Trouble at Brayshaw High (Brayshaw High 2)

Captain grips my shoulder, looking me dead in the eye. “She left on her own, man, she purposely stepped away from us. The question we need to be asking is, was it because she needed a minute to herself” —he lifts his brows— “or because she needed to take care of something she didn’t want us to be a part of? And I don’t know the answer, my man. But what happened to her last night? That shit wasn’t your fault.”

“What if it was?” I argue. “What if she was jumped because of what we’ve made her?”

Cap laughs lightly, but it’s defeated. “We didn’t make her anything, brother. Raven was born who she is. Yeah, we brought her into our world, but she came in strong and determined. It’s why she blended instantly. All we can do is try to understand the fucked-up way she was raised to think. Maybe down the road, she’ll understand she’s not alone anymore.”

I narrow my eyes on him. “Why do you sound like you know she pulled some shit tonight?”

He sighs, releasing me. “I don’t know, but I feel like she’s in her head right now. Last time she was like this was when we tried to force her hand the day her mom showed up and she purposely tried to get herself kicked out of the Bray house, all to prove a point. That she was in control of her own moves.”

“Things are different now,” I all but growl.

We’re not fucking dispensable to her. I know it.

I fucking feel it.

His eyes widen as he lifts his brows. “Exactly. It was all about her then and she still made a move that would be bad for herself, get her ass sent back to the hell she lived in, out of spite, but she’s one of us now. Even if she hasn’t said it out loud, she knows it, and look what she did for us when she didn’t give a shit who we were... Pushing the girl in the pool at that Graven party, roping up the chick who had the video of Coach and his girl, the shit at the warehouses when she tried to let us get out without being seen, the cabins...”

When my brows dig in, he nods.

“Now, imagine what she’d do for us now that she cares.”

Fuck. He’s right.

I run my hands down my face and I push past him. “I can’t think about this shit right now, Cap. We’ll figure it all out tomorrow or fuck, tonight, after the game.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “That’s probably a better idea.”

He follows behind me, disappearing into his room.

I stop by the bathroom, finding the water still running, so I head for mine to rinse off real quick.

I don’t know if anything Cap said holds any merit, and I sure as fuck plan to find out, but right now I’m gonna lay with her, fuck her if she needs it, hold her if she lets me, and we’ll worry about the shit that happened tonight tomorrow.I crawl under the covers, pulling the fluffy comforter up to my chin, clenching it as armor when the sound of his footsteps pad against the floor in the hall.

The handle turns, but only as far as a locked knob allows, and I hold my breath.

What seems like a never-ending beat of silence follows, and I bite into my cheek, denying the pathetic tears trying to fight their way to the surface.

It turns again but slower, quieter as he tries one more time ... just in case.

Angry feet pound against the flooring and a door slams in the distance.

The second it does, I release a deep breath, pull my knife from under the blanket and flip it open. I turn it to run my finger over the blade while reading the inscription.

Family runs deeper than blood.

It’s funny when you think about it.

Family runs deeper than blood, yet it’s the ones we chose we’ll so willingly bleed for.

I poke my fingertip until a drop of deep red appears, then run it across my lips. I rub them together, sliding my tongue along my teeth, spreading the metallic flavor left behind across my mouth in self-hate.

I’m sorry, Big Man. For today ... and what’s to come.I knew after witnessing pre-game warm-ups that tonight would be a messy battle, but I didn’t expect this. This is just ugly.

For what must be the twentieth time tonight, the ball is passed to Maddoc in hopes of him adding some points to the board.

Switching up positions, he spins around a guy on the opposing team but loses his footing and slips. And like the last time the ball touched his hands, it’s stolen right back.

Maddoc growls, his chest bowing out, but he shakes it off and keeps down the court.

I pinch my lips to the side, cringing when the visiting team makes yet another shot, Brayshaw now down by seven.