By the time I woke up the next morning, I couldn’t even bring myself to be chatty. I grabbed a granola bar and went to the car where Phoenix was waiting.
The drive to school was painfully silent.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Can I at least ask why?”
“Why?” He turned off the ignition. A muscle popped in his jaw. He knew damn well what I was asking him.
“Why did you beat her up?” My voice sounded so foreign and small; long gone was the teasing of yesterday.
He snorted. “I didn’t just beat her up. I damn near raped her. Is that what you wanted to hear, Bee? That I’m the monster that goes bump in the night and steals girls’ virginity?” He shook his head and slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “The sooner you stop looking at me like I’m your hero the better off we’ll both be.”
I swallowed, desperate to get rid of the giant lump in my throat. “And how am I supposed to look at you?”
He turned slowly, his eyes meeting mine. “Exactly how you are right now. Like I’m a monster. Because I am. Now get out of the car before you’re late for class.”
I scrambled out of the car, more out of irritation and anger than fear. He’d almost raped her, and, no matter how many times I tried to come up with a reason for him doing something so horrific, all I could decide was that he wasn’t the man I thought he was.
The Phoenix I knew, while scary, didn’t seem capable of doing those things to Trace, to his best friend’s wife.
The Phoenix I knew had stood in front of me when the first gunshot had rung out, when my father had returned from one of his drinking binges and pointed the gun at my forehead, a regular occurrence, since, according to him, I resembled my cursed brother too much.
Phoenix was a protector not a monster.
To me? Never a monster.
But the evidence was there, in pictures — graphic pictures. I should stop asking questions, stop wanting to claw at the truth.
His answer hadn’t made me less curious.
Or less hesitant to want to find out what made him tick.
If anything, it had fanned the flame. Yes, I was disgusted and fearful, but there was more to the story; otherwise, he would be dead.
My own brother trusted him.
So by default — I trusted him.
I just wished I knew, after seeing all that, why I still did.
And why I still wanted to.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Back to where it all began…
Sergio
I STRAIGHTENED THE PAPERS on my desk and watched the clock like it was a damn grenade. Each tick may as well have been someone chanting pull… pull… pull.
Students shuffled in the classroom, most of them looking more innocent than what I expected from an Eagle Elite freshman. I suddenly felt extremely ancient, like I was one unfortunate sneeze away from having to replace my hip and go on blood thinners.
“Yo.” A kid nodded at me.
Shit, did I look like his homie?
“You new?”
No. Old. So. Very. Old.
“Find your seat.” I barely restrained myself from barking at him then pulling out a gun just to see if the kid would really shit his pants. Then again, it would probably just solidify that whole homie statement.
Groaning, I pinched the bridge of my nose and waited for the rest of the students — kids, young ones with less chest hair than my aunt — find their seats and wait for me, their new teacher to open his mouth.
A few girls giggled.
I hated giggles; it was as bad as having to watch Tex and Mo hump one another during family dinner. The giggles continued — okay, so it was almost as bad.
I checked my watch one last time and cleared my throat. “I’m Mr. Thomas. I’ll be your professor for US History this semester.”
Blank stares.
Yeah, this was going to be absolute torture. I started handing out the syllabus and waited for the inevitable, a hand to pop up.
I had already calculated who it would be.
The girl or guy who had something to prove, teacher’s pet, not a hair out of place, and probably still a virgin. Yay me.
One, two, three, four — ah, and there it is, ladies and gentleman. A hand popped up from the back of the class.
I kept my smile to myself and barely managed to keep a mocking laugh in. The hand belonged to a girl, but I couldn’t see her face; she was too small, hidden behind a kid who looked like he was once a defensive lineman.
“Yes?” I tilted my head. “Please stand while you ask your question, Miss…?”
“Oh!” She popped out of her seat, knocking a book to the floor and nearly tripping over her own feet. So maybe I was wrong after all.
She blinked overly large brown eyes in my direction as if she was confused as to where she was and tucked a piece of white-blond hair behind her ear. She looked like she belonged in the elf kingdom of Lord of The Rings. Her features were seamless, perfect, from her petite bow-shaped lips to her little button nose.
Beautiful.
“Yes?” I said hoarsely. “Your name and question?”
“Andi,” she said slowly. “And I was wondering if you would be keeping track of attendance. It doesn’t say on the syllabus and—”
“Planning on skipping class, Andi?”
“No, but—”
“Is your education not important? Tell me, how much money does it cost to sit in one of these chairs over the course of twenty-four hours?”
Another hand shot up.
“Yes?”