Chapter 2

2

ISAAC

T he next time I saw Brody, he was covered in grease and oil and looked utterly happy. It was such a jarring contrast to the first time I'd lain eyes on him that it made my heart pound wildly in my chest. It made me wonder if that first day was just a fluke, if this was his normal disposition. It made me wonder what had happened to make him so angry in the first place.

It made me wonder why I was wondering so many fucking things about a guy I didn't even know or care about knowing.

It was two weeks after Jamie's stupid-ass birthday party, and my car had started making a concerning rattling sound. When I realized it was one of those things you couldn't just ignore, I took it to Big Boone's auto shop, where I came for regular oil changes. It was the first car I'd ever owned, and even though it wasn't much to look at, it got the job done and I tried to take care of it. I'd spent three years saving up for that car, and it had been a crucial part of my independence. Plus, I needed it to get to campus. Or the grocery store. Or wherever else I wanted to go. I'd feel trapped without it.

As soon as I stepped inside the shop, I saw him. He was speaking with an older woman, using his hands to aid in whatever he was communicating to her, and there was a big smile stretching across his face. One cheek had a streak of something black running from his temple to his chin, and there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there that first day. His white t-shirt was stained, there was a small rip near his ribcage, and his arms were bare, letting me see the double sleeves of black and colored tattoos that covered his skin from his fingertips to his neck. He was tall and broad and long and lean and fuck me, I couldn't look away.

I didn't really have a type. I'd never been very interested in attracting the attention of other guys—but not because I wasn't into them. I was. I was very into guys and had been since I was eleven. I'd known, back then, that I was far from straight. But I didn't really have a type, and after what happened to me my freshman year of high school, I tried to keep to myself. I wasn't interested in any kind of relationship and I wasn't sure I'd ever be.

But Brody…for whatever reason, there was something about him that made me want to get closer. He was indescribably beautiful, though maybe it was just the clear dichotomy that I was being presented with that had piqued my interest. My curious mind wanted to know what had happened that first day to make him so upset. What was making him smile now. Which one was the real Brody?

I don't know how long I stood there, just staring at him, when a voice to my left said, "Uh, hey, can we help you?"

I jerked and turned to the woman behind the counter. She was young, maybe around my age, and had black wavy hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her jaw moved rhythmically as she chewed on what I hoped was gum and not all the heads she'd bitten off today, if her glower was anything to go by.

I strode to the counter and gave her an apologetic smile. "Yeah, sorry. I, um, there's something wrong with my car," I said.

Chew chew chew . "Oh yeah? What's wrong with it?" Her eyes were a jarring silver-gray, and the resemblance to Brody was striking. I'd never seen her—or Brody—before when I dropped my car off for oil changes, but I usually did that on weekdays.

"Well, I have no idea, that's why I'm here," I said, trying to douse the irritation that was starting to rise.

Smack smack smack . "Okay, well?—"

"I've got this, Bri."

His voice curled over my shoulders, crept under my skin, and the irritation flared anew. I felt my shoulders stiffen, and I wished I'd gone somewhere else with my car. Without turning around, I said, "I'd rather tell her, if you don't mind."

"He's got you, hon." Smack smack. Bri smiled and it was all teeth.

"Fuck my life," I muttered under my breath, wiping my hands down my face and turning to face Brody. His lips were curved up in amusement, and my eyes were drawn to that silver ring hugging plush flesh.

"Hi, Isaac," he murmured, and I watched as his eyes took in every inch of my face, like he was trying to memorize my features. When I felt my skin begin to burn beneath his stare, felt that hot flush creeping up my neck and searing my cheeks, I wanted to run right out the door. But I stood my ground and stared right back at him.

"I'm not even going to ask how you got my name," I muttered, shaking my head. "Look, my?—"

"I asked around. Didn't have to go through too many people to get a name," he said. "Isaac Carpenter. There aren't a lot of…" he trailed off, his gaze sweeping me from head to toe. "Boys that look like you."

A burning heat that was all anger rocketed through me. "What the fuck do you mean, boys that look like me?" And I was a man , goddammit.

Those lips curved even higher, his amusement peaking. "Hm. Pretty. Sweet. Fun-size. Like a little blond pixie."

Oh, that was it. "I'm not a fucking candy bar or a mythical creature, you asshole! You know what, fuck this." Fuck this guy, seriously. I moved to brush past him, and when his hand wrapped itself around my arm—after I'd explicitly told him not to touch me the last time I saw him—I lost it.

One minute we were standing, and the next, I'd jumped on him like a vengeful spider monkey, my fists flying and my fingers scraping, and then we were on the ground. All I felt was rage and panic as that pit inside of me catapulted every demon I'd ever collected right to the surface. I was screaming, I knew I was screaming, and I couldn't shut myself up. My face was wet, my vision blurred, and my mind was a frantic whirlwind of past and present that was so muddied I wasn't sure it would ever clear up.

Someone grabbed my arms, locked them at my sides, and something big and warm was dragging down my back. I could hear soothing sounds near my ear, a constant shh shh shh , intermingled with you're okay and I've got you and I'm sorry . All I could focus on was the wall of heat beneath me, the pacifying sounds spoken with a deep, hushed voice, and the hand moving up and down my back.

Safe safe safe you're safe you're safe my mind kept repeating, until my choking sobs became small whimpers became breathless pants. I squeezed my eyes shut, succumbing to the safety, and kept them shut as I felt myself being lifted, carried somewhere else.

A door closed softly, something squeaked, and then everything stilled again.

"You're okay," a voice whispered above me. And I believed it. I could feel it.

I let myself drift for a while, focused only on feeling that warm hand rubbing soothing circles and designs up and down my back. Sometimes it crept into my hair, scratching gently at my scalp. When I finally cracked my eyes open, I was drained. Exhausted. Weary.

Brody's eyes were the first thing mine latched onto, like the silvery wisps of a spider's web, and just as strong. "Fuck you," I whispered.

A small smile tugged at his lips, but it quickly morphed back into the concerned frown it had been. He was touching me now, cradling me in his arms like a goddamn baby, but I was too tired to dredge up any anger. After the way he'd just handled that, I was too tired to dredge up any fear, either. And that shook me.

But there was red on his face, four long lines of it that were welling with meager amounts of blood, and that shook me more than anything. Because I'd hurt him, I'd done that, I'd put those lines there, and I was a fucking monster.

A freak. A psycho. A goddamn animal.

"No, you're not," he said vehemently, and I guess I spoke those last thoughts aloud.

I closed my eyes against the onslaught of his perceptive stare.

"You're not," he repeated. Quietly, this time. I wanted to believe him. "What happened back there, Isaac?"

His tone was almost plaintive, and so gentle I wanted to kick him. But I think I'd already done that. "I told you not to fucking touch me," I rasped. My throat was sore. "I told you."

"Yeah," he said. "You did. That's on me for not listening." A hesitation, a sharp inhale. "I'm sorry. I'm really fucking sorry, for whatever that's worth."

I couldn't do this anymore. I opened my eyes and shoved his hand away, getting to my feet. My shirt was twisted up around my chest, another point of humiliation to add to the quickly-growing tally, and I jerked it back down. "I'm gonna go now," I said. "Sorry for…" I waved a hand at his face. Seeing the scratches brought a wave of shame so thick and heavy that I almost collapsed under its weight. I crouched down, holding my head in my hands. "Why did you have to do that? I told you, I fucking told you!" I was yelling again. I had to get a hold of myself. I covered my face with my hands and took a deep, shaky inhale that felt like it rattled around my lungs.

"Hey. It's okay, Isaac. I won't touch you again. I promise, I won't touch you again unless you ask me to."

I didn't miss the last line he'd snuck in there, and sudden anger had me looking up at him, my face twisted in a snarl. "I will never ask you to, so you will never touch me. Got it?"

I shouldn't have looked at his face. I should have just walked out the door and kept on going. Brody looked utterly devastated, completely wrecked, and my heart gave a sharp, twisting, painful jerk. I fell back on my butt. "I don't even know you, why do I fucking care, I don't care, I don't ." I was muttering to myself, sounding as crazy as I was, as crazy as I'd just proven myself to be, and Brody just sat on the cracked leather couch, watching me fall apart.

He'd brought on the worst episode I'd ever had, and he'd been able to calm me down faster than anyone before in my life. I don't know what it was about him that riled me up and then soothed me so thoroughly, but I did know I was terrified of every emotion he was wringing from me.

The power this stranger suddenly had over me was going to be my end. I knew that.

I stared into his eyes as I hissed, "I hope I never see you again. You're too fucking dangerous."

I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, watched that devastation dig in deeper around his eyes, his mouth. Watched his hands curl into fists at his side.

Then I let him watch me leave.

"I thought you said you knew stuff about cars," I tossed at the back of Jordan's head. He was bent over the open hood of my car, where it had been parked for the past week. I hadn't driven it at all after finding out there wasn't another mechanic around for forty miles. That's what I got for attending school in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania. That's what I got for having one friend and no connections, no one I could ask to find out if there were other people around town that were good with cars.

"Yeah, and I do," came his muffled reply. I heard something clink ominously, and then a muted fuck .

"Jordan."

"Yeah." He kept tinkering around in the guts, and I had a feeling he was only making things worse.

"Jordan!"

"What!" He finally pulled his head out and looked at me.

"While I appreciate your persistence, I think we're just gonna have to call it. Or—no, better yet, is there someone else we can call? Do you know anyone? Or know someone who knows someone?"

He wiped his hands with one of our dish towels, and I made a mental note to toss it in the garbage when he was done. "I mean, Miguel might know someone. I could ask him."

"Ask. Please," I added. The last thing I wanted to do was take my car back to Big Boone's. To even risk seeing Brody again.

Christ. I couldn't believe what happened last week. I'd immediately made an appointment with my on-again, off-again therapist, Dr. Varu, and while I think it helped, I still felt completely unsettled in my own skin and generally out of sorts. Like the world was slightly tilted, and I was trying to carefully navigate a new landscape that I knew but didn't know .

I was so fucked in the head. It wasn't like people didn't touch me. People touched me a lot. But they didn't stir up an amalgam of feelings that tilted me from one end of the spectrum to the other with a dizzying intensity. They didn't make me question things about myself that I never wanted to question. They didn't make me feel safe .

But I'd asked him not to, I'd told him not to, and he did it anyway. And that was why I'd gone crazy.

I would have flipped out no matter who it was. If I asked Jordan not to touch me, and he did it anyway, I'd still freak out—even though I knew he would never hurt me.

PTSD didn't give a shit about what you knew. My brain was hard-wired to link every occurrence of those kinds of scenarios to what had happened to me in high school, facts be damned.

"Miguel says his brother can look at it," Jordan said, and I wondered how long I'd been lost in the maze of my own thoughts that he'd already talked to Miguel. Hope bloomed in my chest at his words, until he killed it violently when he said, "but he's on vacation and won't be back for two weeks."

"Who the fuck can afford a two-week vacation?" I said.

"He said he's spending a month in Rio."

"What the fuck!" I started pacing back and forth, tugging at my hair. Slightly panicking.

Jordan's hand came down on my shoulder, and I stilled. I trusted Jordan. I knew Jordan and trusted him, and he was aware of my issues. I didn't care if he touched me. Hell, it was even fine when strangers did it—accidentally. Momentarily. But the way Brody had grabbed me at the auto shop…I'd told him not to touch me and when he did it anyway, it brought me right back to when Ethan?—

"Isaac!" I don't know how long Jordan had been saying my name. My eyes snapped to his brown ones that were full of concern, and my shoulders sagged. "Hey, man, what's going on with you?"

I laced my fingers together behind my head, then broke them apart on a long sigh. "I had a fucking episode last week."

Jordan stepped closer, brows drawing together. "What? What happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I just…it was that Brody guy. You know, Jamie's roommate? He fucks with my head, Jordan. I told him not to touch me, and he just—he just kept doing it, and I fucking snapped. I—I attacked him," I admitted, rubbing my hands down my face in a poor attempt to dispel the guilt. The image of those four lines of red on Brody's face wouldn't leave my head

"Dude, what the hell…I knew that guy was a fucking creep!" Jordan was angry now, had his phone in his hands, his thumbs peppering the screen with hard little punches as he typed something out.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm asking Jamie if he's home so I can go over there and kick his ass," he said. I snatched the phone from his hands, ignoring his protesting hey! and walked back up the front path to the house.

"No ass kicking," I threw over my shoulder. I heard Jordan's boots as he stomped up the path behind me, and then we were walking through the door. He followed me to the kitchen, where I grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, tossing one to him. He caught it and chugged half of it before throwing a glare my way.

"Why no ass kicking? If ever a situation called for a boot in someone's ass, it's this one, Isaac."

"Because I don't want you to! I'm fine! Everything is fine! He apologized to me and that's that." Even I didn't believe my own lies. "I'll just avoid him 'til we graduate. It's fine."

"Quick question."

"What?"

"Just wanted to know if it's fine, that wasn't very clear."

I threw my bottle cap at him. "Shut up, loser."

Two more weeks passed, and when I asked Jordan to call Miguel again and ask if his brother was available, he laid some terrible news at my feet.

"He's off to Mexico now," he said.

"What?! A month in Rio wasn't enough? What the hell!"

"Yeah, Miguel's not sure when he'll be back," he said.

"Fuck, Jordan, that guy was my only hope!"

"I know," he said. "He was your Obi Wan. Look, I can take the car down to Big Boone's for you."

I eyed him warily. "I feel like you're just gonna try and kick Brody's ass, and then you'll get thrown out, and then I'll never get my car fixed. I might as well sell it at this point."

"I'll buy it from you," he said.

"You don't even have a license, Jordan. Which, by the way, why ?"

He shrugged. "Meh. Who needs one when all your friends can drive?"

"Fucking freeloader," I muttered. But anxiety was beginning to crawl up my arms, down my legs, and nest in my lower back. I was gonna have to take the car back to Big Boone's.

I decided to do it on a weekday, when I was sure Brody wouldn't be there. So the following Wednesday morning, when I didn't have classes, I drove down to Big Boone's, listening to the discordant tones of clinking and clanking as my little car chugged along valiantly. When I got to the door of the shop, I hesitated.

Even if Brody was inside, I felt like after what happened, he might actually respect my warning. Maybe. Fuck, I wished I knew him better so I could gauge how earnest he'd been when he told me he wouldn't touch me again.

I ripped the door open and marched right up to the counter, not giving myself time to look around the store. Not thinking about the last time I'd been here, when I'd witnessed the beauty that was Brody smiling and happy, in his element?—

What the fuck. What the actual fuck . Where had that fucking thought come from ? Oh my god. If I wasn't panicking before, I sure as fuck was now because Brody wasn't beautiful.

Yes he fucking was.

Oh, there was something deeply wrong with my mind. He'd fucked me up. He'd popped a few key gears out of place, and I had no idea how to right them.

"You do that a lot, you know."

I blinked, and the black-haired, scowling girl with gray eyes stared back at me. "Sorry. Do what?"

She waved a hand around her head. "It's like…you're not even here."

I'd been hoping she wouldn't be here, because I associated her with Brody being here. But fuck it, I'd come this far.

"Well, I'm here. Can I get someone to look at my car?" I chanced a glance around the shop, relief sinking into me when I saw no one else was here but us.

"Yeah, but we're pretty backed up today. Only got one mechanic here. There's some kind of bug going around and they're dropping like flies." She waggled her eyebrows at me, and I hated it. "Get it?"

"Yeah. Really clever. So how long will it take?"

She rapped her fingernails against the counter and pursed her lips, squinting her eyes at the ceiling. "Hmm, probably five hours."

"Just to look at it?"

"Give or take."

"I don't—I can't—" Fuck me. "Goddammit, fine. Here," I said, shoving the keys across the countertop.

"Great. Just fill this out and bring it back up when you're done." She pushed a clipboard with paperwork over to me, where a blue pen dangled from a dirty piece of string attached to the clip.

"Thanks," I muttered, grabbing it and turning to find a seat. There were six to choose from, and I sat in the one closest to the door and farthest from her. It was cracked and peeling, and one piece was as hard as wood and poked into my ass.

I filled the paperwork out as the sounds of machinery came from somewhere beyond Bri. I found myself trying to catch glimpses of the mechanic through the small window in the door separating the space, but couldn't see anything. When I was done, I brought it back up to Bri. She popped her gum at me in thanks. I refrained from flipping her off and sat my ass back down in the least comfortable seat in the world.

An hour later, after I'd played Candy Crush until my eyes started crossing, the door to the back room smacked open.

"The Kia's done, you can—Isaac." My name was said with a kind of horrified shock that drifted into wonder at the end.

I looked up, saw Brody, and got to my feet. "No," I said.

He put his hands up and took a step back. His eyes caught on every piece of me, roaming almost hungrily down my body and over my face. I hated the heat that coursed through me under his attention. I hated the sudden pulsing of my blood roaring through my veins, hated the way the world seemed to narrow down to just him.

I wished I'd never offered him that money. That I'd never let myself get caught in the web of those eyes.

And still, I found myself looking at his cheek, staring at the four lines that had almost completely vanished. Guilt ate away at the lining of my stomach, like I'd chugged a barrel of acid.

"Hey. Look, I'm just gonna stay right here. Okay?"

Bri seemed entirely disinterested in what was happening around her. She just looked at me, looked at Brody, then ignored us, doing something on her phone.

"I just want to get my car fixed," I said, and I could hear the pathetic plea in my voice.

"That's fine. I can do that." He leaned down to murmur in Bri's ear, and she grabbed something and handed it to him. "The silver Camry?" I nodded. "What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know, it makes a rattling sound when I drive it."

"Gotcha. I'll take it for a quick drive and then look under the hood. I'll let you know if I find anything." I could see the questions burning behind his eyes, the words he wanted to say but held back. And I could feel my own questions forming, could feel my own words bubbling up from the murky depths, could feel my mouth open as they tried to push their way out?—

Brody was gone, the back door swinging to a slow stop. Bri was staring at me, jaw working as she chewed her gum, eyes gleaming with something that looked a lot like delight.

"Shut up," I said.

"I didn't say anything."

"Your eyes did."

"Eyes don't talk. Not where I'm from, at least." Pop . "Where are you from?"

"Your mom," I shot back, then screwed up my face when I realized what had just come out of my mouth. "Fucking— not your mom," I groaned.

"Glad you're not fucking my mom, Yoda. Because that would be necrophilia."

"Jesus fucking Christ !" I cried, staring at her in horror.

"Yeah. That's probably who she's fucking."

"Oh my god. Oh my god . What is wrong with you?"

"Dead mom. Lots of issues." She shrugged.

"Clearly."

"You're one to talk. That was some performance, last time you were here." Smack smack smack.

I stared at Bri, blinked, then went back to my chair by the door. What a weird girl.

"He's sorry, you know."

I whipped my head up to find her still watching me. "Can we please stop talking? Please?"

"Just thought you should know. He's really, really sorry. And he doesn't ever care that much about other people. I wonder what it is about you that he likes."

I leaned back and stared at the ceiling, fixing my focus on a large brown stain above me. "I don't even know Brody, and he sure as fuck doesn't know me. Can we end this now?"

"Sure thing, toots."

I thought she mumbled But he definitely wants to know you under her breath, but I couldn't be sure and I wasn't about to ask her.

Finally there was nothing but blessed silence interspersed with loud pops every now and then. I closed my eyes, laced my hands together, and let myself drift off.

"Isaac."

My eyes flew open, and I blinked rapidly, trying to remember where I was. What was going on. It wasn't a hard task to accomplish, because Brody's face hovered above mine.

"Fuck," I said, jolting from the chair and practically flying to the one across from me. His eyes were lit with amusement, and he sank his big body into the chair I had just vacated.

"So it looks like you're gonna need a new catalytic converter," he told me, and any trace of amusement had vanished.

"What? What even is that? How much is it?"

"Generally, they're pretty expensive, usually sixteen hundred?—"

"Oh you've gotta be fucking kidding me," I groaned, dropping my head into my hands.

"—but I can cut that in half for you."

I lifted my head a fraction so I could glare at him. "Oh, can you? And what'll that cost me? Which piece of my soul would you like?"

His lips parted, and he glanced away for a brief moment. Fuck, I knew it. He was gonna try to swindle something out of me. This fucking bastard. I'd just have to wait until Miguel's brother got back, but by the looks of it, that might be a year from now. Country-hopping jerk.

"What do you want , Brody?"

His gaze fastened itself to mine. "A date."

I stood up. "Go fuck yourself," I said.

He stood up too, and even though there were probably five feet between us, I still had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. I resented him for that.

"If you just give me a chance to—" he rushed out, but I cut him off. I didn't want to give him a chance to do anything.

"What is this, a rom-com? Do you think that after countless hours of forced proximity I'll come to realize that my anger was really just covering up my burgeoning desire for you? Will we ride off into the sunset at the end, hand in hand?"

Brody just stood there, staring down at me, his jaw clenched so tightly I could see a muscle ticking in his cheek.

"Do you know what I want, Brody? The only thing I want?" I didn't wait for a response. "I just want my goddamn car to be fixed!" I might have yelled that last part. But I was so tired, so done being played with by this guy, and finding out my car needed almost two thousand dollars in repairs had blown the cap off my control. I was being so atrociously mean to him, and I knew I'd be feeling the shame of that for days to come, but it was like someone else was at the helm. The loosest fucking cannon.

Fuck. I'd taken things too far. I needed to apologize.

His eyes searched mine, and then a quiet laugh broke from his lips. "Fuck, you're brutal." There was admiration in his tone, and I resented that too.

"Look, I'm?—"

"I'll fix your car," he said.

" Without a discount for sexual favors," I added. "And I'm?—"

"I didn't want that, I just wanted?—"

"Brody," I said, exhausted now. "I just…can we please not talk about it anymore? Please?"

His eyes searched mine, and then he said, "The parts won't be here for a few days."

I suddenly wondered why I ever bought a car in the first place. It was so much damn trouble, and it didn't feel worth it.

"How the hell am I supposed to get home?" I asked out loud.

"I can drive you," he offered.

"I'd rather eat a cactus than get in a car with you," I said. I paused, and before I could think about it any further, asked, "When?" I didn't have anyone I could call for a ride. Between walking home and Brody, I'd pick the one where I didn't have to exercise for three plus hours. My body was not made for strenuous activity.

Brody didn't even blink at my rudeness. He said, "I'm off at four today. So, two hours." As if reading on my face how much I didn't want to spend two more hours here, he added, "There's a sandwich shop down the street, if you're hungry."

"Fine. Four," I conceded. Then, after a pause, I added quietly, "Thank you."

He had the decency not to look smug about it, and when he walked toward the back I found my eyes trailing down his body, catching on his ass in tight black jeans that hugged it so perfectly.

Are you fucking kidding me right now, brain?

Without even looking at Bri, despite feeling her eyes boring into my soul, I pushed out the door and walked down to the sandwich shop with a heart full of dread. I didn't know how I was going to pay for a new catalytic converter when all I had in my bank account was a thousand bucks. My part-time job at the school's bookstore wasn't going to get those numbers anywhere near where they needed to be fast enough.

I was fucked.