Dad kissed my forehead. “Now go to sleep. You’re safe.”
He turned off my light and shut the door, leaving me standing there in the dark.
In shock.
CHAPTER NINE
I’d never thought much of wearing makeup. Too many girls at school wore too much, attempting to show they were growing up.
Instead of looking mature, it made most look old.
But I felt old. And looking at the bruise on my cheek in the bathroom mirror’s light that morning I decided drastic measures were needed. Some liquid concealer, powder, and blush later and I looked … well …
I examined myself in the mirror.
Not entirely whorish.
It would have to do.
It hurt to eat cereal, so I considered a radical liquid diet for the day. Coffee and orange juice to start.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Dad asked.
I ignored him.
“Stay clear of that boy,” he ordered.
“Dad. It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
At the bottom of our long, gravel driveway the bus pulled up. Early. “I will.”
The bus honked, and I raced out the door, backpack and bag lunch in hand, jacket and scarf trailing as I ran.
I bounded up the steps to join Pietr.
“Makeup?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as I sat.
I shrugged, praying he wouldn’t press me for a reason.
Instead, he bent toward me, sweeping a few strands of my hair away from my face. “You’re hurt,” Pietr murmured, his eyes darkening. Thunderstorms roiled in their depths.
“It’s no big deal.” I took his hand and moved his fingers lightly down the curve of my face. Content beneath his hesitant touch, I sighed, my eyes latching on to his.
His breathing hitched. “Last night,” he realized, a faint line marring his brow.
“Yeah. But—” I looked down. Where were the words to explain it was nothing—a scratch, a bump, something so insignificant I could have gotten it doing chores…?
His hand heated my chin as he tilted it up so my eyes had to look into his again. I tried to ignore that across the aisle gossip-queen Stella Martin and Billy (an underclassman cultivating an early mustache) burned holes into me, staring at such an intimate exchange.
“I wasn’t … I couldn’t…” His brow lowered, darkening his already shadowy eyes. He pushed out a breath.
“Pietr.” I said his name like a protest. “Usually I’m the one stumbling for words.” I smiled.
His expression was grim. “This wouldn’t have happened if—”
Maybe it was the bumpy road or maybe something more, but his hand trembled and I wrapped my fingers around his wrist, bolstering him.
“If what, Pietr?” My voice faltered.
He gently peeled my fingers away, releasing my chin, his eyes the blue of the most distant piece of sky. Mouth tight, his lips grew thin as his jaw set. I caught glimpses of his reflection as he turned to the window and wrestled with something in his head.
Hand on his shoulder, I assured him, “It’s no big deal. You’re thinking about this waaay too much.”
He whipped around so quickly Stella gasped. “Nyet,” he snapped, searching my face. “I never thought about it enough. That’s the problem. This—” He touched the bruise so softly.… But I winced. His expression locked down, rage on simmer. “This could have been much worse.” His hands fumbled on my shoulders and he drew me closer so I was the only one to hear. “He had a gun on you.”
That was the last thing he said on the bus that morning. I wanted to remind him I’d been through worse the night of his birthday, but he would have only twisted things around to support what he just now realized: that I was simply human.
Pietr kept his distance from me the rest of that day. Whenever I felt his eyes fall on my face they seemed so sad. And so determined.
Sarah continued throwing herself at him, and, to add to my frustration, his reflexes had dulled. She landed frantic kisses on his lips twice, twisting her arms tightly around him once in a body-wrapping stranglehold of victory.
Unable to watch, I saw Derek approach.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I replied.
“You look great today,” Derek complimented me. “Makeup.”
Why couldn’t Pietr have said that and not wondered? “Yeah.”
“You don’t need it,” he added. “Most girls pay—lots—to try and get the natural beauty you have.”
“Ha.”
He frowned, realizing he was getting nowhere. “You seem kind of down.” He rested his hand on my shoulder.
Warmth tingled out from his touch, and I sighed. While Pietr’s touch could be fire and flame, Derek’s was a slow-building heat—sunlight and summer.
“Anything I can do?”
I forced a smile. “Nope. It’ll work out.”
“Sure,” he agreed, giving me one of his dazzling smiles. “Sarah and I were talking about you.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t hide my skepticism.
“It was all good,” he assured. “Anyhow … Sarah had an idea.…” He motioned to her as she stood scrutinizing our body language from across the hall. She pried her arms free from Pietr.
Pietr looked past our heads, studying the wall and avoiding the questions filling my gaze.
Bopping over, Sarah paused in front of me. She clasped her hands and broke out her most winning smile. “When was the last time you went riding?”
The sting of her kissing Pietr was so fresh, I was immune to her charm. “I ride Rio almost every night.”
“I mean, when was the last time you competed in an event?”
I blinked at her, stunned. “June sixteenth.”
Derek’s hand slid down my arm.
Pietr’s eyes focused on me—until Derek took my hand.
Sarah rubbed her forehead, just beneath her soft blond bangs, where a scar still marked her involvement in Mom’s accident. The smile fluttered off her lips.
Derek set his other hand on her shoulder. Her smile twitched back to life like some mad scientist’s experiment in reanimation. “It’s been far too long, I think. We think.” She inclined her head toward Derek.
“It’s your idea. I simply agreed,” he said.
“Anyway, what if you got back on the horse—so to speak? Initiated a full competition regimen again?”
I looked past them to Pietr. He studied the floor tiles like he wasn’t hearing our discussion. Or like he was considering a career in masonry.
“It would take my mind off things, I guess.”
“You did relish competing, didn’t you?” Sarah prodded.
“Yeah.” Flying over fences and bushes on Rio was a rush that was hard to beat. Unless I was kissing Pietr.
“Think about it,” Derek suggested, dropping his hand from Sarah to also fold it around the hand of mine he held.
“Okay, I will,” I promised, slipping my hand out of his.
And I did think about it. All day. Almost as frequently as I thought about Pietr avoiding me.
That afternoon as I finished reviewing the assignment list for the upcoming issue of the newspaper at school, I called the Rusakovas. Grounded didn’t stick as easily when I was at Junction High.
Cat picked up. “Nyet, I am sorry, Jessie. Pietr’s locked himself in his room to study. He said he will not take phone calls. He seems preoccupied. Kak dayla? What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I hope it’s nothing.”
* * *
Pietr nodded acknowledgment to me on the bus the next morning, but didn’t move the backpack on the seat beside him. I sat, glaring at the lumpy barrier.
“Look,” I said, tugging my hair back to show the barest hint of the fading yellow bruise. “Almost gone.”
He nodded, a curt move of his head. His eyes remained dark. Stormy and troubled.
“I’m okay.” I reached out to him.
He drew back and forced his lips in
to a smile. “You will be,” he agreed, once more turning to stare out the window.
That day Sarah landed three kisses on Pietr, entwining her fingers into his dark hair to better capture him for one particularly long one. He didn’t seem to put up much of a fight.
Probably just distracted.
Hopefully because things were going well in the hunt for his mother. But if so, he didn’t mention it to me.
* * *
Back home I alternately pushed Rio to gallop and slowed her to a walk, occasionally letting her lead around the yard as Hunter and Maggie kept a silent watch. All the time I thought about Pietr. And his family. I couldn’t imagine knowing your mother was alive and you couldn’t get to her—couldn’t see her, hug her, kiss her … even argue with her.
I wouldn’t have done well in their shoes, waiting for someone else to decide when or if I could see her. It was no wonder they loped through the night, hunting for her while they waited for permission to visit.
I flicked the reins, encouraging Rio into a jog.
Of course, if I had the option of seeing my mom one last time, instead of knowing she was gone already and forever, I would have waited as long as it took to be with her again.
Winding back toward the barn I straightened in the saddle, seeing someone leaning on the split-rail fence. I slowed Rio to an ambling walk, wondering why he was here.
Derek waved at me and straightened, the breeze playing in his soft golden hair.
Rio trotted toward him and I nodded. My expression must have shown my puzzlement. “Hey.” I glanced at the driveway. Mercedes. No truck. No point telling him I wasn’t supposed to have visitors.
He walked around the fence and stood beside Rio. “I was thinking more about you starting competition again.”
“Really? That’s why you’re here?”
“Not entirely. But the Golden Jumper is coming up.”
The Golden Jumper. The biggest competition in our county. “Too fast. I’ve missed registration.”
“So? Chuck and Lucy are old friends of the family.”
“Charles Overton and Lucinda Walsingham?”
“The same.” He grinned when my mouth popped open. “Anyhow, if you’d like to ride, I can call in a favor.…” He rubbed his head, short hair shimmering.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well, um. Yeah. Please,” I added. The deadline of the Golden Jumper competition would force me to focus on riding. “Cool. Why else did you come by?”
“I want to learn to ride,” he confessed, glancing down, suddenly bashful.
As much as I was over Derek, I had to admit there was something about him.
“If there’s anybody patient enough to teach me, it’s bound to be you.” His boyish smile dazzled me, and my cheeks warmed.
“I don’t really teach,” I claimed. “I mean, once at camp … but that was nine-year-old girls. Frankly, I’m more comfortable training horses than people.”
Rio stayed still beneath me as Derek reached up to touch my leg. “Then think of me as a colt in need of a firm hand.”
I blushed, images of Derek flicking through my head like clips in an old film. Derek playing touch football in the park. On the skins’ team. Derek at the town pool in his navy blue trunks, water dripping from his hair. Derek smiling at me. Derek kissing me at the Homecoming game.
“What are you thinking? You’re grinning ear to ear.”
Embarrassed, I realized I’d mentally equated Derek to a stud instead of a colt. His hand fell away, and I cleared my throat, banishing the thought. “I’m thinking more teaching would be good on my college apps, but it takes time.”
“Any good education takes time.”
“And, as much as I’d love to—”
“I can pay.”
“I don’t—” But the idea of additional money when there was trouble at Dad’s factory … Without a Christmas bonus, the money was quite a lure.
“Handsomely,” he added with a wink.
Any other day my pride might have stepped in and made me see sense. Besides, regardless of the additional income, what would Pietr say?
I gnawed my lower lip. Pietr hadn’t said much of anything these past few days. And Derek gave me his puppy dog eyes. And a tidy stack of bills like it was nothing. “Okay.”
I could talk Dad into this. It was business, not pleasure.
And I could be professional. I’d be instructing him. It wasn’t like we were starting a relationship. So what if he was my old crush? “Fine. Two days each week. Your choice.”
“Tuesday and Thursday,” he said without hesitation.
“Oh. Okay. Tuesday and Thursday.”
“Will he…” Derek paused, looking up into my eyes as he put out a hand to help me down.
“What?”
“Will Pietr give you any problem?” he asked. “I know there’s something going on between you. Even if Sarah doesn’t.”
“No,” I took his hand, but I wasn’t as certain as I sounded. I slipped my leg over the saddle to dismount. Images flooded my brain again, blurring my vision and toying with my perception. I only saw one thing clearly.
Pietr kissing Sarah.
I fell forward.
And Derek caught me.
He held me against his body, sliding me slowly down his front until the breath caught in my throat and my boots touched the ground. Nose to nose, he smiled at me. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” he confided. “Even though I think you could do much better than Pietr Rusakova.”
He released me. “Tuesday,” he confirmed, walking back to the waiting car.
Yeah.
It was sure to be no trouble.
CHAPTER TEN
“Sorry you’re still grounded,” Sarah said one morning in the hallway, sans Pietr.
Was there anyone who didn’t know?
“So how did your rendezvous with Max go, you shameless girl?” she teased.
Seriously? That was the rumor explaining why I’d gotten grounded? My makeup application skills were surely not that good or the CIA would be contacting me any day about working deep cover. I’d kept my ears closed to what people were whispering, but rumors flew around Junction fast as hayseed in summer.
I refused to show shock. “It was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”
“Are you two going out?”
Pietr appeared, lugging Sarah’s backpack along with his own. He watched me a moment, then searched for the nearest clock.
I focused on Sarah. She was smiling. Being supportive.
Dammit.
Her hand slipped into his, and she swung it gently. Casually. Like they were really together.
Dammit.
My lies and choices had led us all here, so I couldn’t—well, shouldn’t—blame her. But I did. For so much. “It wouldn’t work out with Max and me.” My eyes drifted to Pietr’s and managed to hold them for the length of one sentence: “Although he’s amazingly sexy.”
Pietr gave no sign of hearing. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was watching the clock.
Again.
“Sorry. Max is a hottie.” Sarah linked her arm with mine and sighed, leaning against me. “There’s someone out there for you, Jessica. Closer than you think.”
I followed her gaze across the hallway.
Derek stood spotlighted in the stark autumn sunlight, blond hair glowing, bright eyes smiling to match his handsome mouth as he joked with his football buddies. He must have felt our eyes on him, because he paused and looked at me, his smile broadening into an easy grin.
“He’s a looker,” she confided, giving a little wave as she clung to me.
I bit the inside of my cheek before whispering, “ ‘But I really think it’s guts that matter most.’ ”
“What?”
“Just a song stuck in my head,” I mumbled, thinking of Spill Canvas’s “All Over You.” And the truth.
She sighed again.
“You seem tired.”
“Do I look tired?” she asked, fingers flying up to touch her face in wonder. She played with the silky blond curls that framed her face so perfectly, hiding the scar that nudged at her hairline, a reminder she’d nearly died in the accident.
The accident she’d caused.
“No. No. You look fine. You just…”
“I’m not sleeping well,” she admitted, rubbing the spot hidden by her bangs.
“Nightmares?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I’m the queen of nightmares,” I reminded. “Have them, probably induce them in others.” She still didn’t smile. “If you want to talk about them—”
“No.” The word was sharp with warning as she let go of my arm.
“Oh. Okay.”
“No,” she repeated, softening her reply and patting my arm. She rubbed the scar again. “It’s a conundrum I don’t want to bother you with. I’m sure I can work through this myself.”
Yeah, I thought. Because working through stuff by myself was going so freakishly well for me.
* * *
Amy was sick of the drama and no matter what I did or said, she wouldn’t let it go. “Look. He doesn’t get to manhandle you in private and then parade around with psycho-Sarah in public.”
I nearly corrected her, pointing out there wasn’t any manhandling going on anymore and I actually missed it, but she added, “Even if he is hot.”
My eyebrows leaped toward my scalp.
“Yeah. Whatever. Sometimes what I think just falls out of my mouth. Nice shirt, by the way.”
“Laundry day.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. I like it.”
I glanced down at the words emblazoned across my front. BEST TAKEN WITH A GRAIN OF SALT. “Yeah. Annabelle Lee’s started making T-shirts.”
“Cool.”
“She gave me one for you.”
Amy stopped dead in the hall. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I dug in my backpack. “She thought you’d look great in green.”
“She does.” Amy’s on-again-off-again boyfriend, Marvin Broderick, joined us. “In green, out of green…”
“Shut up,” she teased, putting the shirt in front of her and smoothing it to fit the contours of her body.
Amy had me by a year and at least one cup size. She’d failed a grade along the way, but being one of the oldest in our class also meant she was one of the best built. For her, failing got her more attention than if she’d aced her classes.
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