"So, naturally, your first thought is to bring me here?" I smile, looking up at him. My hands reach out to snatch the purple bat off the counter, as I step away and take a practice swing. "To answer your question: very good. Mason used to practice pitching on my parents and me." I can't hide the smile I have thinking about my brother. "He always did love playing."
Theo walks around the counter and steps in front of me. He reaches out to take the bat, as he sets it back on the counter. The glass panels of the display case are rattling worse than nails on a chalkboard.
"This place meant a lot to him . . . and me. It was our secret hideout when everything else went to shit. But when the owner filed for bankruptcy, I bought it. Eventually, I hope to see it restored. It may not look like much, but until then, it’s all mine."
And he chose me to share it with? I swallow hard. My cheeks heat instantly, and I know he notices. "I've never heard about this place before." I clear my throat, trying to collect myself. The idea of crying when I still need so many answers is not an option I can afford.
Theo bites down on his bottom lip. His rich green eyes hold mine, and I watch the tension build before whatever barrier he has, caves, causing his shoulders to sag in defeat. "My father is the one who cut me."
I hold my breath.
"I get it. You need the truth, and I understand that, but before you say anything, I don't want your pity."
Pity? How could he say that to me? I don't pity him. I love him.
I push off the counter. My legs carry me toward the door. "Brielle, please. Just . . . just listen."
Spinning around, I watch him move slowly across the room until he’s standing directly in front of me. "I know you know the type of guy my father is. Or, at least, you’ve suspected." I nod but keep my mouth shut.
"The first time Mason brought me here, it was after that game with Denton High. I struck out and lost the game for us, and he—like I’m sure you did—put two and two together when I showed up at your house, beat to hell. So the next day, he brought me here. He handed me the bat and told me to keep swinging until I hit every ball in a circuit—because he didn’t want my father to ever have the reason to do it again."
I narrow my eyes up at him and tilt my head. Theo's hand comes up to rest against my cheek, and my body relaxes into his touch. My head drops to his chest. "Mason loved you like a brother." I whisper.
"I know, which is why after everything that happened, I left. I was scared. I thought I had no one else left to run to when things went bad. I thought getting away would somehow save me from my father, but all it did was make things worse."
"You had me, Theo. I would have—"
"No. I wouldn't have wanted you to." He turns away. I see the muscles along his back flex under his T-shirt, as he sucks in a deep breath. "I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me."
If anything happened to me? I silently repeat his words. My mind is suddenly wishing for a change of subject. "Theo, your father can't hurt me." I take a few steps in his direction.
"He hurt Mason."
I feel my mouth fall slack as I stare openly at Theo's back. My feet are permanently fixed to the floor. Wait. What? Theo's dad hurt . . . Mason? No. No. No. No. I was there; it wasn't his dad. It was the drug dealer.
I watch Theo turn around; his hazel eyes are almost translucent as he lifts his gaze to me.
"You needed to know."
I can feel my legs beginning to shake as I reach out to him to steady myself. My lungs aching for me to take a breath. "Luca . . . Luca said that you were the reason Mason was dead," I hear myself say. My words are breathy and broken. "But I . . . I didn't want to believe it. Were you in on it? How . . . how could you? Why? Why would your father want to hurt my brother? Why would you let this happen? He was your best friend!"
"What? You can't really think that I would ever be a part of something like that?" Theo is suddenly frantic, his tone, hostile. "He died because my father gave strict orders not to let anyone interfere with his business deal, and I fucked up and let the three of you come with me that night. I was supposed to be in and out, but then y’all came in, and when I saw the guy coming on to you . . . I lost it."
I pause, letting myself remember the night—us pulling into that bar. . . Theo asking us to stay in the car. I pinch my eyes shut. It wasn't Theo's fault. It was mine. I was the reason Mason went inside the bar; he was chasing Becks and me. If I hadn't been trying to make Theo jealous, then Mason would have stayed in the car as Theo had asked, and he'd probably still be alive. But I had to flirt with danger, like I always did back then.
“Luca is right. The two of us together are dangerous,” I say and I mean it. I just wanted him to finally tell me the truth about his feelings. And he let his feelings cloud his judgement. I drop my head. We both killed Mason.
"I thought that asshole was going to shoot you, Brielle. So I jumped in front of you. Had I known he was going to go for Mason, things would be a lot different right now. Mason was my best friend. I would have died for him."
"I know. I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t understand why your father would order something like that."
"Because he’s sick, Brielle. And because he was hoping something like that would happen so he would have leverage on me, in case I ever tried to leave like my mom did."
I sigh, trying to think of a better way to transition into my next question, but there isn't one. My mind is praying that I haven't pushed him too far already tonight. "Why do people call you the Grim Reaper?"
Theo drops his arms and lets his head fall back. "Fuck. Wes and his big mouth."
He grabs the items off the counter and heads for the back door. "Wes is not the problem here," I call after him. My feet move two at a time as I try to keep up.
We get to the glass door, and I can see the batting cages lining the other side, each one littered with leaves and debris. I hesitate, my mind taking a moment to imagine what this place must have looked like back in the day, when Theo turns around. He pushes a hand through his hair, then rubs at the stubble along his jaw. "Isn't this enough, Brielle? I told you about my father. I brought you here. What else do you want from me?"
"Everything. Why is it so hard to let me in?"
"God, I am going to kick Wes’s ass for this."
"No. You're not. Wes is your friend."
"A friend with a big mouth and a death wish."
"I can't take this anymore; this is getting us nowhere." I wrap my arms around my stomach when I feel like I might be sick, and I push through the exit.
"Brielle, wait," I hear him call out to me, but I'm already out the door. I need some distance to think. "Stop running away." I feel his fingers grasp my arm as he pulls me around and holds me to him. "Fuck. What is it with you? I'm trying to make an effort here, but it's not enough. What do you want from me?"
I try to break from his grip, but he's not letting go. "The truth!" I yell at him. “I want the truth.”
"And I’m trying. It's not that easy."
"Why? What are you hiding from me? Why is it not easy?"
"Because I love you!" His words echo through the quiet night. "There, I fucking said it. I love you, Brielle. And I don't want to lose you, so I’m trying to be honest. But it’s not as easy as you might think because knowing the truth puts a target on your back!"
I cut my eyes at him.
"You, you what?" I feel my pulse begin to rise. My heart swells as tears begin to pool at the bottom of my eyes.
"I said, I love you, Brielle. How do you not see that? I always have."
I eye his lips and try not to think about how badly I want to kiss him. Because I can't. At least, not yet.
"It’s also because I'm afraid that if you know the truth then that's it. You'll realize how much of a fuck up I am and you'll be gone."
What are you waiting for.
Say something!
"I. . ." I open my mouth, then shut it. I want to tell him, that I love him. That nothing els
e matters as long as we're able to be together. But I can't. It's not practical—not when I know he's still hiding things from me. "Why do they call you the Grim Reaper, Theo? What is it exactly that you do for your father?"
I can read the hurt behind his eyes, and I hate myself for causing it. Theo drops his hands, releasing me. "Because I amThe Grim Reaper." The words fall from his lips, his tone hollow.
"You hurt people?" My words, shaky as I work to calm the storm of emotions currently stirring inside my mind.
His face turns pale. "Yes . . . and no. It just depends. My father brings them to me—sometimes I go to them—and it’s my job to make them talk. One way or another. At least, it was my job until the job became entertaining Katrina."
I can literally hear the blood pounding behind my ears as I watch him open his mouth, then shut it, time and time again.
I feel myself shaking as I look at Theo in a new light. I see his hands, and I see a weapon. I remember his scars and feel like I’m seeing the aftermath of someone else’s pain. How did he make them talk? How badly did he hurt them?
I choose to ask the one question I dread the most. "Theo, have you killed people?"
"Brielle . . . do you really—"
"Answer the question, Theo! Have you killed anyone?"
"No. Never. I’m not a murderer, Brielle."
I rake my eyes across his face, his arms, and his knuckles. “How could you hurt people, Theo, especially after growing up with your father?”
"Because after years of learning how to take a beating, I got tired of feeling weak. So I learned to fight, and I got good at it. Do you think I wanted to hurt them? I didn’t have a choice, Brielle. I never have."
I tilt my head to the side. My eyes skim the floor as my mind works to process all of this information. Suddenly a face comes to mind. One with blue eyes and long, blonde hair. . .
"Why does your dad need you to entertain Katrina? Is her dad a big deal or something?”
He nods. “My father is hoping to secure a partnership with him to gain access to his clientele. But I think there’s more to it than that. I just don’t know what just yet.”
“And you’re supposed to . . . what? What does he need Katrina entertained for?”
“He wants me to bring her somewhere, make it look like I care about her so that her father is a little more willing to work with my dad.”
I close my eyes and take a step back. I need time to gather my thoughts.
"Here." I watch as he shrugs out of his coat and drapes it over my shoulders before he reaches for the zipper. I hadn't realized that I was shivering. "Let me."
Theo zips the coat up just below the base of my neck. The tips of his fingers reaching out to brush across the length of my collarbone.
"Theo, what are we doing?" I peel my eyes away from his and close them, trying and failing not to let myself give in to the moment. I came here for answers.
"I don't know," he says, and I open my eyes when he drops his hand. His expression is suddenly distant.
He walks over to one of the metal chairs and takes a seat. His hands cover his face as he leans over to rest his elbows on his knees.
"God, you know, my father owns everything here?" His voice raises a few octaves as I keep to my spot. My feet are permanently etching their way into the cool concrete as I begin to fear the worst. "The store owners, the drug trades, even the freaking police. Everything."
“He doesn’t own my father. And he doesn’t own you.”
"It’s not that simple."
"Yes, it is. You said it yourself. You’re good at fighting. So good, in fact, that your father had someone you care about killed in order to get to you. You have a choice. You can leave; he can’t hurt you anymore."
"See, that's where you're wrong." Theo drops his head, and I can tell that he’s struggling His hands fall away from his face as he turns towards me. The look in his eyes one of genuine concern. "He can hurt me because now he knows my weakness—you."
chapter twenty-nine
THEO
Fuck. This is so embarrassing. I should have just kept my mouth shut. Damn it, Brielle Say something! Anything! I want to scream. I need to know what's going on inside of that head of hers. I mean. Shit. Did she not hear me?
It feels like forever has passed since I admitted to her that she’s my weakness, and she hasn't moved a muscle. Even her expression is unreadable as she eyes me from the same spot by the door where I released her. My mind is racing as I wait for her to speak.
Should I say something? Is she waiting for me to make a move? Fuck. I am so out of my element here. I literally just told this girl something I haven't told anyone else, ever, and she chooses now of all times to go speechless on me? She asked for the truth. . .
Sure, I'll admit, it was a fucked-up thing to do. Telling my girl that I love her—for the first time—in the middle of a fight, but it just slipped out. Maybe it's because she doesn't love me back. Or maybe she knows she won't be able to look past what I've done, now that I've let her in. Now that she knows I'm no better than my father.
I close my eyes and suck in a slow breath. Fuck this. I can't handle the silence for another minute. "This was a bad idea. I should probably get you home." I begin to stand. "It's getting late anyway, and Becks—""I'm . . . I'm your weakness?" She interrupts me. Her eyes shift back and forth between my own like she’s debating something—as if she didn't already know.
God, if only I could read her mind.
"Isn’t it obvious?" My words reveal more truth than I would like and are making me vulnerable to her rejection. I’d be lying if I said I wasn't scared shitless right now. This girl has my heart, and she could crush it in a matter of seconds if she wants to.
This shit is the reason why I don't let people in. I can't stand the waiting, the hesitation, of not knowing how they might feel. Brielle purses her lips, her hand running over the top of her hair. I can see that she is struggling to find the words to answer me as I watch her suck in her bottom lip and bite it. The act takes longer than usual, but I'm unable to look away.
I tense and press my hands over the top of my jeans to adjust myself. My cock is pulsing in rhythm with the beat of my heart, as I try to not think about the fact that we're alone—and that she's staring at me with that innocent fucking look that always makes me want to do a million—all dirty—things to her.
Fuck, I want this girl.
Another minute passes before those perfect lips pull into the softest smile. But my mind blanks, and I’m unable to speak. There are too many scenarios playing out in my head. She takes a step, her feet slowly unsticking from the floor as she walks over to where I'm sitting. Her hands gently press against the top of my shoulders until my back is flat against the chair.
I can see the hesitation in her face. Her nerves probably making her doubt herself as she climbs onto my lap. Her knees brushing the outside of my thighs. Those brilliant green eyes look up at me in shock."Say it again," she whispers, her arms wrapping the back of my neck.
Say . . . it?
Which part?
"Y- you’re my weakness?" I stumble through the words as my eyes fall to her mouth. Our lips, barely an inch apart.
She shakes her head. "No, the other thing."
Damn it. I lick my lips. She's going to make me say it again. She didn't even answer me the first time, and now she's asking for me to say it again? I sweep my eyes across her face and suck in a deep breath. Her cheeks and nose are red from the cold. I reach up to cup her face with my hands, and without having to think about it, she leans into my touch.
"I love you," I repeat, my eyes holding hers. "I always have."
I barely have time to brace myself before she presses her lips to mine. My arm moves to encircle her waist as I press on her back until our bodies are perfectly flat against one another. I can't help it; I want her. I need her. I don’t even care about the fact that she still hasn’t said it back. I just want the chance to feel close to her again—like I haven’t lo
st her for good.
I sweep my tongue over her bottom lip and nip at it. The act elicits a moan to fall from those perfect fucking lips as she rocks her hips against my cock. Fuck, this is really happening right now. And here, of all places. . . Damn it. What would Mason think?
With the hand that’s cupping her face, I slowly tease my way down her back. My fingers skim the soft skin under her ass, where her shorts are barely long enough to cover. Fuck. Does she really wear this out in public? I lean forward and deepen the kiss. My arm is still locked around her waist.
I hold my breath when I feel her hand on my zipper. The palm of her hand gently teases my cock as she runs down the length of it like she's sizing it up. "Can I . . . touch it?" she asks. Her words are breathy, and her lips swollen from kissing.
"P- please," I manage to mumble. Smooth, Theo. Real smooth.
She must have liked my answer because she smiles. Her fingers waste no time as she unbuttons my jeans before moving to the zipper and unzipping it. I tilt my hips, keeping her body pressed against mine, and let her shrug my pants down enough so that she can get to my boxers.
Jesus. She wants this as much as I do. I swallow hard at the thought. My eyes are glued to her movements, like I'm experiencing it all again for the very first time. She pushes her hand under the waistband of my boxers and takes hold of me. Her hand glides up and down my cock in a steady rhythm. "Fuck," I moan. She instantly releases me.
"Oh my God. I am so sorry. Did I hurt you?" She's panting. The swollen peaks of her breasts, peek out at me from where my jacket zipper has worked its way down amid everything. I lick my lips.
"Not at all." I reach out and unzip the jacket further. My fingers tease her soft peaks as I lean forward to kiss a certain spot on her collarbone, which I know she loves. "Quite the opposite actually."
With You: With you, I am who I want to be. Page 21