Reed’s successful too because in the next second, Ledger shoots his hand out and pushes Reed back.
Oh God.
And finally, we have a reaction.
It pulses through Reed like a current, obliterating his relaxed persona, making him rigid and unforgiving. And when Reed takes a threatening step closer to Ledger, Ledger does the same, bringing them back to standing toe to toe, their bodies sweaty, their heads bent toward each other as if they’re exchanging confidences rather than threats.
The two beasts, the Mustang and the Thorn.
Just when I think that they’re going to start punching each other, someone steps in.
My oldest brother and their coach, Conrad.
He absolutely hates this rivalry. Hates. He hates Ledger’s anger. He hates Reed’s recklessness.
He hates the fact that every high school team in the entire freaking state knows about this. About how the two star players of Bardstown High can’t quit measuring their dicks on the field — his words, not mine — and they always take advantage of it.
My oldest brother gets between his two players, plants one palm on each of their chests and pushes them away.
When he’s managed to break the two heavily panting, angry-looking guys apart, Conrad wraps his large hands around the backs of their necks and pulls them in again, giving them a piece of his mind.
When he’s done Conrad straightens up and pins them with his hard gaze for a few seconds before letting them go. And just like that the game resumes.
“So that’s my brother,” I tell her, repeating her words. “The one who was clearly trying to beat your brother up. Ledger. And the one who got between them? The coach? That’s my brother too, Conrad.”
“Oh wow,” Tempest breathes out.
“Yeah.” I nod. “See? You can’t even joke about it. Not in Bardstown.”
She keeps staring at the field for a few seconds before turning to me. “So… I don’t think you’re gonna like what I’m going to say next.”
“What?”
“That I think I have a huge crush on your brother.” Her gray eyes — so unmistakably like Reed’s — pop wide. “I’ve never seen someone stand up to my brother like that. Ledger.”
She breathes out his name in a dreamy voice.
“I don’t –”
“Oh, and you’re coming with me,” she speaks over me.
“Coming with you where?”
“To the party.”
“What party?”
“The aftergame party that Reed always throws.”
I’m going to a party.
But that’s not important.
That’s not even on the list of top three important things.
It’s not as if I haven’t been to parties before. I have. A few times.
But between school and my dance classes, I don’t get a lot of free time so I’m not that experienced with them either.
The ones that I have been to were loud and overcrowded and had really bad music.
Not to mention, they sort of freak my brothers out.
They don’t show it though, no. For my sake, my four overprotective older brothers try to hide their worry.
They try to hide the fact that every time I go to a party, they’re all always watching the clock. They’re always watching the door too – well, Con does because he likes to stay home, the rest of them are usually out and about with their friends – and texting each other to see if I’m back.
I think they have a group chat together.
I mean, we have one where all five siblings are included but I think they have a secret four-person chat where they sort of obsess over if I’m okay.
I guess even though I’m in high school now, I’m still their baby sister.
The one who followed them around while growing up. The one whose ballet recitals they all went to. The one who couldn’t fall asleep by herself for the longest time when our mom died, so all my brothers would take turns during the night and stay with me in my room.
I don’t really remember that part, about not falling asleep by myself, probably because I was only four when Mom died, but every time I think of it, I can’t stop crying and smiling.
I can’t stop the rush of love I feel for my big brothers.
So over time I decided not to go to parties at all.
I don’t want to worry them for something I don’t really have the time for and don’t like to begin with anyway.
But I’m going to this one.
And I’m going without telling my brothers.
That’s their one rule – to keep them updated about my whereabouts.
They’ll let me go to parties, or to the movies with my friends, but they need to know where I am at all times.
They don’t know where I am right now.
They think they know; I texted them saying I’m studying with one of my friends and that I’ll be back by my curfew.
They don’t know that I’m here.
That I’m going to a party thrown by Reed Roman Jackson.
My brother’s rival.