Chapter 12

Hunter

“Shoulders squared!” Coach Dewitt shouts.

I scramble backward and stop, dig in with my right foot, rear my arm back, and launch the football down the field.

“Again!”

T.C. snaps the football. I catch it.

“Laces up!” Dewitt shouts.

I quickly spin the ball as I scurry backward, my pinkie and ring finger on the laces as I throw the ball toward the end zone.

But it skids off the grass way before that, the spin putting it into a dive that’s too fast.

“You’re not listening.” The coach charges up to me, grabbing a ball out of the basket as he approaches me. “Elbow forward…” He holds the ball, demonstrating. “Rotate your wrist, and then elbow extended. You keep doing it like that, you’re going to throw out your shoulder, and you’re going to be in a world of pain.”

“I’m defense,” I tell him. “I’ve been defense. Why are you bringing me in to QB?”

Farrow’s the quarterback. Why am I stepping in for him this game?

Dewitt drops the ball, sporadic rain dotting his light blue T-shirt. “What was that tone?”

He narrows his eyes, and I close my mouth, collecting myself.

It’s Ditch Day, but he called us in for a mini-workout when, really, it’s just me he wanted. I’ve played offense before, but I’ve been a tackle here since I joined the team. That means I have opportunities to sack my brother—the Shelburne Falls quarterback—since his ego often demands that he rush for yardage out of the pocket instead of letting someone else run the ball.

I jerk my head, hearing my neck crack. Kade’s taunt from the other night still sits in my head. I tried not to take it out on Dylan, which is why I mostly stayed away from her yesterday. It’s none of my business where she slept that night.

I just need to concentrate on the game, and it’s not going well. I think about him too much, and her all the time. Her body, her smile, how she must feel to hold… Does he know?

The coach closes the distance between us, looking at me sternly. “We don’t give a shit who your dad is here?”

I know. I know I can’t talk to him like Kade talked to our coach in the Falls, and I’ve never smarted off to a coach before.

But… “If I’m offense,” I explain, “I won’t be on the field at the same time as my brother. It’s the only reason I joined this team.”

Well, not the only reason, but it was a non-negotiable, for sure.

“He knows I’ve been playing defense,” I point out. “If I suddenly switch, he’s going to think I’m afraid to face him.”

“And I think you bringing your baggage onto the field is bad for our chances,” Dewitt replies.

I cast my gaze to the side, seeing the guys fooling around by the benches. Calvin stands shirtless, sweat dripping from his hair as he speaks animatedly, probably telling a story. Everyone else loiters around, listening and laughing.

Dewitt sends T.C. back to the team, leaving us alone as he faces me again. “Do you think any of us care about you and Kade Caruthers settling a score?” he asks. “I’m old, kid. I’ve seen thousands come and go.” He looks over his shoulder, continuing. “Constin will be serving twenty to life in five years. I’ll bet you a million dollars on that.”

I find Constin in the group, tattoos already covering his arms and half of his chest. His dad died in prison, and he works for Green Street to help pay the bills.

“Luca will have three baby mamas in seven years,” the coach adds. “Calvin will be dead in three. Probably from an overdose. And a couple of them will be shot.” He looks at me again. “Probably by Farrow, because you know he’s not going anywhere good.”

All the air tries to leave my lungs, but I keep my composure. I glance at the guys again, no idea where Farrow is. He walked off a while ago.

Dewitt is right. Farrow works for Green Street, just like Constin, but Farrow is being groomed for more. Constin reports to him. More than a few people do. Does my grandfather know that?

“This is the last year they’ll ever truly be free,” the coach tells me. “This game may be the highlight of their lives.”

But not mine. He knows I have everything in front of me, and I’ll leave this place in the dust once I graduate.

I gaze over the faces of my team as they smile and joke around. In ten years, most of them will have a life no one will want.

“Go on!” Coach yells at them. “Get out of here!”

“Yeah!” they howl.

I start after them, but Dewitt stops me with two fingers in my chest.

“You run,” he orders me. “Three miles. Then you can go.”

He nudges me back, and I look at everyone gathering up their gear and making their way out to enjoy their day off.

Withholding my sigh, because I know I deserve this, I pivot and jog for the track that circles the football field. Stepping onto the broken, faded clay, I start the first of twelve laps, trying to be quick about it, but I eventually settle into an easy pace, indulging in the quiet and the light sprinkle of rain.

Dewitt is right. I have tunnel vision. I want to win, but I’m using them, and I used to be better than this. Making everything about me makes me no better than Kade, and I like it here. I like these people.

I was a good kid. I liked doing science experiments and research just for the hell of it. Because I was curious.

I read and collected, explored and tried new things, and now…

Now I’m him.

He never used to be this way, either. Cocky and arrogant and smug. He was always bolder than me, but he liked me.

What good is winning the game if he changes me?

I don’t know how many laps I’ve done, but I spot Dylan and Farrow leaving on his bike and pick up my pace. She wears her jacket—the same one Mace stole a few days ago—and she and Farrow rush off, looking like they’re in a hurry. It’s her birthday today. I should say something.

I race a couple of more laps for good measure and gather my stuff from my gym locker, not bothering to change.

Heading into the parking lot, I see Constin hanging with a few others.

“Give me your bike and take my car,” I tell him, holding out my keys.

He stares at my hand, sucking a drag off a cigarette. He’s not one to be told things, especially when I came down on him the other morning for being in Dylan’s house.

But he digs out his keys, tossing them to me, because my car is worth a lot more than his bike. I hand him my set and take his helmet before climbing on his motorcycle.

I head home.

I’ll shower, change clothes... Maybe run into the Falls to see my parents. The Pirates have school today, so Kade won’t be around town.

But the first thing I check for when I pull up in front of my grandfather’s brownstone is Farrow’s bike. I run inside Dylan’s house, finding the door unlocked and no sign of her.

It takes about two seconds for me to realize where he took her.

Jumping back on the bike, I coast down the hill, toward the docks, and turn onto River Road. I don’t have a motorcycle license or a lot of experience, so I cruise slowly, the bike rocking ever so slightly as I navigate the bumpy roads and swerve around potholes.

I’m glad Dylan can’t see me now, but to my satisfaction, Kade isn’t a whole lot better on a bike. He has one, but he prefers his truck. It fits his crew.

I stop at the sign, just before the hill, and lift my visor before I take out my phone. Holding it up, I zoom in on the track snaking through the trees higher and higher, spotting Dylan and Farrow zooming in and out of view.

She’s on another bike. Goddammit. Did he take her to Green Street to get one? I’m going to kill him.

She’s there again, in my lens, but then I lose sight of her as she curves with the street. I hold my breath as she slides around the Throat, disappearing.

And then…she’s there, and I exhale as she finishes her turn and speeds away.

I watch them ride Phelan’s Throat a few times, both of them disappearing for spells where Farrow is probably giving her pointers, each time she gets smoother and faster.

Then, I watch him nudge his bike into the trees, off the track, and she follows.

I zoom in on my camera, trying to catch a glimpse, but they don’t come back. They’re not riding. What are they doing?

“Hey, Hunter.”

I drop my arms, startled. Turning, I see Coral’s car cruise up to the Stop sign, the old Corvair packed with girls. Arlet hangs out the passenger side window. “What are you doing today?” she asks.

No idea.

I think I should welcome a distraction, though. I tuck away my phone. “At your service,” I offer.

She smiles wide and jumps out of the car. “This is supposed to be girls only, but I could use a ride.”

She hops on behind me, and I remove my helmet, handing it to her.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Phelan’s Throat,” she replies, pulling on the helmet. “Let’s get Farrow and that Pirate first.” And then to the girls in the car. “Meet you in the Falls!”

The Falls?

They drive off, and Arlet wraps her arms around me before I kick off. Keeping my speed down, I grip the handlebars tightly, doing everything to not let her know that I’ve never ridden with someone else.

But after a minute, I push it faster. She leans when I lean, doesn’t fight the distribution of weight. Not bad. She knows how to ride with someone.

We climb the hill, coming up on the halfway mark to the top, and I see Dylan and Farrow off to the right, in the trees. He sits behind her on her bike, holding her hips, and something coils in my gut.

We stop, and Farrow looks over at me. Dylan holds her handlebars, a soft smile appearing when she sees me.

“Hunter,” Farrow says.

He climbs off Dylan’s bike, and my hands ache before I realize I’m squeezing the handlebars. “You gave her another bike?”

He arches an eyebrow like he doesn’t explain himself.

I look to Dylan. “Where’s your helmet?”

She reaches down on her other side, picking it up off the ground.

She smiles wider, but I don’t return it. Her gaze flashes to the girl behind me, and her expression falters.

“Your friend was about to give me a sex lesson,” she blurts out.

A what?

Farrow tells Dylan, “Well, no one else is giving you one.”

But he looks at me when he says it.

“Navigating the throat is about rhythm,” he says. “Moving with the machine, controlling it and knowing when not to.” He pulls his hoodie back on over his sleeveless white T-shirt. “Look at Arlet.” He jerks his chin toward us. “Look at her body on his.”

I go still. Their eyes take us in, and I feel Arlet’s arms tighten around me as I become hyperaware of her weight on my back.

“She’s positioned in a way that she could lay her head down and go to sleep,” he points. “She’s completely in his care. Her thighs hugging, not holding, and there is a difference, Dylan.”

Arlet’s legs, bare in shorts, even though it’s only in the sixties today, press against mine, and I watch Dylan’s eyes trail along our bodies.

Farrow’s gaze rises a little. “Her breasts are pressed into his back, her pussy into his body.”

I blink long and hard. Arlet lets out a quiet laugh.

And now that’s all I feel—how warm I am between her legs—and I don’t like it. It feels like I’m tied up. Or constricted.

“He moves, she moves, he leans, she leans,” he goes on. “He rides the bike, she rides him.”

My gaze lowers to Dylan’s thighs in tight black jeans. Images of the other night and what she looks like underneath flash in my mind.

He stands opposite of her and grabs her handlebars, pinning her with a hard look. “This bike is your fucking boyfriend. Throw your thighs around it and let it move.”

Dylan looks at him, unfazed.

“Everything ready?” Farrow looks to Arlet.

“They’ll be there when we arrive,” she tells them.

I don’t know what they’re talking about, but I assume we’re going wherever Coral went.

Dylan pulls on her helmet, eyeing the girl behind me. “You’d be safer riding with me,” she tells Arlet as she fastens the strap under her chin. “What is this, your second time on a bike, Hunter?”

“You want to ride with Dylan?” I ask Arlet over my shoulder.

She hugs me tighter. “No, I’m good here.”

I ask Farrow, “So where are we going?”

But it’s Dylan who answers. “Helm’s Field.”

She starts her new bike and flies off, the three of us following.

Back to the Falls.

What is she up to now? And what did Arlet mean about ‘girls only?’

Cruising into my hometown, I see the shops on High Street just waking up. People arrive to work, unlocking offices, and vendors move their sidewalk displays out from their stores. We pass Frosted, and I take in the expanse of bare brick wall between my aunt’s bakery and Rivertown, the bar and grill next door. She was hiding in the walls the other night.

And I doubt she’s the only one who knows about it. It feels weird if Hawke, Kade, Dylan, and Quinn are in on something I’m not.

But I guess it’s fair. I left. My choice.

It’s only after nine in the morning, but everyone will be at school by now. It’s a short trip through town, and I follow Farrow and Dylan around the back of Helm’s Field, the football stadium, just before we reach the parking lot. Coasting alongside the wooded area to our right, we come around the other side of the field and park, the school’s two stories rising just over the other side of the field and the track that surrounds it.

Coral’s car is already there, along with another one carrying a small flatbed trailer. Canisters of fireworks sit on top.

“We should wait for the end of the day,” Coral tells Dylan. “Then they can chase after us.”

“This isn’t supposed to be fun for them.” Dylan unwraps each cylinder, exposing the fuses. “Let them simmer for the rest of the day in class. It’ll give us time to get ready.”

“Us?” Mace repeats, grabbing her and taking a long look at the jacket Dylan’s wearing. “Who do you think you are now?”

“Who am I?” Dylan asks her. “I’m a girl. Sick of boy shit. This rivalry isn’t just between the teams, is it?”

I hold back my smile. All the Pirates and Rebels should be allowed to have fun.

“Today, we play together,” Dylan tells her. “In ten days, when I’m back on the other side, you can try to kill me again.”

Mace hoods her eyes, clearing her throat. “We weren’t trying to kill you the other night. That was mostly the Pirates. Farrow scratched up his own truck trying to run one of them off the road before they ran you off.”

She narrows her eyes. “He did?”

She looks impressed. She won’t be when he tries to send her the bill for all these damages.

Arlet climbs off to help them with the fireworks, but I rev the bike, starting to inch away. I don’t need to be here for this.

“Wait,” Dylan tells me. “I need you.”

For what?

But she turns to Mace. “Give me ten minutes. If I’m not out by then, go ahead and light it.”

Dylan charges over and pulls my arm.

But I resist. “What are we doing?”

“Hurry,” she says. “We have to go now, before the next bell rings.”

She pulls me, and I relent, turning off the bike, pressing down the kickstand, and throwing my leg over, following.

She scales the fence, and I climb over as well.

“What are you doing?” I bark, walking across the field with her.

“Just look casual.”

I look around, spotting a girls’ P.E. class running the track around us, and I glance over my shoulder, making sure the Rebels are hidden under the trees.

Dylan opens the door, and I follow her inside my old school.

The smell hits me immediately. Fresh paint, perfume, and the leather from jackets, handbags, and car interiors. The scent I grew up with.

Weston High smells like damp wood and school hamburgers.

We walk, our shoes squeaking against the clean floor, and Dylan heads toward the front of the school, hands in her pockets. Everyone is in class, but we pass a couple of people here and there. They look at her, meet my eyes, and then move on. The lockers are new. Orange against black walls.

I prefer the Rebel colors.

Dylan halts in front of the display cases—right next to the front office—and starts to slide open a glass door.

“What are you doing?” I ask again in a low voice.

“Help me.”

She starts to pry what looks like one of our old yellow lockers out of the case.

“No,” I reply. “Why are we—”

“Hunter!” She stops, glaring at me.

The urgency in her eyes makes me shut up.

“It’s Piper Burke’s old locker,” she whispers.

I drop my eyes, taking in the rusted edges, chipped paint, and the number 1622 etched into the plate on the front.

I lock eyes with her. “Why’s it in here?”

“They were saving a few to display when they bought new ones,” she admits quickly. “Kade made sure this was one of them.” She pauses, pursing her lips. “Thomasin started high school this year.”

Piper’s kid. Fathered by Nate Dietrich. Both of whom put Dylan’s parents through hell when they were our age.

And sure, Kade cares about that. He cares for any reason to exact revenge on anyone, even if it has nothing at all to do with him. Even if it’s through their fourteen-year-old child, or through Dylan who has to have the past rubbed in her face every time she passes this fucking case.

My brother…

“Move,” I tell her, stepping in.

I grab hold of the locker, lifting it into my arms.

She hovers behind me. “I can help.”

“Out of my way, baby.”

I freeze, feeling her eyes on me at my side. I didn’t mean that.

I heave the locker onto my shoulder, and she shuts the glass case behind me. We move through the school, ignoring the stares of the two people we pass, and exit through the back, Dylan holds the door open for me. Crossing the football field, we hear chatter, finally catching the notice of the P.E. class, but we don’t stop.

Farrow stands on the other side of the fence, and I lift the locker over. He takes the end, and I slowly lower it into his arms. Dylan and I hop the fence.

Farrow and I carry the locker as I jerk my chin at Coral. “Trunk.”

Quickly pulling out her keys, she unlocks the trunk of her Corvair and Farrow and I set the locker inside, closing the lid. I’m not sure what Dylan wants to do with it, but I have a few ideas.

Dylan cups her hands around her mouth. “Go for it,” she calls out to Mace.

Mace pulls out a utility lighter and lights fucking everything.

I yank Dylan back.

“Codi,” I snap. “Coral. All of you get back.”

An ember from one could make others explode before their fuse even runs out.

A rocket shoots up, into the sky, whistling in a high-pitched screech, and the class running the track lets out shouts and gasps. We watch as, one by one, fireworks fly off the trailer into the air. They pop, fizz, and crackle as they light up the blue sky with sparks of blue and white. Rebel colors.

A couple of adults spill out the door to the school, seeing us across the field as students hang out the windows, pointing. Some laugh, some take pictures and video, and some shout “Fuck the Rebels.”

And some shoot out their middle fingers.

“Ahoy, Pirates!” Mace bellows through a megaphone with Property of WHS printed on the side. “Have a good day at school! We’ll see you tonight. If you can find us!”

Coral takes a shot from a pint bottle of Smirnoff, passing it around to everyone else, while Dylan opens a pack of M&Ms and pours some into Codi’s palm.

Farrow chuckles, watching the show. They all do.

I move toward Constin’s bike, leaving.

“What’s wrong?” Dylan asks, and I see her approach out of the corner of my eye.

I shake my head. “Nothing. I have things to do.”

She takes my arm, turning me to face her.

Her blue eyes sparkle. “I wouldn’t have been able to carry that by myself. And wasn’t it fun? Stealing something with me?”

“You needed me because I look like Kade,” I tell her. “In case we ran into people, right?”

They wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at her walking around the school with him.

Her smile falls, and I climb on the bike, starting the engine. Arlet can catch a ride with Coral.

“Hunter…” she says.

But I act like I can’t hear her as I rev the engine and pull on my helmet.

Finally, she turns and rejoins the Rebels, and I spot Aro Marquez approaching the fence. She’s dressed in a pair of Shelburne Falls shorts and T-shirt, the rest of her P.E. class drifting back to the building.

“So, if you took those handcuffs from Dylan’s room, then you must have the key, right?” she asks me. “I should’ve figured that out a long time ago.” She smiles. “It was you on Grudge Night. In the mask.”

I push off the kickstand.

“Why did you do that?” she asks, clutching the fence. “Lock them up together?”

“Just a prank.”

She looks off toward Dylan, musing. “I think Dylan enjoyed it. She kept the cuffs, after all.”

I think they both enjoyed it. Kade’s words from the night before haunt me. Thanks for those handcuffs, by the way…

“I know something about self-sabotage,” Aro says. “You’re sure it’s coming anyway, so you just want to get the pain over with. Then you don’t have to lose.”

I tighten the strap, my jaw clenching.

“Then you don’t have to fail,” she goes on, her eyes boring into me. “You don’t have to contend with not getting what you want, and you finally have a reason for the anger you feel. It’s easier to believe the lie that things happened exactly as you intended all along.”

I wasn’t trying to push Dylan and Kade together. It wasn’t self-sabotage.

“It was just a prank,” I say again and then tease, “maybe I’ll throw them on you and Hawke next.”

“You’ll have to do better than that.” She laughs. “I’ve known how to pick locks since I was nine.”

Interesting. I’m sure there’s a story there, but it’ll have to wait.

I start to go but then stop, something occurring to me.

“So, you got Dylan out of those cuffs?”

She wasn’t trapped all night, then?

“I was a little distracted, but yeah…” Aro nods. “She was free within an hour.”

Right.

“And she still crashed with Kade that night.” I point out. “You see, it wasn’t self-sabotage. It was as it should be. She was always going to be right where she wanted to be.”

I give the bike some gas.

“Dylan slept in your room that night,” Aro tells me.

I stop. I turn my head. “What?”

Aro drops her hands from the fence, backing away. “She always sleeps in your bed when a party or family gathering runs late. In the time I’ve known her anyway,” she adds. “She thinks you might sneak in to get something and she can see you.”

She leaves, following her class back into the building, and I sit there, the bike rumbling underneath me.

He lied to me.

Well, not exactly. He said to ask her if she slept in her own bed that night, to which he was right. She didn’t.

He’s still playing with me, and still so good at it.

But more importantly… I lift my gaze, watching Dylan discreetly slip some folded-up bills into Codi’s hoodie pocket as she stands right next to her and doesn’t notice. She sleeps in my room. Not his.