The Edge Rules (The Rules Series Book 3)

by Melanie Hooyenga

  Sweat beads on my upper lip. What is wrong with me?

  Me too.

  See, I was overreacting for no reason. When can I see you again?

  Tomorrow?

  Not soon enough. I’m still sweating, even though I’m no longer worrying, and my head feels like it’s filled with lead. I drop to the pillow and thumb a reply. Perfect. Want to come over after school?

  Yes.

  My phone dings with more texts, but it drops from my hand onto the pillow next to me. My fingers reach for it, but it slides off the pillow and onto the floor. What is wrong with me? It takes all my energy to roll to my side and stretch my arm toward where it fell, but I can’t reach.

  It’s like my phone drifted to another dimension and no matter how hard I try, I can’t reach it. The heaviness in my head grows, forcing my eyes shut, and sleep overcomes me.

  “Brianna.” Mom’s voice breaks through the fog that shoved me headfirst into sleep. “Dinner’s ready.”

  “Mom?” My tongue feels thick and my voice is scratchy. Xavier. I never answered his texts. I lift my head but it’s like a vise is wrapped around my skull, holding me down.

  She brushes my hair from my face and touches my forehead. “You’re burning up.” She runs her hand over my cheek and rests it on my neck. “How long have you been feeling badly?”

  “I don’t know,” I mumble into the pillow. “My phone.” My hand opens and closes, still unable to reach it.

  She sets it in my hand, and the bed sinks beneath her weight as she sits next to me. “Tell me what hurts.”

  “Everything.” And it does. My entire body aches, chills sweep through me, and I’m still sweaty. At least that explains my mental meltdown earlier. I’m not losing it—I’m sick.

  “I’ll bring you some soup and aspirin. Do you need anything else?”

  I try to shake my head but it’s too much effort.

  “Be right back.” Her hand trails over my forehead once more, then I’m alone again.

  My head refuses to budge, so I rest my phone on the pillow next to my face and with one eye, read Xavier’s texts.

  Should I bring more hot chocolate?

  I can show you how to make it.

  Or not….

  Brianna?

  Hello?

  My eyes fight to close, but I manage to type out a message. Sorry. Passed out. Think I’m sick. Talk soon. I throw in a heart emoji so he doesn’t think I’m blowing him off before dropping my phone onto the bed.

  When Mom returns with a tray bearing tea and soup and aspirin, none of which sounds good, I’m still in the same position. She sets the tray on the nightstand next to the bed and helps me out of my jeans and under the covers. “At least take the aspirin,” she says, holding the glass and pills.

  As I’m swallowing the pills, a new text comes through. Mom glances at the screen and raises an eyebrow. Oh crap. “Who’s sending you hearts?”

  “What? Oh, no one. They’re sarcastic hearts.”

  The urge to tuck my phone where she can’t see it is probably just as strong as her urge to snoop in my phone, but neither of us move. Me because I can’t, and her out of some intrinsic sense of decency or respect for my privacy.

  “It’s just my friend Drea.”

  “I thought perhaps it’s the boy you don’t seem to want me to know about.”

  This time I successfully shake my head, but immediately regret it. “Can we do this later?”

  Her lips press in a tight line. “Text if you need anything. And no school tomorrow if you’re still feeling like this.”

  Two days later, I’m finally able to crawl to the shower to wash off the sickness funk. Xavier promised not to come over until I was less achy, which I’m hoping will be tomorrow, and my teachers have all emailed my assignments so I have plenty to help me fall asleep to get that rest Mom insists I need. The only thing I don’t have is the one thing I really need: a new community service option.

  Since I missed yesterday, Dad texted to find out why I hadn’t checked in. He was kind enough to say “feel better,” but it was immediately followed by a reminder of how little time I have left to meet his deadline.

  Drea offered to come over bearing soup, but I fended her off under the guise that I didn’t want to get her sick. Really I don’t want her to see the house. In a couple weeks we’ll be in our new condo and I can start fresh. Until then, I don’t want her over here.

  By Thursday, I’m so sick of being sick that I beg Mom to let me go to school, but she refuses. “One more day won’t kill you. Besides, you already have your assignments, right?”

  Having and completed are two very different things, but I nod. “Can I have a friend over after school? I’m going stir crazy.” I hadn’t planned to ask her permission, but if she knows someone will be here, she won’t feel the need to come home early. At least I hope not.

  She eyes me like she suspects I’m planning something, so I smile weakly. Finally, she nods. “Not for too long.”

  “Okay.” As soon as she leaves for work, I text Xavier. My house this afternoon?

  His reply is almost immediate. Yes querida.

  It’s a good thing Mom’s gone, because there’s no hiding the flush that colors my cheeks.

  By three o’clock, I’ve showered, cleaned my room, and even attempted some homework. But none of that has eased the nerves and excitement over having Xavier in my house. Part of me has the same hesitation that I do with Drea, but he’s already seen the outside, so what difference does it make? I’m also going to ask him to the winter formal. Kids already saw us together last weekend, so we may as well make it official.

  At five minutes past three, he texts. I’m here.

  I smooth my butter-soft leggings over my hips and adjust my oversized sweater so it’s falling off one shoulder. Whoever brought that back in style is a genius. My hair is down and my face is bare except for a touch of mascara, and when I open the door, the look on his face tells me I made the right decision.

  He steps forward and I’m in his arms, the cold air from outside only tickling my bare feet because the rest of me is wrapped up in him.

  “Hi,” I whisper near his neck, unable to stop my lips from brushing over his skin.

  He responds by squeezing me tighter. “I missed you.”

  I could stand here all day, but it’s freezing outside and while the landscaping is extensive, it doesn’t shield the front door from the road. “Come inside.” With his hand in mine, I lead him to the living room, where I’ve already set out sparkling waters and popcorn.

  He shrugs out of his jacket and sets a reusable grocery bag on the floor. “Hot chocolate,” he says when he sees me look.

  “Maybe in a little bit.” I sink onto the couch, tucking one leg beneath me. “Come here.”

  He’s at my side in a flash. His hand moves over the soft fabric of my leggings and pulls my legs so they’re draped over his. Every touch makes me feel alive and I curse myself for being sick.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Mostly better. I wanted to go back today but my mom made me stay home again.” It’s been pleasantly weird how motherly she’s been. In the past, she barely noticed if I wasn’t feeling well, but the past couple days she’s been practically doting.

  “How’d you get sick?”

  “Probably the nastiness on the lunch table.” I shudder, remembering the unidentifiable goop that stuck to my hand. “I probably shouldn’t kiss you…” I push out my lower lip in a practiced way that usually gets me kissed. His gaze drops to my mouth and his eyelids lower, and it’s nice to know I’ve still got it, even in my sickly state.

  “My immune system is pretty strong,” he whispers, leaning close to kiss my bare shoulder. My eyes close and I lose myself in the feel of his hands on me. Too quickly he pulls away. “But if you’re not feeling well….”

  I tuck my head against his chest, willing my immune system to catch up to his. “I’d hate for you to get this.”

  He holds my gaz
e, smiling tenderly, and I want to melt into him. “You promised me a movie.” He lifts my legs and moves out from beneath me. “I’ll get the hot chocolate going while you get it ready.”

  “Do you care what we watch?”

  The look he gives me tells me he doesn’t plan on watching much of the movie, and I get all swoony inside.

  “Kitchen is down the hall. Be there in a second.” I point down the hallway and pick up the remote and scroll through the categories. As much as I’d love to keep him on the couch with me as long as I can, Mom will be home in two hours. I hit play on a recent comedy, then pause it and join Xavier in the kitchen.

  His back is to me and he already has a pan on the stove. I pause in the doorway, shaking my head at how life works out. Two months ago I never would have imagined our paths crossing, and now I can’t imagine my life without him. He has a way of making me want to be a better person that, if anyone else had said it, I’d say was a load of crap. Yet here I am, trying to change.

  “You going to stand over there or come learn how to make this?” His voice is light, teasing, and it pulls me to him.

  I slide my arms around him from behind and rest my cheek against his back. His hand covers mine, holding it against his heart, which is pounding as fast as mine. His lips graze my knuckles and I’m starting to think hot chocolate isn’t going to happen when he moves me to his side.

  “The trick is the chocolate.” He opens a yellow box with a grandmotherly-type woman on the front and takes out a solid piece of chocolate. “You have to melt it in milk. That powdered stuff is for amateurs.” He winks at me. “No offense.”

  “After tasting how good this is, I understand.”

  He pours milk into the pan and sprinkles cinnamon on top. “Now we wait.”

  “That’s it? I expected, I don’t know, something more complex.”

  “Just time.” He leans against the counter and I magically end up in his arms. I meant what I said about not wanting to get him sick, so instead of kissing him, I nuzzle into his neck, breathing him in. For a second, I imagine we’re at the dance, swaying to a slow song, him in a suit and me in something with a low-cut back. As if reading my mind, his hand trails up and down my back, each time dipping lower until he’s grazing my hip, then my butt. Score two for the super soft leggings. My fingers trail over his shoulders, finding their way to the back of his head, where his hair tickles my palm. I pull him closer, stretching my body to feel him fully pressed against me. He turns his face so his lips are on my skin and I exhale softly. When his kisses move closer to my mouth, I pull away.

  “No kissing.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile, making my heart pound even harder. “Anything else off limits?”

  And now I really want to drag him upstairs. “Probably for a couple more days.” Like after the dance.

  He buries his face in my hair. “It’s a date,” he whispers.

  I’m not one hundred percent certain what I just agreed to, but I can’t wait to find out.

  He loosens his grip on me to stir the chocolate, and minutes later we’re back on the couch, steaming mugs in hand. I hook one leg over his and sit as close to him as I can without actually sitting on him, even though I really really want to, and hit play on the movie. We don’t talk much, but our hands roam over each other, and by the time the movie ends I’m second-guessing my no kissing rule. I hit stop on the remote and when I face Xavier, the look on his face makes everything else fade away. It’s like I’m the only one in the universe, the only one he sees or wants or thinks of, and now his mouth closing in on mine. “Wait,” I say as he presses his lips to the corner of my mouth. If I part my lips—no. I’m holding strong on this. I angle my face away from his and his tongue sears my neck. My willpower is barely holding on by a thread when the alarm on my phone goes off.

  Mom will be home any minute. And I still haven’t asked him about the dance.

  I cradle his face in my hands and kiss the same spot next to his mouth where he kissed me. “That’s the warning bell for my mom.”

  It’s like I threw cold water on him. He sits upright, adjusting his clothes, then mine, before smoothing my hair off my face. “Don’t want her to think we’ve been doing anything but watching the movie.”

  Shit. He thinks he’s going to meet her? “Actually, I was thinking it might be best if you leave before she gets home. Since I’ve been home sick…” I trail off, hoping he can fill in the rest. That my mother’s a judgmental bitch who will not approve of him.

  He clenches his jaw and his eyes harden, but then he kisses my cheek and the moment passes. “If that’s what you want.”

  I run my hand over his chest. “What I want is to hide you in my room and have my way with you, but that will have to wait.”

  He laughs softly. “I’m glad I’m not the only one thinking that.”

  With a heavy sigh, I extricate myself from his arms and stand. “I’ll grab your stuff in the kitchen, and then I need to ask you something.” I’m putting the yellow chocolate box in his bag when the front door opens.

  No no no no no.

  “Oh, hello,” Mom says from the living room. I hear Xavier’s voice but can’t make out his words. He’s no doubt introducing himself like the respectful guy that he is, and I can only imagine what’s going through Mom’s head.

  I need to get him out of here before she says something I won’t be able to fix. Because with Miranda Vines it’s not a question of if, but when. I burst into the room with the bag in my hand and the perfect line evaporates with my breath. It’s worse than I thought. On the surface, she looks as polite and polished as ever, but the tick in her eyebrow and the way she’s clutching her hands tells me I have exactly twenty seconds before she loses her shit.

  “Mom, hey. This is Xavier.” I hand him the bag, careful not to let my hand brush his or do anything that will alert her that something’s going on between us.

  “Yes,” she says through gritted teeth. “He told me.”

  “I was just leaving,” he says, looking from my mother to me like he’s unsure why she’s pissed.

  She gives him a once over, and it’s not subtle. Her gaze scalds him from head to toe, then back up again before focusing on me. “This is who you’re dating?” Emphasis on the word this, like he’s not standing right here. “Oh, that’s right. You said you’re not dating anyone.”

  Xavier stiffens next to me.

  “That’s not what I said—or meant.” He moves away from me and I reach for his arm, but stop before making contact.

  Her eyes jump from his tattoos to his earrings and back to his tattoo. “I think it’s best if you go,” Mom says, her voice clipped, but he’s already stalking to the door.

  “Xavier, wait.” I hurry after him to the foyer, where he’s yanking on his coat. “I’m sorry about my mom. I told you she’s a bitch.”

  He whirls on me, eyes flashing with anger. “Are you ashamed of me?”

  “No!”

  The look he gives me is one I’ve never seen from him, not even with that dickweed from community service. It’s a combination of disgust and hurt and I’ll do anything to make it go away.

  “Then why did you tell her nothing’s going on with us?”

  “It—it’s complicated.”

  He zips up his coat. “No. It’s not.” He moves to the front door and opens it. “You’ve met my friends. My family. I didn’t lie about what you mean to me.”

  My eyes fill with tears but if it has an effect on him, it doesn’t show. Asking him to the dance now is pointless.

  “I’ll make this easy for you.” With a final glance over my shoulder, he turns away and walks out of my life.

  When I push the door closed, Mom’s watching me from the living room, arms crossed.

  “Why would you do that?!” My scream echoes off the walls and she blinks, startled.

  She smooths the front of her blouse. “I can’t believe you’d let him into our house, let alone your pants.”

 
“You are unbelievable.”

  “I’m just looking out for your best interests.”

  “Well don’t.” I push past her, but turn back at the bottom of the stairs. “And he hasn’t been in my pants.” Yet, I silently add. Although from the way he just looked at me, he may never speak to me again.

  “Thank goodness for small mercies.”

  “You know what?” I yell. “He’s the sweetest, most considerate boy I’ve ever met, but you’re so hung up on appearances that you’ll never understand that.” I take a step toward her but falter when her eyes narrow. “And his mom could teach you a thing or two about being a mother. She was nothing but nice to me. But you…” My eyes close as I take a deep breath. “You have no idea what makes me happy.”

  She moves closer. “I just did you a favor if you think that boy will make you happy.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” I take the stairs two at a time and collapse in a heap on my bed, fighting back tears.

  You knew it would end this way.

  But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  Xavier won’t return my texts. I’ve broken Old Brianna’s rules by continuing to reach out because I refuse to let this be the end. After I told Drea what happened, she insisted I tell Xavier the truth, and I’ve tried. I really have. The number of unanswered texts surely qualifies me for Desperate Loser of the Year.

  The winter formal came and went—the first dance I’ve ever missed—but from what I saw online, no one missed me. My only saving grace is now it’s winter break so I can pout in private.

  Drea and I have been texting more, and she admitted that she’s not happy with Colton. After a lot of back and forth, she decided to break up with him over the holidays because they won’t have to see each other at school, and while I hate that she’s struggling with this, I’m hopeful she can finally be happy.

  Yes, I’m actually concerned about another girl’s feelings.

  And I haven’t spoken to Mom in a week.

  As Christmas approaches, we continue to tip-toe around each other. I was able to get regular breakfast hours at the food kitchen, and while it’s less crowded than it was on Thanksgiving, that pissy guy has been there every time. With each encounter, his anger toward me seems to grow. The director assures me it’s not my fault, but I can’t help but wonder if this is my penance for years of treating people like shit.