Rival Page 3

  "You trying to distract me or your mom?" he asks, the corner of his eyes crinkled with humor.

  "I don't want her to see the blood on your shirt," I hiss.

  "Did you bring a boy home?" she asks, and it’s impossible to miss the hopeful tone in her voice.

  Sigh.

  So much for getting rid of Brett quickly.

  I break from his embrace and turn around, putting myself between Brett and my mom, who’s above us and across the drive, hoping she’s too excited to be paying close attention.

  "We got all dirty from the four-wheeler," I fib. "Can we clean up and meet you inside?"

  Her face is so bright and interested that it makes my teeth ache. "Of course, dear. Don't be long!"

  Before she can change her mind, I push Brett toward the side of the house and the kitchen entrance. "C'mon."

  My shoes and his boots clomp against the pavement, the silence between us momentarily awkward.

  His hand closes over mine, and I look at him askance.

  He grins. "Don't want your mom to see your scraped knuckles."

  But I'm pretty sure we both know it's more than that. Especially when he doesn't let go after we turn the corner.

  "So... first kiss?" he asks.

  I'm still trembling. Is that how he guessed?

  I glare at him.

  He laughs, the sound rich and mellow.

  Heat burns my cheeks as I throw open the kitchen door and march inside, dragging my hand away from him.

  "I've never had a first kiss in front of a girl's mom before," he says conversationally.

  I bite my tongue, stopping myself from asking him exactly how many first kisses he's had. I don't care. Do I?

  I take the stairs two- and three-at-a-time up the back staircase—not to be confused with the giant horseshoe-shaped one in the front foyer—and Brett follows. I point him into one of the huge bathrooms and detour into my room.

  Six months after my dad died, my mom got rid of all his clothes, but I stashed a few t-shirts in my bottom drawer. Sometimes, when I miss him the most, I sneak one out and sleep in it.

  My dad was a little taller than Brett, but he was built about the same through the chest, so this should work.

  I grab one, then I think maybe my mom will scrutinize the both of us. I close the door and shuck my jeans and t-shirt, quickly pulling on a soft white pair of bottoms from one of my gis—the uniforms we wear in martial arts practice—and a bright tank top.

  I shoot off a text to check on Erick, but I don't get a response.

  I pad bare-footed into the bathroom, where he is leaning toward the mirror, examining another scrape I hadn't noticed before, this one on the back of his elbow.

  "Take your shirt off," I order.

  He turns toward me.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he teases. "Slow down. I'm not that kind of guy."

  I punch the balled-up t-shirt into his gut. He huffs, grinning down at me again. My eyes catch on his lips before I force them away.

  "Hurry up," I tell him, squatting to rummage beneath the sink for a washrag.

  When I straighten, he's got his shirt off. I blink and try to turn my eyes away from that perfectly chiseled chest. I had no idea all that was under those t-shirts. Who knew?

  Cheeks burning, I run cold water on the rag and wonder if he would notice if I patted it over my face.

  I glance in the mirror, and he flexes his pecs. Totally straight-faced.

  And all the tension from the situation with my mom, the vamp fight, everything, bubbles up, and I collapse to the floor, laughing so hard that my eyes tear up.

  Brett chuckles quietly, too.

  And then my tears spill over. I bring my knees up to my chest and tuck my face between them, just letting all the fear and stress out.

  The faucet goes on, and I’m intensely grateful that he isn’t trying to hug me or something. Just having him witness the emotional overload is embarrassing enough.

  Finally, the tide recedes. I start to calm down.

  I sit there for a few moments longer, trying to compose myself. Breathing deeply.

  Then I wipe my face and look up. He's scrubbing the last of the dried blood off his bare shoulder. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

  "Better?" he asks.

  I nod. Don't know what to say, exactly. Had he done it on purpose? Known I needed a release?

  He slips my dad's shirt over his head. It's a plain black one and makes Brett's blue eyes pop. He extends his hand to me, and I let him pull me up. But when I’m upright, he doesn't let go of me. The faucet is still on and he starts washing my scraped knuckles under the water.

  The soap stings, but I focus on the pain instead of trying to back away from it.

  I've got to find a way to pull back from this connection between Brett and me. Remember who he is. He's not a Chaser. We aren't friends. Somehow, the events of this afternoon have conspired against me to make me like him, but it's not real. He can’t know about the vampires.

  "So what's going to happen with your cousin?" he asks, and all the humor is gone from his voice. He's dead serious now. He turns the water off and hands me a towel.

  I shrug, patting dry. "Erick's older brother, my cousin Lou, is on the force. Erick thought he could help."

  Erick had insisted Lou could fix things. It's the only reason I left with Brett. Maybe it was selfish, but if my mom finds out about the fight, it won’t matter that we were defending ourselves. She'll freak. She hardly leaves the house as it is, afraid of every shadow.

  I can't live like that. If she puts me on house-arrest, I'll go crazy. ‘Course, if Lou knows, then Uncle Felix will hear all about it. I hope he’ll keep his mouth shut.

  Brett seems to accept my answer readily enough.

  I find a tube of antibiotic ointment in the middle drawer, but before I can even take the top off, he takes it from me. He clasps my injured hand in one of his and rubs the medication into it with the other. Taking care of me.

  It's weird. No one has doctored my booboos in years. Probably not since I was about five.

  Brett keeps his focus on my hand. "What were those things?" His voice is low, serious.

  I freeze. Only for a second, but with my hand in his, I’m sure he notices.

  "What do you mean?" I ask, faking like I don't know.

  He lifts his face and frowns at me, quirking his eyebrows. "They had fangs," he says. "Super strong. Remember?"

  "Bad Halloween costume?" I rip my hand away from his and snatch up the cream, slipping behind him on the pretense of caring for the wound behind his elbow.

  He doesn't buy it, watching me intently in the mirror.

  But I can't tell him. He isn't a Chaser, and normal humans aren't supposed to know about the vamp population or our activities.

  I rub the medication onto his skin, focusing on what I'm doing.

  "That's your story? Seriously?"

  I shrug, not meeting his eyes in the mirror. "Done," I say.

  "Uh-uh," he grunts, pointing to the scrape on his jaw.

  I raise my eyebrows at him. Clearly he can reach it himself.

  But he waits. And waits.

  So I huff a sigh and move in front of him. He crowds me into the counter, all up in my personal space.

  I dab the stuff on his jaw as quickly as I can. "It's not that bad," I murmur.

  Thankful. It could've been so much worse.

  "So what are you going to tell your mom?"

  I look up at him. He's so close. I flick my eyes down. "We're going to tell her that we fell off the four-wheeler, but it wasn't a big deal."

  He scrutinizes me, eyes stormy. "You think she'll buy that? She just saw us ride up on the bike."

  I nod.

  "So you want me to lie to your mom, but you won't tell me what I'm hiding for you?"

  I should make something up, tell him he’s crazy for thinking those guys were anything but normal humans. I should, but when I look into his deep blue eyes, all the intelligent thoughts leak out of my he
ad. "Basically, yeah," I blurt before I can think better of it.

  "You're going to owe me."

  I can't tell if he's joking.

  At this point, I'm willing to do anything to keep my mom from finding out what happened.

  7 - Emily

  I'm brushing the last of the tangles from my hair before bed when there's a knock on my bedroom door.

  My mom peeks her head in. "Just how naïve do you think I am?"

  My heart starts pounding. I turn away, yanking on a particularly stubborn knot, pretending I don't know what she's talking about.

  Did Uncle Felix narc on me?

  She steps into my room without waiting for an invitation. Usually, that means she's upset with me.

  I'm hot all over, trying to come up with something to say that will make her understand that I didn't have a choice but to fight back against those vamps. They were trying to kill us.

  "You and that boy, Brett. I can't believe you haven't told me you're dating someone."

  Relief soars through me. This isn't about vampires. At the same time, I tense up.

  "Mom, we're not really—" I start to say, we're not dating, but stop myself. "We're not serious."

  "That's not how it looked to me. Just how long have you been seeing him?"

  I shrug and place the brush back on my mirrored-dresser. "We practice at the same dojo. We've known each other for years."

  When I turn back to her, her face is shining with joy.

  She looks older somehow. Two years ago, before my dad died, she spent most of her time working with local charities on their board of directors, eating lunch with her fancy friends.

  I don't think she's been out of the house in weeks, even though she's been heavily involved in preparations for my big event, the cotillion.

  "Will you invite him to your party?" she asks.

  Heck no.

  But she's so hopeful that the denial sticks in my throat. It's been a long time since she's been satisfied with me. What could it hurt to let her believe that Brett and I are dating, even though we aren't?

  "I don't know." I hedge. "With all the cousins there, it might scare him off."

  "When will you go out again?" she asks.

  I don't like lying to her, so I try a distraction. "We'll see each other in school." If I can't avoid him. "But we've got the tournament starting Thursday, so not this weekend."

  Her face shuts down at the mention of the competition. "You have to compete again?"

  "I won last year," I remind her. Not that she came to watch me. She wants me to be a girly girl, but I can’t be someone I’m not, not even to please my mother. I'm a Chaser, even if she doesn't want me to be. Seven more days…

  "So you shouldn't need to compete again this year. Go out on top and all that."

  I bite back a sigh. "Mom..." She doesn't get it. Martial arts has kept me grounded since dad died. It's the only thing that keeps me connected to him. "I like it," I finish lamely. "And I'm going to the tournament."

  She frowns. "Your party starts at eight. You'll need to be ready early to greet people. Which means I'll need you here at five to dress."

  Three hours to dress for the party. That seems excessive.

  "The final round is Saturday afternoon," I tell her. "If I make the finals, will you come?"

  Her eyes darken. "I don't know, sweetie. I'll be finishing all the preparations for your party."

  It's your party, I want to say.

  But I don't. At this point, I'm desperate to fight in the tournament and scared to say or do anything that might tempt her to stop me.

  It's a blatant reminder how different we are. She cares more about the party and keeping up appearances for her friends than about me. The fighting—that’s not something she can show off to her friends. In fact, if anything, it embarrasses her.

  Part of me wishes I could tell her about what happened this afternoon. We could've died, but we won. We beat them. I beat them.

  But I don't dare.

  I hate it that my own mom doesn't really know me or care about what's important to me.

  I wish my dad were still here. He was like the glue that kept mom and me—so different—stuck together. Like a family should be.

  Now, we're just two strangers who live in the same house.

  8 - Brett

  "So, you kissed me yesterday."

  I slide into the lunchroom chair next to Emily, hoping my smile covers my wince of pain. Even that simple movement feels like knives through my joints.

  She shushes me, looking around frantically. I'm guessing to make sure no one heard me. Ouch.

  But no one is paying attention to us.

  I shift, try to find some way to alleviate the discomfort in my knees. I could go to the school nurse for another pain pill, but I don't want to. I can bear it.

  I was right yesterday. My adrenaline crashed on my way back from Emily's, and by the time I got home, I had to pry my hands off the handlebars to hobble inside.

  I crashed, overslept, and missed my first two classes. My doctors and parents have communicated enough with the school that my teachers understand, but it makes me mad every time I have to make up work or miss something important because of my condition.

  What I wouldn't give to be a normal guy.

  I lean back in my seat, changing positions again to try and get some relief. I throw my arm over the back of Emily's chair to cover the move.

  She glares at me, and I smack an air kiss at her. "Ready to repeat?"

  It's so easy to rile her up.

  But she doesn't smack me with an elbow in the gut like I expect. She turns red and goes back to her lunch, stuffing food in her mouth.

  Interesting.

  "Erick!" Her quick exclamation gushes with relief as her cousin plops into the seat across from her.

  He raises an eyebrow at me, a silent question, but I shake my head minutely. I may have made an inch of progress with Emily yesterday, but if he verbalizes anything, I'm toast. I know her enough to get that.

  "What happened yesterday, man?" I ask.

  He looks exhausted. Shadows under his eyes like he didn't sleep much.

  "Cops came." He glances at Emily and something unspoken passes between them, just like it did yesterday before she and I escaped the parking garage. Something's up, but it seems to be family-only.

  "They called my brother and my dad."

  "You in trouble?" I realize how dumb a question that is and rephrase. "How much trouble are you in?"

  He shrugs, but there's something under the surface, something he isn't saying. "When my bro went to get the surveillance tapes, something happened, and they didn't work right." He looks at Emily again. "So there's no proof you guys were even there. They took fingerprints, but I doubt they'll find anything on you two."

  "But we were probably on video shopping and eating together," Emily says.

  "I told them Brett took you home because you wanted some alone-time."

  He waggles his eyebrows in an exaggerated way, and her skin turns pink again. She drops her gaze, suddenly inordinately interested in her food.

  "What happened?" Erick asks.

  "Nothing!"

  "We had a moment."

  Our words overlap, and she glares at me. I slide my arm off the back of her chair—it wasn't even touching her—to wrap around her shoulders. I snug her close to me, and there’s that elbow in the stomach I've been expecting. I have to let her go.

  "That's the same impression we gave her mom," I tell Erick, who has leaned back in his chair with arms crossed, looking suspicious. "If the garage surveillance tapes were destroyed, then they probably can't prove what time we left, and her mom can corroborate the story."

  I slide my foot next to hers beneath the table. Only a bump of my boot against her shoe. I want to remind her that I'm not going away, not after she opened up to me—a little—yesterday.

  But the movement sends pain shooting up my shin.

  I try to cover with a cough, but Erick is wa
tching me.

  "What's up? You sore?" His words are more dubious than concerned.

  And Emily turns to me, eyes flicking over me, cataloging me.

  And not in the way she was checking me out yesterday.

  "I'm fine," I lie.

  "You are kind of pale," she says.

  "I'm fine," I insist.

  There's no way I want Emily's pity. I've seen it before, plenty of times, with nurses and the grandmas that also see my rheumatologist. They feel sorry for me because I'm a fraction of their age and have the same awful chronic pain they do.

  I want Emily to like me for me, not feel sorry for me.

  I lean over the table, ignoring the flame of pain up my spine. "You want to tell me what those monsters were?" I ask Erick, attempting a distraction tactic of my own.

  It works. His eyes flare wide with surprise before he blanks his face.

  His silence is evidence enough for me. "That's about what Emily said," I say. They both know what those things were.

  They just won't tell me. I've got some suspicions, but it seems too fantastical to be true.

  But there's no arguing with the fact that the dudes were super strong. They wouldn't go down from a blow that would've knocked a normal human being unconscious.

  Can I assume they weren't human at all?

  "Is there any chance some of them will come after me?" I ask, voice low.

  Emily stands up, picking up her empty tray. Is she going to just walk away from the conversation?

  "Not if you stay away from us," she throws over her shoulder.

  Truth, or dare?

  9 - Emily

  Thwack! My tape-wrapped fist connects with Brett’s blocking elbow, giving a satisfying smack.

  "So you kissed me yesterday."

  "Ssh," I hiss at him, settling back into a half-lunge, in preparation for a second offensive. I shoot a look around the large room with its padded walls and floors. Nobody’s paying particular attention to us. Probably, nobody heard. Still… "You said that already," I remind him, whispering.

  There are five black belts in our class, and we regularly rotate as sparring partners. And joy of joys, today is my day with Brett. After our interesting and embarrassing lunch conversation.