My wrist is throbbing, my face is tender, and my head is pulsating. What a freakin’ day. And it’s only half over. I wish I could go home, take a nap, then spend the night chatting with my sisters. Usually when I’m feeling down, that’s what makes me feel better. But that’s not an option right now.

Well, at least it’s lunchtime.

Then again, I’m supposed to be having lunch with Scarlett Porterson, a decision I’m kicking myself in the ass for agreeing to. Not that I don’t like Scarlett. I barely know her and considering what her dad did to me earlier…

I grit my teeth, wrapping my hand around my burnt wrist.

When Mr. Porterson called me back into his office, it was to make certain I understood who owned me now. The way he did this? By calling up two of his men to pin my arm down so he could use a branding iron to mark me with his business’s crest. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of screaming and held as still as I could, obeying only because he threatened my sisters’ wellbeings again.

After he marked my skin, he gave me a list of rules I’m to abide to if I want my sisters to stay safe and out of this mess.

1). For the next five years, he owns me and he’ll be calling in all sorts of favors, the first being holding on to the mysterious box.

2). He can call on me at any given time and I’m to obey without arguing.

3). I’m to tell no one of the arrangement, including his sons.

4). I’m to never talk about what I see while working for him.

5). If my father does show up, I’m to immediately inform Mr. Porterson.

Yeah, the last one I have no problems with. The rest however, I’ve got issues with, starting with actually working for Mr. Porterson. From what I understand, he runs illegal gambling sites, but he wouldn’t give me any details. Simply said we’d be in touch.

I think now is definitely a good time to call up my dad’s old partner. I just need to find his phone number. I think the best place to start is in my dad’s locked-up bedroom at the house. I’m also curious what he’s hiding in there. I just wish I knew if I could go home without worrying about one of Axel’s men showing up.

Maybe I’ll find out the answer to that when I talk to Blaise, something I need to do sooner rather than later, despite what happened in first period today.

“So, where do you want to go eat?” Scarlett asks me as she skips up beside me with a sucker in her mouth.

I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“You sound upset.” She pulls the sucker out of her mouth and frowns. “Do you not want to go to lunch?”

I want to nod, want to lock myself in the car and have a good cry, but when I ran into her earlier in the hallway and she asked me to hang out with her at lunch, she seemed so hopeful, so I caved.

“No, I want to go.” I put on my go-to fake smile. “I’m just not sure what’s good around here.”

“Well, the diner on Main Street has a really hot waiter, but it’s kind of far away.” A thoughtful smirk graces her lips then she loops her arm through mine. “I have an idea.” She tugs me down the hallway.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I’m not a fan of surprises, but I’m too exhausted to argue.

* * *

We end up taking my car, since Scarlett doesn’t have a license or a car, even though she’s sixteen.

“I’m not allowed to take the driving test yet,” she explains after we hop into my car.

“Your mom won’t let you?” I wonder as I fasten my seatbelt.

She shakes her head, tucking a strand of her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. “Nah, the law won’t let me.” She stares down at her hands, picking at her fingernails, uneasiness flowing from her.

A thousand questions burn at the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back. “Well, you know what you should do?” I ask and she glances up at me, shaking her head in confusion. Grinning, I crank up the last song I was listening to when I pulled up to the school today—“I Fought the Law” by The Clash. Seemed fitting after an officer aided in my ass getting hauled up to Mr. Porteron’s mansion.

Scarlett chuckles as she straps on her seatbelt. “Yeah, except the law won.”

“Maybe he fought the wrong way. Like not dirty enough or something,” I say as I start the engine.

“You don’t want to fight the law around here.” She props her boots up the dashboard. “Trust me.”

“Yeah, Blaise told me they’re bad news.” I steer out of the parking spot and drive toward the exit.

“They are.” She twists in her seat to face me, her gaze colliding with mine. “A word of advice. If you see a cop lurking around on a street corner or alleyway, run the other way. It happened to me once and I didn’t.”

I smash my lips together, sensing a sudden heaviness in the air. “What happened?”

She dismisses me with a flick of her wrist. “If I told you, you’d turn around and kick my ass out into the dirt.”

“I would not—”

“It’s happened before. A lot, actually.”

“Okay, but I’m not as judgey as some people.”

She forces a smile. “Let’s just start out with going to lunch and see where this little lunch buddy thing leads us, okay? If we end up becoming besties, I’ll totally tell you my sob story. But only if you promise to tell me yours.”

“I don’t tell anyone my sob story,” I confess as I turn onto the road. “Not even my sisters.”

“Yeah, but telling your siblings stuff can be harder than just telling a friend.” She fiddles with the volume on the stereo. “At least, I think so.”

I nod in agreement. “I actually agree with you.”

She presses her hand to her heart. “Aw, look at us. We’re like one step away from sharing all our secrets.”

I chuckle. “Maybe.” Inside, though, I’m not laughing.

Scarlett seems cool and everything but considering I’m working for her dad and not allowed to talk about it, I doubt we’re going to be sharing all our secrets with each other.

“So, where are we going?” I ask when I realize I’m driving down the road without a clue as to where I’m supposed to be heading.

“It’s just a few blocks up.” She points out the window with her free hand, using her other to pull out her phone from the pocket of her jeans. “You’re going to love this place.”

“Does it have good food?”

“That and good service.”

“Awesome.” I speed up because I’m starving and driving slow drives me mad.

A few blocks later, per Scarlett’s instructions, I make a turn down a side road lined with mostly houses. My confusion only deepens when she instructs me to turn into an old auto shop nestled beside a bar and a two-story house that looks like its seen it’s fair share of decades.

“We’re having lunch at an auto shop?” I ask as I park near the air pumps and silence the engine.

She shakes her head and points to the bar. “We’re going in there.”

“But we’re not twenty-one.”

“The owners will be cool with it.” She reaches for the door handle, glancing at me funnily. “Have you never been in a bar before?”

I snort a laugh. “My dad’s an alcoholic, so yeah, I’ve been in bars before.”

She nods in understanding. The fact that I don’t have to explain to her why my dad’s alcoholism means I’ve gone into bars says a lot about her.

She shoves open the door. “Come on; you’re going to love the food here.” She hops out. “They have the best chicken wings.”

Grabbing my keys and phone, I climb out and bump the door shut. “Do you know the owners?” I ask we cross the gravel parking lot of the auto shop and make our way toward the bar.

She nods. “They’re probably the closest thing to parents that me and my brothers have.” She gives me a sidelong glance as we veer down an alleyway that runs between the bar and the parking lot of the auto shop then hitches her finger in the direction of the auto shop. “Blaise, Alex, and Rhyland actually work there.”

“Oh yeah, I remember Blaise mentioning he worked at an auto shop.”

“So, you have talked then?”

I waver, unsure how much she’s aware of the disaster that is currently my life. “We’ve chatted a little bit.”

“Without fighting?”

“Sort of?”

A grin takes over her face as we near the back entrance of the bar located right beside the trash cans. “Good.”

I grow suspicious. “Why’s that good?”

Her grin enlarges as she pulls open the door and steps inside, the smell of barbeque sauce and greasy French fries wafting out. “Because my brothers eat lunch here too.”

I freeze, one foot in the bar and one remaining outside. “Really?”

“Why’s that a problem?” she asks innocently, holding the door open for me. “It sounds like you two are sort of getting along now, right?”

“I guess.” I scratch my injured wrist, a reminder of how I shouldn’t even be here eating lunch with Scarlett.

Her smile evaporates. “Is it really a problem? Because we can go eat somewhere else. We’re running a bit low on time, but there’s a coffee shop a few miles from here that has sandwiches and stuff. It’s nowhere near as good as here, but it’s not awful.”

I consider nodding, but the scent of chicken wings and fries touches my nostrils again and my stomach grumbles. “Here’s cool.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod and step inside a hallway lit up by neon signs. “Besides, I’ve got a bone to pick with your brother anyway.” And I need to see if he’s heard back from his old social worker and if he’s found out more about my father. Sure, I know how much trouble he’s in with Mr. Porterson but I’m not sure about this Axel guy. And what about the drugs and money buried in the backyard.

I could always just text Blaise and ask him—might be easier than trying to pretend I didn’t get branded by his father this morning—but this way I get to eat too. And I can have a chat about that little beautiful ass message he sent me during first period.

“What bone do you have to pick with him?” Scarlett’s eyes sparkle with curiosity against the neon light

“Well,” I start, “he sent me a very strange message today in class.”

Her eyes light up in delight. “Do tell.”

“Oh, you’ll find out just as soon as we find Blaise,” I say as we reach the end of the hallway and enter the bar area, a small room covered with small tables and mismatched chairs, and of course a countertop and barstools.

“You know what, Hadley?” She slips her arm through mine and tugs me over toward the counter. “I think you and I are going to be good friends.”

“Perhaps.” I offer her one of my rare, genuine smiles.

The truth is Scarlett seems like the kind of person I could be friends with. I’m just not convinced we’ll be able to remain friends while I’m working for her father. Plus, I’ve never really had a real friend before, besides my sisters. I used to before my dad started making us move every six months or so.

“Hey, Hunter,” Scarlett greets at a man standing behind the counter, filling up shot glasses with tequila. He has short brown hair, tattoos inking his lean arms, a and a scar running over his bottom lip. If I had to guess, I’d put his age at twenty tops, a bit young to be the bartender.

He offers her a nod, his brows furrowing as his gaze lands on me.

“Oh, this is Hadley,” Scarlett explains, gesturing at me. “And Hadley, this is Hunter, the best underage bartender in town.” She smiles at Hunter.

“No, I’m just a waiter. If I was a bartender, that’d be illegal.” He puts his finger to his lips with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Don’t worry; Hadley’s cool.” She unloops her arm from mine and props her elbows on the cracked wooden counter. “So, who’re the shots for?”

I scan the bar, suddenly aware that all the chairs and tables are empty. Odd. I mean, yeah, it’s the middle of the day, but all the bars my dad hung out at had regulars who would spend all day at the counter spending their paychecks on beers and shots.

“For your brothers actually. And Jay and Sofie.” He collects four of the six shots from off the counter. “Carry the other two, will you?”

“Only if you tell me why you guys are drinking tequila in the middle of the day,” she teases, gathering a shot glass in each hand.

“We’re celebrating,” he explains then licks some spilt tequila off his hand.

“By giving my brothers shots at twelve o’clock in the afternoon?” Her smile is all teasing but a drop of worry resides in her eyes.

“They’re only half shots,” he says. “And it wasn’t my idea. It was Jay’s.”

“Fair enough.” She hands me the shot glasses she just picked up. Then she stands on her tiptoes, leans across the counter, and snatches the half-empty bottle of tequila and two empty shot glasses.

Puzzlement etches across Hunter’s face. “What’re you up to?”

She unscrews the cap off the tequila. “If you guys get to celebrate then so should Hadley and me.” She fills one glass half full of tequila then moves to fill up the other.

“Only put like a couple of drops in mine,” I tell her. “I have to be able to drive back to school in like a half an hour.”

She fills up the glass halfway. “We can always walk.”

Not happening, but I’ll play along and then only have a taste when it comes time to toast or whatever the hell it is they’re doing with the shots. Honestly, I’ve never been much of a drinker, partly because of my dad and partly because I’m a total lightweight.

After Scarlett is done pouring the shots, the three of us heads toward a doorway located behind the counter.

“So, how’d you two meet?” he asks Scarlet as he steps through the doorway.

Scarlett trades an amused look with me. “Well, we were walking down the hallway, our gazes collided, and fireworks just sparked.”

“It was truly magical,” I agree. “Like the stars and moons aligned and brought us together.”

“And we just knew in that moment,” she says.

“That we were going to be together forever,” I finish for her as we step through the doorway and into the small room on the other side.

We bust up laughing while Hunter shakes his head, looking completely fucking lost.

“Well, at least you’re both weirdoes,” he mutters then takes off toward a table tucked in the back corner of the room. A table where Blaise, Rhyland, Jaxon, and Alex are sitting, along with older man and woman.

The man looks around my dad’s age and has dark brown hair and a beard, both of which are greying. The woman’s long hair is all grey, nearly silver in the florescent lighting. The man must be saying something funny since all four of the guys are smiling. And not in a smirking way either. No, this is how the Porterson really look when their cocky, I’m-such-a-badass facades are down.

“You’re such a liar.” Alex grins at the man as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “That didn’t happen.”

The man gasps, appalled. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“What if I was?” Alex challenges with amusement.

The man shrugs. “It’s better if you don’t find out.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but a smile dances at his lips. That smile falters however as his gaze zeroes in on me.

“What’s she doing here?” he sneers, straightening in his seat.

Everyone at the table turns to stare at me.

Awesome.

“She’s actually with me.” Scarlett smirks then grabs my arm and tugs me closer to her.

“Yeah, they locked eyes across the hallway and had a case of insta-love or some shit like that. And now they’re on a date.” Hunter sets the shot glasses down on the table. “Honestly, I’m not really sure what happened. Their recap of how they know each other sounded pretty shady to me.” He winks at Scarlett then flashes a smile at me.

“It wasn’t insta-love,” I correct, ignoring the burn of Blaise’s boring gaze. “Just insta-like,”

“Sorry, my bad.” Hunter lowers into an empty seat beside the older man and Alex.

Perplexity creases across the older man’s face. “Well, I’m a little confused about what insta-love and like are, but I’m glad you’re here,” he tells Scarlett, signaling for her to sit down. “It’s been too long since you’ve come around.”

“Sorry. I’ve been busy.” Scarlett places the shot glasses on the table then seats herself beside the woman, leaving the only chair between Rhyland and Blaise available.

Again, awesome.

Even more awesome, when I hesitate to sit down, Rhyland arches a brow at me, like remember the deal.

I mimic his brow raise and plant my behind in the chair between Blaise and Rhyland.

Rhyland rubs his hand across his mouth to conceal his smile and I roll my eyes. He’s so getting the wrong idea.

I lean over and whisper, “I’m not backing out of our deal, dude, so wipe that smirk off your face.”

“Then why’d you hesitate to sit down next to Blaise?” he whispers back teasingly.

“Maybe it was sitting down next to you that was making me hesitate?” I quip, setting the glasses down on the table.

“Why would I make you do that? I’m awesome.” He dazzles me with a charming grin. “In fact, some might say I’m the most awesome of the Porterson brothers.”

I grin. “Hmmm … sounds like maybe you should meet some new people. Because the people you currently know are a bunch of liars.”

The corner of his lips kick up into a cocky smirk. “I think the only liar I know is you, sweetheart. Deep down, you think I’m awesome.”

“Watch it,” I start to warn, but the older woman cuts me off.

“Rhyland Porterson, that’s no way to talk to a young lady,” she reprimands, wagging her finger at him.

Rhyland smashes his lips together forcefully. “You think Hadley’s a lady?”

Blaise and Alex snort a laugh. Even Jaxon’s lips slightly twitch.

“Hey,” I begin to protest but realize they’re right. “Okay, fine. I’m not really a lady and you want to know why?” I smack Blaise and Rhyland on the arm.

“Hey, what was that for?” Blaise rubs his arms, still chuckling. “All I did was laugh.”

“For getting that stupid sweetheart nickname to catch on.” I swat his arm again.

He chuckles, shaking his head and muttering, “So feisty.”

“See what I mean?” Rhyland says to the old woman, rubbing his own arm. “She’s not a lady.”

“A lady can defend herself if she wants to,” the woman replies, narrowing her eyes at Rhyland. “And you better respect her, got it? And all ladies for that matter.”

Rhyland nods. “Yes ma’am.”

“Good.” She grins, collecting a shot glass from off the table. “Now, please, introduce me to this lovely young lady.”

“She thinks I’m lovely,” I singsong under my breath.

“Only because she’s partially blind and senile,” Alex mumbles from the other side of Rhyland.

Since I’m on a roll, I reach around Rhyland and swat Alex on the back of the head.

“Hey,” he gripes, rubbing the back of his head and scowling at me. “I didn’t call you old and senile.”

“But you insulted the woman who took my side,” I point out. “Which is an insult to me.”

Jaxon cracks a tiny, approving smile at me from across the table.

I smile back at him. “Aw, I think you’re going to be my favorite Porterson, kid.”

“Then what am I?” Scarlett interrupts with a joking pout.

“Hmm …” I tap my lips with my fingertip. “How about you can be my favorite chick Porterson and Jaxon can be my favorite dude Porterson?”

“That’s not even remotely accurate.” Blaise rotates a shot glass between his hands, his gaze colliding with mine as I turn my head toward him.

“It completely is,” I assure him haughtily.

He shakes his head, leaning in. “We both know I’m your favorite Porterson.”

“No, we both know that you think my ass and face are beautiful,” I retort, but then bite down on my tongue.

Okay, I really didn’t mean to say that right now. I wanted to chat with him about it when not so many eyes and ears were around, especially Rhyland’s, since it’ll only add fuel to this wager we have going on.

Tension ripples through Blaise’s body. “What’re you talking about?”

“The message you sent me this morning.” I roll my eyes. “Please don’t even try to pretend it wasn’t from you. I have your number programmed into my phone.”

He slants back. “I didn’t … I don’t …” He clears his throat a couple of times then picks up the shot glass and downs half the tequila.

“Hey, that was for the toast,” the old man exclaims, smacking his hand against the table.

Blaise’s face scrunches then his shoulders tremble as he gags. “Sorry. My throat was scratchy. There’s still a little bit left, though.”

“No one tries to get rid of a scratchy throat by drinking tequila.” I pat his hand. “Nice way of trying to divert the subject, though.” As I pull my hand away, he snatches ahold of my fingers.

“Speaking of diverting the subject.” He yanks up the sleeve of my jacket, revealing the bandage underneath. “Where’d this thing come from? Because I know for a fact you didn’t have it wrapped up this morning when you were at my house.

“Why was Hadley at your house this morning?” Scarlett glances between the two of us questioningly.

“Because I needed to borrow some sugar.” I slip my hand from his and tug down the sleeve.

“If you say so.” Doubt and hurt ring in her tone.

Awkward silence trickles through the air as Scarlett sinks back in the chair and traces the cracks in the table. Poor girl looks as heartbroken as a Muppet baby who just learned puppets aren’t real. Guilt clutches at my chest for causing her to look so sad, but I don’t know her well enough to feel comfortable enough to tell her about my family’s drama, especially in front of a bunch of people I don’t know.

“All right, who’s ready to celebrate?” Hunter announces, raising a shot glass.

“What are we even celebrating?” Scarlett asks, reaching for a shot glass.

Hunter glances at Rhyland, who glances at Blaise, who glances at the old man—I seriously need to find out his name.

I slant to the side and whisper to Rhyland, “Who are these old people anyway?”

Rhyland chuckles and says way too loudly, “Hey Jay, Hadley wants to know who the old people are?”

The old man—Jay—glances around the table then his brows dip. “Old people? I don’t see any old people around here. I think your little lady friend might need to get her eyes checked.”

I may not get embarrassed often, but my cheeks flood with heat. “I didn’t say old,” I lie, discreetly elbowing Rhyland in the side.

“You’re so vicious,” Rhyland muses, tucking his elbow protectively against his side. “That’s okay, though. If you weren’t, we wouldn’t get along.”

“We don’t get along,” I remind him, reclining in the chair.

“Sure we don’t.” Sarcasm oozes from his tone. “Just like Blaise and you don’t flirt when you argue.”

“Wait. What?” Blaise leans forward and catches Rhyland’s eyes. “What’re you doing, man?”

Rhyland flashes him a toothy smile then shifts in the seat, twisting toward the other side of the table as he raises a shot glass in the air. “To new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings,” everyone except me says then they each down a shot.

I feel out of place sitting here during a toast that’s clearly between the eight of them and consider excusing myself to the bathroom, but then Blaise reaches over, grabs my wrist, and sticks a shot glass in my hand.

“To new beginnings.” With his gaze welded to mine, he clinks our glasses then moves the brim to his lips and slowly drinks the shot.

I’m not going to lie. It’s kind of sexy. I’m not even positive why nor will I ever admit that to anyone. But in my mind, sure, I can accept that. That Blaise does look sexy as he slowly devours a shot while staring at me in that intense way that makes my blood speed up and my heart rate quicken.

Once he finishes the shot, he sets the glass down and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Aren’t you going to drink yours?”

“Why would I?” I ask. “I don’t even know what we’re toasting to.”

His lips quirk. “We’re toasting to new beginnings.”

“Obviously, but I’m not sure what those new beginnings are.” I know what my new beginning currently is—working for the most corrupt man in Honeyton. And no way in stupid, sucky land am I toasting to that.

He dips his head closer to mine. “Jay and Sofie just signed the auto shop over to my brothers and me. We’re now the official owners.”

I slant back to meet his gaze. “Are you freakin’ serious?”

He nods, excitement twinkling in his eyes. “I’m completely freakin’ serious.”

“Well, that’s awesome.” I mean it, too.

I may have only known the Porterson brothers for a few weeks now, but I feel like their situation is similar to mine and my sisters. And if someone signed an auto shop over to us, I’d be… well, I feel like maybe I’d be able to swim out of the damn murky water.

“Awesome enough to toast to?” He gives a pressing glance at the shot glass in my hand.

“Sure. Why not?” I throw back the shot, making sure not to finish all of it.

“You didn’t drink it all,” Rhyland notices as I set the glass down on the table.

“I can’t,” I tell him. When both he and Blaise give me questioning looks, I add, “I have to drive back to school and I’m a lightweight so…” I shrug.

“Hadley Harlyton a lightweight?” Blaise tugs on a strand of my hair. “Who would’ve thought?”

“I actually don’t drink a lot,” I admit with a shrug. “I’m not really a big fan of alcohol.”

An understanding look passes between Blaise and I. Then he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Now I feel bad for pressuring you into taking the shot,” he says, his fingers lingering in my hair.

“First off, let’s get one thing straight. No one can pressure me into doing anything. And second,” I angle my head to the side to get his fingers away from my hair, “what is with you and your obsession with touching my hair? Or is just so you can get a good view of my beautiful face.” I smirk, but inside all the hair touching has got me frazzled. Well, not the hair touching per se, but the way a light, tickling shiver kisses across my skin just from the hair touching.

“Wait. He called your face beautiful?” Rhyland asks through a laugh.

“No,” Blaise insists at the same time I say, “Yes.”

Rhyland’s gaze shifts between the two of us. “Okay, one of you is lying, but I can’t figure out which.”

“Hadley, can I talk to you for a moment?” Blaise hisses, lightly tugging on my sleeve.

A smirk rises on Rhyland’s lips. “What’re you trying to run away from, Blaise?”

“I’m not running away. I just need to talk to Hadley without your big mouth around.” Blaise pushes away from the table, rises to his feet, and looks down at me expectantly.

Sighing, I stand up and follow him as he crosses the room and slips out into the bar. I expect him to stop in there, but he continues down the hallway and pushes through the back door, stepping outside and holding the door open for me.

Once I’m outside, he lets the door go and slides his hand into the front pockets of his jeans. He doesn’t say anything, simply squinting against the sunlight as he studies me.

“So, what do you need to talk to me about?” I finally ask, propping my boot up onto the brick wall behind me and slanting back. “I’m guessing it’s pretty top secret if we had to come all the way outside.”

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.

Instead 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.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t you want to protect yourself?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

“I don’t know why, but I mean what I say.” But if it all comes down to it, which it has, I’ll choose my sister’s safety over my own.

As he starts scrutinizing me, I decide that I’m done with this conversation. I have more important and pressing issues to worry about.

“Totally off topic, but did you by chance hear back from your social worker?” I ask, taking another step back from him. Not that I’m afraid of him. It just seems that standing too close to Blaise Porterson somehow makes me stupid and foggy-headed, which is so the last thing I need right now.

His mouth turns downward as he glances at the space between us. “She hasn’t yet. If I don’t hear back from her by the time schools over, I’ll give her a call. As for my dad, I tried to call him before first period started, but his secretary said he had a meeting this morning with a new guy he hired, but he told me he’d have my dad call me back when he wasn’t busy.” He sighs. “In my dad’s world, that could mean days, so I might have to stop by his house.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I start, but he talks over me.

“Yeah, I sort of do. I need to talk to him about some other stuff anyway.”

I can’t tell if he’s lying or not.

“Okay, but if you change your mind, I’m perfectly fine with it.”

After what he told me about his dad hitting him, I’m in no way comfortable making him go see him just for my benefit. Besides, considering I’m Mr. Porterson’s new guy, I’m not sure if I have any more questions for Mr. Porterson. He made everything pretty damn searing clear this morning. But I do need to find out more about the situation with Axel.

“Do you think it’s okay if I go into my house today?” I wonder. “Or is this Axel dude going to stalk my house like twenty-four seven?”

He nibbles on his bottom lip. “I think you need to probably wait until I talk to my dad.”

“How’s your dad going to help us with Axel? I thought they were enemies?”

“They are, but like all enemies, they still know each other’s business.”

“All enemies do that?”

“Haven’t you ever heard the term keep you friends close and your enemies closer?”

“But then, why do they get pissed off when the people who work for them associate with each other, or work for both?”

“Because they’re both power hungry and want control,” he explains tightly. “If they do it, it’s fine, because they’re the bosses. But if the people below them do it, it’s disrespectful. Even my brothers and sister and I aren’t technically supposed to associate with anyone connected to Axel.” His jaw tightens as he stares off over my shoulder. “Amelia makes that really fucking complicated.”

“Do you two have history together or something?”

His jaw nearly smacks the ground. “Are you shitting me right now?”

I shake my head. “You seem really pissed off every time you mention her, like she’s your ex-girlfriend or something.”

His face contorts in disgust. “I swear I’ve never wanted to or have dated Amelia.” He gives a short, considering pause. “She’s not my type.”

“Yeah, your type seems more like that girl in our first period class. I don’t know her name, but she’s got blonde hair, blue eyes, big boobs, and a super, super pretty face.” I bite back a smile, angle my head to my side, and tap my finger against my lips. “Yeah, you two would be super pretty together. With her pretty face”—I pinch his cheek—“and your pretty boy face, you’d be the perfect, pretty couple.”

He stares at me, unimpressed. “You think me and Layla would make a perfect couple?”

“Her name’s Layla?” I muse. “Layla and Blaise? Yeah, it has a pretty ring to it.”

His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he stares at me unnervingly. “And what sort of name is Hadley?”

I grin. “A feisty name.”

“Nah, it seems more pretty than feisty.” He steps toward me and places his hand on the wall behind me, leaning in so our bodies are mere inches from each other. “The girl the name belongs to, however, might be a different story.”

“Oh, she’s totally feisty,” I assure him, refusing to step back.

“Maybe.” The corners of his lips quirk. “But she’s also pretty.”

I shake my head. “No, she’s not.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because pretty is more of a term used to describe a girlie girl who’s attractive, something I’m definitely not.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely not pretty.”

I grin, but my heart stupidly stings, like it wants to be called pretty.

What a dumbass.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear with his free hand. “I think beautiful is more accurate.”

I roll my eyes so hard they nearly get stuck in the back of my head. My heart, however, flutters. I already established how it’s a clueless dumbass.

“Oh, my God,” I say. “Seriously?”

“What?” Blaise asks innocently. “I’m just giving you a compliment.”

“In the cheesiest way ever. And besides, I don’t need any compliments.” I place my hand on his chest to shove him back and notice how swiftly his heart is racing.

So weird. Is he nervous or worried or something? Why?

“Then, what do you need?” he asks, refusing to budge against my half-ass attempt to shove him back.

“Lots of things, but none of those things are compliments.”

“Why? Do they make you uncomfortable?”

“No. But talking about this is making me irritated.”

“Sorry.” He sounds anything but. “You are beautiful, though.”

“What is wrong with you?” I scoff, beyond aggravated.

I don’t even understand why I’m pissed off. He isn’t being mean. No, I think he’s attempting to be nice and genuine, and for some reason, that’s pissing me off. I’m not used to nice and genuine guys, and I don’t need one in my life right now. If I did, then I’ll probably want to keep him, and that will lead to the breaking of my no dating rules, something I desperately need now.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he argues. “I’m just telling you what I already told you in that text I sent earlier.”

“Yeah, I know, but I was irritated with that text.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to send it.”

A bit of hurt prickles through me, but I ninja punch it in the throat—metaphorically, of course.

“Good. Because you don’t need to be thinking that I’m beautiful or telling me that I am.” I’m on the verge of yelling.

Yep, Blaise nailed it when he called me crazy.

“I still think you’re beautiful. I just didn’t mean to send the text.” He raises his voice to match mine, slanting closer.

My breathing accelerates. “Why did you type it at all?”

“I don’t know.” He’s breathing equally as hard, his attention seared on my lips. “Because it’s what I think.”

“Don’t,” I warn shakily, my breath faltering from my lips.

He remains mesmerized by my lips. “Don’t what?”

It’s terrifying how much I want to remain motionless. How much I want to feel his lips on mine. How much I just want to feel for once.

“Don’t kiss me.” My voice is weak, desperate. “Please. I can’t handle it right now.”

His throat muscles work as he swallows hard. Then he tears his gaze off my mouth and moves back, lowering his hand from the wall. “Okay.”

I nod unsteadily. “Thank you.”

He nods again, taking another step back. “We should probably go back inside.”

Great. Are things going to be awkward between us now?

“Okay, but can I just ask you one more question?” I ask, pushing away from the wall.

“Other than the one you just asked?” he teases, and I realize we might just be okay.

“Ha, ha, ha, you’re so funny,” I deadpan. “But yeah, I was just wondering who the old people are in there. Because no one ever actually answered that question earlier.”

“That’s because they’re not old.”

“Okay … How about older people?”

“Much better.” His smile is genuine. “They’re the owners of the auto shop and this bar.”

“How do you guys know them?”

“Jay used to work for my dad but quit when I was about ten or so. He was probably the closest thing I had to a dad up until that point.” He smiles wistfully. “He moved away from Honeyton for a while but returned a couple years ago. He’s really been there for me and my brothers and sister since then. Gave us jobs. Helped me learn how to do grown up things. Stuff like that.”

“Your eyes light up when you talk about him,” I remark. “He must be a good guy.”

“He is. And so is his wife, Sofie, the older woman.” He sweeps strands of his hair out of his eyes. “They’ve been talking about giving us the shop forever, but honestly, I didn’t really believe it was going to happen. I think because I’ve subconsciously gotten used to disappointment and naturally have a hard time believing good stuff will happen to me.”

“I actually understand where you’re coming from,” I say without any forethought, then instantly cringe.

Sometimes, I can be so open with Blaise that it’s frightening.

“I’m not surprised,” he tells me. “You and I are kind of similar in ways.”

My natural instinct is to argue, but I know he’s right, so … “Yeah, I guess we sort of are.”

His lips threaten to turn upward. “Did you just agree with me?”

“Maybe.” I restrain a smile. “I do have one more question, though … about how Jay quit working for your dad.”

His brows pull together. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Well, it’s just that, from what you’ve told me about your dad”—and from what his dad told me personally—“it doesn’t seem like you can just quit working for him without any repercussions.”

That sparkle that was in his eyes dims. “You’re eerily accurate about that.”

“So then, how did he do it?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure, but I think him moving away might have had something to do with it.”

“You think his punishment for quitting was moving away from Honeyton?” No, it couldn’t be that easy.

He shakes his head. “No, I think he left to endure his punishment where no one he knew would have to see.”

I gulp. “But he returned to Honeyton eventually and is okay now, right?”

He shrugs stiffly. “It’s hard to say for sure. Some people are really good at pretending to be okay when things are far from it.”

It’s like he’s reading my soul aloud.

It’s damn near terrifying.

“We should go back inside. They’re probably wondering where we are,” he says distractedly, staring off into La La Land.

I nod then follow him inside, rattled, unnerved, and worst of all, scared. Usually, I’m way better at keeping my fear under control. Or at least pretending not to be afraid.

Pretending to be okay.

I’ve been pretending for so long that I’m starting to question if I’ll ever be able to stop and feel freely for once. Part of me wishes that possibility was plausible, but the other part of me is terrified of what’s hidden inside me.