He rubs his lips together, his gaze piercing into me. “I wanted to talk to you about the bandage on your wrist.”
“Good Lord,” I gripe, my head bobbling back. “Will you drop this?”
“Not until you tell me what happened.”
“It’s not a big deal, so let it go.”
“If it’s not a big deal, then why don’t you just tell me what happened?” He slips his hands from his pockets and scratches his arm. “Did …? Did Amelia do something to you?”
“That girl who was over at my house this morning?” I ask, and he nods. I bust up laughing. “You think that chick could hurt me? Seriously?”
“I already told you she’s tougher—and crazier—than she looks,” he reminds me. “And she’s Axel’s daughter, so …”
“So what?” I work to get my laughter under control. “You think Axel’s going to send his daughter to come after me? If that’s the case, then I have nothing to worry about.” At least when it comes to Axel.
Blaise’s dad, however, is an entirely separate problem.
“He might.” Blaise stares at the road down the alleyway with a pucker between his brows. “This morning, Amelia invited me to a party.” He meets my gaze. “She said she invited you, and that you agreed to go.”
“Well, she’s full of shit,” I tell him. “Because I never talked to her. In fact, the only other person I talked to at school today was your sister.”
His forehead creases. “Yeah, how did that happen anyway? I didn’t even realize you two knew each other.”
“We didn’t really. Still don’t. But we decided to try to feel out the whole friendship thing and see if we click.”
“But, why?” he wonders skeptically. “I mean, no offense to my sister, but she hasn’t had a real friend since grade school.”
“Really?” I ask, and he nods. “Why? She seems cool and everything.”
“Well, some of it has to do with her mother. She’s a real piece of work and has done a lot of shit over the years that lead to Scarlett getting bullied.” He blows out a breath. “The other part has to do with a couple years ago. Something happened to Scarlett and people refuse to let it go.”
I have a vague idea of what he’s referring to—the time Scarlett was sent to a psychiatric hospital.
“Well, people suck. At least those kinds of people.”
“Yeah, they do.” He searches my eyes. “Do you know what happened to Scarlett?”
“I have a vague idea, but only because I saw some stuff when I was looking up info about you guys.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
I shrug. “Everyone’s got their issues, including me, so who am I to judge?” I lower my foot to the asphalt and straighten. “Besides, I don’t even know the whole story yet, and from my experience, not everything is always what it seems.”
He smashes his lips together, bobbing his head up and down, his fiery gaze driving me damn crazy. “You really are different.”
“And you tell me that all the time.”
“Well, you are.”
“So are you.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“So am I.”
A beat skips by, and then he smiles. “You know, I was a little skeptical when Scarlett said you two were hanging out at lunch today. No offense, but you both sort of draw trouble, and I thought it might be a disaster. But I’m starting to think that maybe it’s a good thing.”
“Well, I’m glad I have your approval,” I say with an eye roll.
His smile only expands, but then promptly fades. “I still wish you’d tell me what happened to your wrist.”
Good God, I wish he’d just let this go, but since he refuses to, I’m going to have to lie.
Again.
“I fucking cut it, okay?” I fold my fingers around the bandage. “And it was really stupid how it happened and makes me look like a klutz, which I’m so not, so please don’t make me tell you the story.”
“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly.
I roll my eyes. “Of course I’m okay. I’m always okay.”
That just might be the biggest fucking lie I’ve told in a long time.
His gaze drops to my wrist then glides back up to my eyes. “You don’t need to go get it looked at, like, by a doctor or something?”
I huff out a breath. “No, I don’t. And you seriously need to stop worrying all the time.”
“I can’t help it,” he mutters, looking away from me. “It’s like second nature to me.”
That I can understand more than I wish I did.
“Well, you can stop worrying about me,” I promise. “I’m fine.”
He shakes his head, looking at me again. “No, you’re not, Hadley. But if you need to keep pretending you’re okay, then go ahead. Just know that I’m here to help if you need it.”
“Are you really sure you want to take this on when you’ve got three younger brothers and yourself to worry about already? Plus, you’re now the owner of an auto shop. Seems like your hands are pretty full.”
He winks at me. “Good thing I’m great at juggling.”
I can’t help laughing. “That was pretty lame.”
“Yeah, it sort of was.” He chuckles, combing his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I must be tired or something.”
“It’s cool.” I pat his head. “You mean well.”
He rolls his tongue in his mouth. “Why are you always doing that?”
I lower my hand to my side. “Doing what?”
“Patting me? Like I’m a dog or something?”
“Sorry, I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” I say, lifting a shoulder. “Does it bother you?”
He gives a half-shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe if you let me do it to you, I might feel better.”
I dare a step forward. “All right, go ahead.”
“You’re really going to let me do it?” he asks disbelievingly.
“Sure. It only seems fair.” Plus, it might distract him from being fixated on my injured wrist and telling me he’s here to help me.
Every time he says stuff like that, I get super uncomfortable. I think I might have issues, but I’m not positive why or where they stem from.
He waits a beat for me to rescind my offer, and when my lips stay fused, he shrugs. “Okay.” He reaches out and momentarily pats my head, amusement sparkling in his eyes. But then our gazes weld, he swallows hard, and the patting shifts to softly brushing his fingers through my hair. I should stop him—I know I should—but it feels good, sort of like a massage, and makes my headache go down a notch.
“I like your hair,” he mutters, playing with the strands. “It’s so soft.”
“As much as you like my beautiful face and ass?” I aim for a teasing tone, but my shaky voice misses the mark.
Goddammit, Hadley, step back and make him stop fondling your hair.
I
nstead of listening to my smart, inner voice, my feet remain planted, acting completely stupid. And my stupidity only spreads when Blaise trails his fingers down my hairline to my bruised cheek while my feet still remain glued to the asphalt.
He gently caresses his knuckles across my skin. “How’s your face feeling?”
I force down a shaky breath. “You know, you need to stop worrying about that, too. It’s not like I’ve never had a bruised face before.”
Insinuation fills his pressing gaze. “Has your dad ever bruised your face before?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah.” And it’s the truth. He’s never bruised my face, but that doesn’t mean he’s never hit me before.
He continues stroking my cheek. “My dad used to hit me sometimes,” he admits quietly. “But when people would ask where the bruises came from, I’d lie because I was afraid and embarrassed.”
“I’m sorry.” My heart constricts, understanding his pain all too well. “That he hit you.”
“It’s fine. He’s out of my life now, so I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
“My dad’s out of my life, too, so I guess I don’t have to either.”
His gaze flits to my bandaged wrist again. “Are you sure he’s completely out of your life?”
Is that what this is about?
“Wait. You think my dad did this?” I lift my wrist.
He wavers, trailing his fingers to my jawline. “I’m not sure, but part of me wonders if maybe you ran into him this morning—that that’s why you were late for school—and you don’t want to tell me because he asked you not to tell anyone he’s still hanging out in Honeyton.”
Despite the fact that his fingers caressing my face feels soothing, I step back and put some distance between us, an uneven breath I didn’t even realize I was holding easing from my lips.
Blaise blinks, lowering his hand to his side, his face a mask of confusion, making me wonder if he even realized he’d been petting my cheek for the last few minutes.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” I tell him sternly. “At this point in my life, with the trouble my dad has gotten not only himself but my sisters into, I would never cover his ass. If he does show up, I’m going to notify everyone who’s after him. Because, when it all comes down to it, it’s either protect him or my sisters, and I choose my sisters.”