Logic fled a while ago, so it’s no surprise that I’d continue to ignore the rational voice pleading for me to leave. I grip the car handle—hesitate for two seconds too long—then I’m racing across the yard.
As I push through the crowd, the oohs and excited shouts mix with the sickening wet sound of flesh hitting bloody flesh. I finally force my way through the crush of bodies toward the center, where I see Carter on the ground with another guy.
Carter throws a punch to the guy’s stomach, and they roll toward the firepit. The other guy gets a hit in to Carter’s face. I wince, but it doesn’t faze Carter. He’s all fury and beast as he wails relentlessly on the guy’s abdomen.
A girl’s voice—Addison—shouts over the commotion about stopping the fight, and my heart seizes. I can hear the anguish in her voice. I feel that same freefall agony, the kind that tears at your insides, making you weightless and tossed around in a churning sea.
I don’t fear Carter being hurt. I fear he won’t stop.
“Come on, man!” Another guy, one wearing a BMA letterman jacket, moves into the fray. He grabs Carter’s arm and attempts to wrench him off. “Someone called the cops—”
A thorn of alarm punctures my chest. Another assault charge on his record would be bad; he could be sent away. I act on impulse, pushing past Addison. “Carter. Stop.”
My voice breaks through a layer of the frenzied haze, and Carter pulls back his fist. The pause gives the letterman jacket guy enough time to haul Carter away. The guy Carter had pinned to the ground is covered in smeared blood and dirt. He’s not moving.
Fear urges me toward the guy and, as everyone around scrambles to flee the scene, I press my fingers to his neck. Relief floods my body as I detect a pulse. He blinks his eyes open and his gaze lazily drags over me, so I pull back. He groans in pain, and I decide he’ll live.
My relief is short as I sense the heightened awareness of being watched. I look over and make eye contact with Addison. Her pretty expression contorts in confusion as she tries to place me—but she can’t. I’m just some girl she’s never seen before that happens to know Carter.
I make sure she doesn’t get a good look as I pull my hoodie up higher and hurry toward my car.
Carter is okay for now. He disappeared before any police arrived. The guy he pummeled will be sore and might have some broken ribs, but he’ll be fine. I duck inside my car and hit the ignition control, and a knock on the passenger-side window launches my heart to my throat.
The car door opens and a figure slips into the seat.
Carter stares at me through hooded eyes; one so badly swollen it’s barely open. “What are you doing here?”
Before I realize what I’m doing, I reach out to touch his face. “You’re hurt.”
He grabs my hand. “Ellis, what are you doing here?”
I swallow down the anxiety trying to claw up my throat. “I don’t know,” I admit.
His severe expression softens. A smirk replaces the stern line carving his mouth. “You’re a little crazy, you know that, right?”
“I might be.” I’m aware of how I appear when I don’t control my actions.
He laces his fingers around mine. “I love that you’re crazy.”
“You might be a little crazy, too, then.”
He holds my gaze a moment longer before looking through the windshield. “So, no more Jeremy?”
My heart seizes at the mention of his name. I had hoped Carter would forget I ever said it. “Jeremy who?” I say, forcing a smile.
His mouth tips into a crooked grin. “We should go.”
I back out of the hiding spot and head in the opposite direction as all the other scattering cars. “Where am I going?”
“Take me to your place.”
“That’s not smart, Carter. Anyone could see you…”
He touches the swollen skin around his eye and grimaces. “They saw you here tonight,” he says, matter of fact. He pulls out his phone and swipes open a text message.
“What is it?” My heart beats wildly. Who saw me? Who is texting him?
“My friend Addison. She wants to know what old lady’s car I got into.” He laughs. “She can be…”