I'm not doing church stuff anymore," I mutter, throwing my hood over my head as I glare out the window.

He's been making me go for months now, but I'm done with that shit.

There's a pause, and I'm expecting him to push the issue, but instead, he gives me a calm that's fine , which makes my anger dissipate in a puff of smoke. Ugh, why does he have to be such a good guy? It seriously makes it hard to hate him. Maisie, on the other hand…

She's standing on the porch waiting for us when we pull into the driveway. Her hand rests on my shoulder when I try to pass her into the house, stopping me, but I refuse to meet her eyes.

"I raised you better than this, Taylor," she hisses, reigniting my fury, and I yank myself out of her touch.

"Actually, you didn't raise me at all. He did, so what did you expect?"

I'm through the door before she can grab me again, and I ignore her when she calls my name, taking the stairs two at a time before locking myself in my room. My head is throbbing, nausea churning in my stomach from the leftover alcohol and the look on Huck's face.

But I don't want to think about it all right now .

So I pull a joint from my bedside table, slide open my window, and light it, inhaling deeply until the paper is ash on my fingers. And then I shove my headphones in, ‘Dethrone' by Bad Omens filling my ears, before diving under the covers to shut out the entire world.

After hours of silence from Huck, I finally break down and text him.

Me: Hey. You awake?

It's just after midnight. Besides the awkward dinner Aaron forced us to sit through, we'd both been holed up in our rooms all day. Of course, Huck had talked with his dad, but he ignored my presence. I'd sat there with my head down, purposely not meeting Maisie's covert glares. When I tried bringing up a conversation with Huck, he either didn't respond or directed his answer at his dad, and it drove me fucking nuts.

The last few hours have been torture.

Not even the music blasting in my ears could distract me from the video replaying over and over in my head of Huck's girthy fucking dick, so I tried to occupy my time by doom-scrolling social media. All that resulted in, though, was me stalking my stepbrother's profile, searching through his friends list for whoever this ‘Royce' guy is that he's sending nudes to .

I try to lie to myself, thinking I just want to make sure Huck is safe and not getting catfished or something, but the reality stares me in the face, and I can't ignore it—I'm fucking jealous. And I have no goddamn right to be.

I need to talk to him, to make this right even though I have no clue how the hell to do it. Yes, we've fought plenty in the past. We've aimed fists at each other and bruised each other, but this...this went beyond that. This was brutal and angry, and the words I'd said to him…

Like a floodgate bursting open, memories from that day in eighth-grade crash into me like a giant wave.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

Slowing to a halt, I bend over with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath while Xed laughs at me. Checking over my shoulder to make sure our PE teacher isn't watching, I flip him off with a scowl. I hate running the mile. This shit sucks.

"It's not even that bad, you puss," Xed snickers, barely breaking a sweat under the midday sun, and I scoff as I straighten.

"You run track and field, dude. This is easy for you. My legs feel like jello."

He only grins, punching me in the shoulder before jogging ahead, leaving me in the dust.

Whatever. I'm walking the rest of the way. I'll take the point. Wouldn't be the first time I've gotten lunch detention, anyway, plus it's not so bad. They make you eat in a room beside the tortoise enclosure, and I get to watch the turtles move around. Not a punishment if you ask me. They're cute, with little heads and tails that wiggle like a puppy's, which is kind of interesting—

"Hey."

A shadow blocks the sun, dragging me out of my thoughts, and my stomach does some weird, somersault thing when I see Huckslee walking next to me.

"Oh, hey, Huck." He's new this year; I guess his parents homeschooled him until now. And he also rides dirt bikes, so we've been hanging out more. We also have two other classes, but he's usually with his friend Logan.

"You tired?" He eyes me sideways, curls a mess around his face, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching out to touch them. Honestly, it's a problem how much I want to do that. It's wrong. Boys don't touch other boys' hair.

"Yeah, man, I hate that they make us do this. The only time I'll ever be running is if someone's chasing me."

He snorts before looking behind him, checking for the teacher. "You need to take a break."

Yeah, right.

"I wish."

We walk silently before he lightly touches my arm, drawing us to a halt.

"Let's sneak under the bleachers, Tay." He jerks his chin to where they sit a few yards away, and I widen my eyes at him.

"Hell, no. I heard they found a cougar under there last week."

"Aw, are you scared? Need me to hold your hand?"

I open my mouth to swear at him, but then his palm drifts down my arm, and his fingers curl around mine, suddenly making it hard to breathe.

"Come on."

Next thing I know, I'm being tugged off the field toward the bleachers quickly, and he doesn't drop my hand when we climb under them. Neither do I, for some reason. Though I should, I really should. My dad would flip if he saw this.

"Well, no cougars." Huck turns toward me with a grin, dark eyes glittering, and I can't look away from him. We've never been alone before, usually surrounded by friends or peers, but here it's quiet. Dark. Close.

His gaze drops to where I'm biting my lip, and the fingers holding mine flex. "So, I saw you hanging with Salem Vaughn in homeroom."

"Uh, yeah," I swallow hard, finally tearing my gaze away. "She's cool. Hot, too."

He shrugs in response, shoulders dropping slightly, but when he goes to pull his hand from mine, I tighten my hold, not ready to let go.

"She's not really my type."

"Oh, yeah?" I lick my lips, mouth going dry when his eyes track the movement. "What's your type then?"

My heartbeat thumps wildly when he steps closer, backing me against a metal beam.

"Not Salem, that's for sure."

"Then what?"

There's something in his eyes that I don't understand as he dips his head, breath brushing over my ear. "Can I tell you a secret?"

In the back of my head, I hear my father's voice telling me to say no and back away, but my mouth responds before I can stop it .

"Yes."

His chest moves slightly, curls tickling my skin. "I think my type is you, Taylor."

"M-me?" My voice comes out embarrassingly high, but I'm too shocked by what he just said to care.

"Yeah," he nods, searching my gaze with his own. "Is that okay?"

No. This is wrong. Boys shouldn't like boys. My dad is going to kill me.

But my mouth isn't connecting with my brain. "Yeah…that's okay."

His face lights up, and it hits me how close we are. His body warms mine as we clasp our hands tightly. From this distance, I notice how soft his lips look, all puffy and pink. I picked up on it before but always shoved the thought aside because it felt wrong to think something like that about another dude.

But something must be wrong with me because no matter how much I try to tell my limbs to stay still, they don't listen. Instead, my free hand raises to tangle in those curls I've been dying to touch, a hum leaving me when I find them as soft as they look. Huck's breath catches as he cups the back of my neck.

Alarm bells are blaring, warning of danger, but I'm too distracted to listen.

Instead, I pull his head down and press my lips to his.

A notification snaps me out of the memory, but it's just a message from Christian. Checking my thread with Huck, I see he's read my text but hasn't responded, which means he's awake and ignoring me. So I throw on some clothes and leave my room, taking a deep breath before knocking on his door .

"Huck? It's me. Taylor."

Duh, dumbass. Pretty sure he knows.

"Look, can we talk?"

Seconds go by, and there's no answer. But somehow, I can sense him on the other side of the door, listening.

"Okay, you don't want to talk. I get it. You don't have to, but please open up."

His muffled voice reaches me through the wood. "What do you want, Taylor?"

I open my mouth, then shut it. Because what do I want? His forgiveness? No, I don't deserve that. To explain? I can't, not really. Not without telling him about my father.

Would it be the end of the world if he knew?

No, I shut that thought down. The last thing I need is Dad in prison, and my sponsorship lost. It's my only hope of leaving this place behind.

So I clear my throat and say, "I want to see you."

Fuck, that sounds gay as hell and clingy and so damn stupid, but it's the truth, so I just roll with it. A full minute passes without a response, and the word please leaves my lips softly, almost like a whisper.

Finally, the door opens.

My breath catches at the wary, guarded expression that meets me on the other side.

"What?" He spits the question flatly, so void of emotion that I cringe.

"I just..." My voice trails off as a slight shock rolls through me, the look in his eyes unnerving my system. Their depths are empty and lifeless as they bore into mine. I've never seen him look so cold before .

His jaw tightens the longer I stare until he starts to swing the door closed. "Leave me the fuck alone, Taylor."

Shooting out a hand, I prevent it from closing at the last minute, and Huck visibly tenses. His pupils dilate, an emotion finally flashing in his irises, but I feel like I've been gutted when I realize it's fear. He's standing there staring at me as if I'm a wild animal poised to strike, and that's when I know that he thinks I'm going to start a fight.

He's fucking afraid of me.

That has my heart dropping like a stone. I never wanted him to fear me.

"Taylor?" A frown pulls at his full lips, and before I can stop myself, I find my hand reaching out to him slowly. Ever, ever so slowly, until my palm slides against his, fingers tangling together.

"Come on." Gently, I tug him out into the hallway, his frown deepening as he lets me lead him down the stairs.

The feeling of his hand in mine is foreign, setting off little alarm bells in my brain that say this is wrong, but I don't let go. Because I want to show him, for some insane fucking reason, that my touch isn't always painful. He doesn't pull away, either, so I take that as a win.

It's not until we have to put our shoes on near the back door that I drop his hand, and the emptiness I feel at the absence confuses me. It sends a flood of irritation through my chest, old habits to lash out against the unknown rising to the surface, but I force myself to shove all of that into a box and nail it shut, bury it in a hole. I'll always be hot-headed—nothing can change that. But making other people pay for my issues is coming to an end. I'm determined .

"Where are we going?" Huck finally asks when I lead him out onto the back porch. Cool October air bites into my skin, colder than usual, promising future snow. I use it to ground myself, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

"The track."

"But I can't ride," he answers sadly.

"I know." Turning toward him, I meet his eyes with my own. "But I want to talk to you, and you don't trust me right now. So we're going to Delaware."