Library

Chapter 12

TWELVE

H e turns to face me, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised. His piercings flash in the light, and his hair is wavy tonight, which is a first. Maybe he didn't style it? It hangs around his face, one side pushed behind his ear, and I realize he looks younger. His face is . . . different. Does he wear makeup? His eyes are usually darker, but tonight, they pop. When I just stare, hesitating, he tilts his head.

"Alek?" he retorts, not backing down.

Hell, he even stopped me from hitting him and then casually dropped to his knees and took care of my wounds, ruining his expensive pants in the meantime, all without asking for a thank you. He said I could call us even. Is that the only reason why?

Nobody has ever bandaged my wounds for me before, not even Alice.

I get hurt so often that I'm used to it, but something about this fiery, silver-haired man blowing on my wound made me weak. I shouldn't have hit him. Why did I? Why did I want more after he pressed his lips to my skin?

Shaking my head, I remind myself that offering him a ride is just what a nice guy would do. It's what I should do for my sister's friend— nothing more, nothing less. It's late, and he's still recovering from being sick. He could get hurt.

I'm just being nice.

That little voice inside chuckles. Since when am I nice to anyone?

"Get in," I demand gruffly, and then I let him choose. I won't make him. Sliding into my car, I throw the bag in the back and start the engine, but he just stands there.

"Get in," I call again.

He treads closer, leaning into my window. "I didn't hear that."

"Where are you going?" I ask instead.

What if he's going to his boyfriend's or out? It is late, after all.

Shit, I shouldn't have said anything. My hand grips the wheel harder.

"Home," he says, and my grip relaxes.

"Fine, get in," I mutter, cranking up the heat.

"No, I'll walk. It's fine," he starts, and I turn my head, meeting his bright eyes.

"Evan, get in the fucking car." For a moment, he just stares at me before he sighs and heads around the front, getting in the passenger seat and dropping his bag between his feet. His arms are covered in goose bumps, so I crank up the heat all the way before I pull out of the lot.

The silence stretches on, and when I glance over at him, he's watching me. "What?" I ask quietly.

"Did Alice ask you to?" he teases.

I yank the wheel and pull over, ignoring the honking traffic. "Get out."

Laughing, he settles deeper into the seat. "Get out," I snap.

"No. Now, are you going to drive, or are we going to stare at each other all night?" He leans over the stick, his eyes dropping to my lips. "Unless you want to do something else."

Snarling, I swerve back into traffic, ignoring his chuckle as it throws him back into the seat. "Belt," I demand.

He ignores me, and at the next stoplight, I lean over, grab it, and click it into place. When I look up, I find him inches away. He wears a serious expression on his face, glancing from my lips to my eyes.

I swallow hard, my gaze dropping to his when a horn blares behind us, breaking the moment, and I move away, gunning it.

It doesn't take me too long to pull up at Evan's dorm, idling in the parking lot. I frown at my own hands as an unfamiliar feeling grips me. I'm almost reluctant to let him leave, feeling sad about how quickly we got here.

Idiot.

When I glance over, he's watching me, seemingly with no intention of getting out, and I relax, ignoring my internal battle. "What?" I finally ask, my voice softer in the dark, empty night.

It's just us, and we are so close I could reach out and touch him.

I won't, but the thought is there.

"What happened to your arm and hands?" he asks, taking me by surprise.

I glance down at them. I'd forgotten about them despite the pain. I shrug, and he sighs, grabbing his bag and preparing to open the door. Something about that makes me feel uneasy, so I reach over and slam the door shut, sitting back as his wide eyes turn to me. "I was racing tonight, and there was an accident. I helped someone after they crashed but got cut up."

"Racing?" He frowns, looking around my car. "As in car racing?"

I nod. "Street racing, to be exact."

He blinks, sitting back in his seat, and my tight chest seems to ease. "I didn't know you raced. Makes sense though. Are they okay?"

"I hope so. Their friends took them to the hospital," I reply, although I didn't check further than that.

"But their friends didn't help them and you did?" he asks, and I shrug, looking out the front window. "Does the great Alek Anders have a soft side?"

"Don't go thinking stupid shit like that. I just didn't want to be one of those dicks sitting on the sideline, watching while someone got hurt," I mutter .

"Uh-huh, sure, whatever you tell yourself. So you race this car? Isn't it illegal?" he asks, getting more comfortable as he turns to me.

I sit back in my seat and turn to him. I should make him leave, tell him to stop asking questions. Maybe it's the night making this feel like a dream, or maybe it's how close I came to dying, but I answer.

"Not this car. I have a Skyline I race. I built it from scratch. It's illegal, so don't tell anyone, rich boy," I warn.

"Your secret's safe with me." He gives me a wide smile that drives me fucking insane, and it does something weird to my chest. "So you build cars? Alice mentioned you work at a garage."

For a moment, I stiffen. "What, not good enough for you rich bastards?"

He blinks, taken aback. "What do you mean? I was just curious if you enjoy it."

I think about his words as I look at him. There's no judgment in his tone or eyes, just confusion, so I relax. "I do in some ways, but also, it's all I'm good at. I needed money for Alice, so it made sense."

"I doubt it's all you're good at. I have a feeling you are actually good at many things but don't let yourself be."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Maybe you're scared to want anything more." He shrugs. "Or maybe you have just spent so long taking care of your sister, you stopped looking at your own life."

"You don't know anything," I snap as I look away.

"No? You drive her to school nearly every day so she doesn't have to walk and she's safe. You work at a garage and race to earn money for her school. You love her so deeply, it's evident. You do everything for her, but what do you do for yourself?" he asks, and I glance over. My chest tightens at how deeply he understands me with just a few meetings.

The truth is, I don't know.

"If you want to be a mechanic and nothing else, good, then do it. Do what makes you happy, but don't do it just because you're scared or because you are living for your sister. I don't think she would like that. She loves you, and she wants you to be happy. "

"And what do you know about being happy, rich boy?" I counter defensively, lashing out in fear.

His smile disappears, and I hate that. His expression becomes sad. "Not a lot, but I'm trying."

"How?" I ask, and unlike most people, he doesn't look away. He contemplates his words, and when he speaks, he holds my gaze, not a hint of shame in those bright orbs.

"I cut out the toxic people who made me sad. I walked away from my family and their expectations, and even though it hurt, it was for the best. I knew they would never accept me, never love me how I am, and I was so tired of trying to be someone they would love to the point where I wasn't even myself anymore. I cut them out. I chose my own path, my own future, and I'm fighting every day to follow my dreams. I might not know a lot about being happy, but I want to. I want to find out what it means to have a life I'm proud of, even if it's never grand or epic. I just want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and tell myself I love who I am and that I am proud of the path I've made. I think that's the true meaning of being happy. It isn't about the big, exciting stuff, but the small moments that make up your life, the memorable ones." He trails off. "But what do I know? I'm still young and trying to figure it all out."

"I think you know more than most. I'm older, and I still haven't figured out the key to being happy," I admit softly, moved by his words. Evan Shaw isn't what I thought he was at all. It's clear he's been through a lot. Maybe he isn't just a spoiled rich boy. In fact, at the moment, I'm almost jealous of his openness with himself, with his ability to call out his own flaws and try to fix them. "I want to own my own garage one day. It isn't a big dream, nothing crazy, but I want to own it and hire people like me—people who have no opportunities. I want to give them a chance. I also want to build and restore cars. I think that would make me happy."

"So do it," he says. "Who gets to say that dream isn't big enough?"

"I'm trying but . . . Alice always comes first." I meet his gaze once more. "I have to give her a better life than I had. I can't fail her like everyone failed me. "

"And what about you? Who looks after you? Who puts you first?" he argues. "This is your life, Alek. I know you love Alice, and she's so lucky to have a brother like you, but if you don't put yourself first, nobody ever will, and one day, you'll look back and wonder what if."

I stare at Evan, and he stares right back. "When did you get so smart, rich boy?"

"I always have been. You were just too busy hating me to notice." He winks, making me chuckle, but it ends in a yawn, exhaustion setting into my bones even as I fight it. I want to keep talking to him. He notices me when no one else ever has. He looks past the scars, the ink, and the oil to the man underneath. He isn't scared of me despite everything I have thrown at him.

"You look exhausted. I'm betting you don't even sleep in case she needs you." He snorts. "I'll let you get home. Thank you for driving me back. Text me when you get there so I know you didn't wreck or something." He opens his door and slips out, and I don't stop him, but I do call out.

"Why, would you miss me?" I tease.

"No." He grins as he leans back in, his bright smile making my chest tight once more. "Just need a heads-up so I can choose my outfit for your funeral."

I can't help but smile, imagining what horrendous outfit this fashion diva would wear at my funeral, and he points at me, grinning widely. "I got you to smile. Night, Anders." He leaves, and I watch him cross the lot toward his building. When he reaches the door, he looks back at me, his grin firmly in place, and then he lifts his hand to wave before disappearing inside.

I wave back, even though he's already gone, and it's only then I admit to myself that I would have stayed here all night talking to him despite my exhaustion.

I guess I do some things for myself, and they all seem to revolve around him.

Shaking my head at my own feelings, I wait until I see his light come on, and then I head home. He's right. I need to sleep.

Once I'm home, I check on Alice and find her passed out on her desk, her books spread out around her. Turning off her light, I drape a blanket over her and head to my room. I take off my shirt and pull my wallet and phone out of my jeans, ready to crash, but I hesitate, looking at my phone.

I tell myself I won't, but I open it and click on the message thread.

Alek: I'm home.

I pause before thumbing out another message.

Alek: So put away the lace and veil.

A minute later, a picture comes through. He's in the shower, his chest bare. I can't see any more, but it stops me in my tracks before I notice his pout and the soap making his hair stick up, and I laugh.

Rich Boy: Shame, I have the perfect pearl necklace I could clutch while I scream your name dramatically so everyone would stare.

Pushing my jeans down, I text back as I crash into my bed.

Alek: There wouldn't be many there to stare.

Rich Boy: Damn, all that performance wasted for nothing? Good thing you're alive then. Now get some sleep, Anders.

Alek: Are you ordering me, rich boy?

Rich Boy: You know it. You can hit me for it next time.

My lips twitch even as I thumb out another message.

Alek: Stop texting me while you're naked. It's weird.

Rich Boy: Then this will shock you—I'm pretty much always naked when I text you. Now sleep.

Idiot.

Alek: Night.

Rich Boy: Night, Anders, don't dream about me too much.

Putting my phone down, I bury my face in my pillow to hide my stupid grin, but I know I'll dream of the boy with the icy hair and the sunshine smile.

Comments

0 Comments
Best Newest

Contents
Settings
  • T
  • T
  • T
  • T
Font

Welcome to FullEpub

Create or log into your account to access terrific novels and protect your data

Don’t Have an account?
Click above to create an account.

lf you continue, you are agreeing to the
Terms Of Use and Privacy Policy.