“As is caring for others.” Ollie’s voice was soft and comforting. I peeked up at him and gave him a tiny smile. “You did a good job hiding that part of your life.”
I nodded. “That’s what my parents taught me to do.”
Ollie’s hand left his stick shift, and he grabbed mine, giving it a squeeze before letting go and shifting once more. “Well, you don’t have to do that anymore. Not with me. Okay?”
A lightness filled my body. My heart grew with his words as if he were climbing inside my chest and making it bigger with his very hands.
The big things in my life, the scary ones, seemed a little smaller with his hand in mine. Things felt right when I was with Ollie.
But for some reason, after we ate our body weight in chicken nuggets and he dropped me back at home, the anxiety was back.
Things felt right yet so wrong at the same time.
Chapter Forty-Two
Ollie
The pit in my stomach grew deeper as each day passed. A dark cloud was following me around school, to my house…it even hovered over my head when I’d text Piper late at night.
Tomorrow was Saturday, and although I had all the Ts crossed and Is dotted, I still felt sick. I’d questioned if I was doing the right thing, but I wasn’t even sure what was right anymore. I knew very well that Tank was a piece of shit who didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything besides himself. He was money-hungry and self-righteous, and he needed to be put in his place.
He fucked with Piper, and I wasn’t okay with that. And there was no way in hell I’d be tethered to him for any longer than I needed to be. I wouldn’t be racing for him after Saturday; he just didn’t know it.
An elephant sat on my chest as I ignored the two notifications on my phone from my dad. I drummed my fingers over the mahogany table in the school library, the rich wood even richer underneath the hanging light. Books lined the shelves, one by one, as I gazed in front of me.
I heard the tick of the clock in the background, the minutes of study hall passing by painfully slow, which did nothing but heighten my rising anxiety.
You’re doing the right thing.
But was I?
My intentions were clear, but I wasn’t sure they’d appear that way.
I was trying to be a good guy. I was trying to do the right thing and protect the people I cared about: Piper, Christian, the relationship my father and Christian had recently formed.
But my hold on being a good guy was slipping. Things were beginning to eat away at me. I felt lost. I was tense. My teeth slid together and ground on top of one another. Sometimes I did this: I lost the battle between good and bad, right and wrong. Maybe it was the side of me that I didn’t really recognize yet. Maybe it was the blood that ran through my veins that had me halting and rethinking who I wanted to be.
I liked being the good guy, the happy Powell brother, the one that made people laugh. But other times, I liked to step out of that box and toe the line of being something else. I wanted to dip into the other side—the side that made me want to plummet my fist into Tank’s face repeatedly until he slipped into unconsciousness. The side that wanted to hunt down Piper’s parents and scold them for not caring enough about their daughter. I wanted to ring Jason’s neck until he became submissive and got the help he needed instead of filling his veins with drugs and hurting his sister in the process.
My breathing grew harsher as I pressed my back against the wooden chair, my fingers still drumming agitatedly over the table. A hot sweat started to coat my brow as I fought internally to stay my calm, even-tempered self. I needed to get into that level-headed, everything-will-be-fine mindset.
I shrugged off my blazer and threw it over the next chair. I loosened the tie around my neck.
Not helping.
My eyes found one of the underclassmen boys that I’d played football with last semester. Kyle? Was that his name?
My chin tipped in his direction, and his brows shot up. Yes, you. Come here.
The freshman slowly stood up from his chair and walked over to me on wobbly legs. I felt better already. My lips twitched as I scribbled down something on a piece of paper. Once I folded it in half, I peered up at the boy. He had thick, black-framed glasses that weren’t even sitting straight on his face.
“I need you to do me a solid. Can you do that for me?”
The boy nodded his head vigorously, and I was almost afraid his glasses would fall off the tip of his nose. This was a benefit of being a Powell—of being Christian’s brother. I may have been a grade younger than him and Eric, but I was still worshiped just the same. “I need you to deliver this note to Mrs. Sampson’s class. Just hand it to her. That’s all.”
His hand shook as he reached out to grab it. Jesus. Why is he so scared?
“You good?” I asked, genuinely concerned.