Page 14 of Beautiful Scars

I keep walking so I don't see Zack's face when my words hit. I do know they landed in the right spot by the roar of laughter, and the way he yells at everyone to "shut the fuck up."

I make it to the sidewalk, then the corner, then another block before my legs start shaking. The plastic bags dig into my fingers, cutting off circulation. My chest is too tight. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it won’t go down. I keep walking. One foot in front of the other.

I wish sometimes I were even half as brave as I pretended to be.

Chapter Eight

Levi

Thesmellofgarlicand tomato sauce hits me as I push through the front door to Mario’s. I’d rather not be here, but it’ll probably do me some good to get away from the house for a while. I’ve been trying to give Sunny her space, but it’s getting more and more difficult.

The place is packed, mostly with my teammates and what seems like half the cheerleading squad. Their voices bounce off the brick walls and mix with the tinny sounds coming from the ancient arcade games in the corner. It’s annoying, loud, and does nothing for my mood.

I slide into a crowded booth, the vinyl seat sticky against my bare arms in the summer heat. Zack holds court from the opposite side, lounging back with his arm draped over a cheerleader who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else.

"Do these freshman girls get hotter every year or what?" Zack's eyes are laser focused on a table of girls who are obviously way too young for him to be looking at the way he is. His voice carries over the din.

A memory surfaces—hits me hard out of nowhere.Standing in the doorway of my father's office, frozen, as he pushed his barely out of high school secretary up against his desk. He had the same look on his face as Zack does now when he told me to leave. He pulled me aside later. Clapping me on the shoulder, he'd leaned in like he was about to reveal one of the world's greatest secrets.

"Son, men like us don't get to be where we are by hesitating. We see something we want, we take it. Don't ask, don't apologize. It's who we are. It's what separates us, puts us on top."

I grip my water glass harder, forcing myself back to the present.

"Jesus, Zack, that's Sarah's little sister you're talking about," Ryan says from beside me, his voice tight, tinged with disgust.

"Even better." Zack winks, reaching for his soda. "Remember how Sarah was before she graduated?"

A few guys laugh, but it's strained. I watch them avoid eye contact, pushing pizza around their plates. No one wants to challenge him, but that doesn't mean they like it. Zack doesn't notice though, he's too focused on the girls sitting at the other table. He's clearly mistaking the silence around him for admiration and approval. That can be dangerous.

"So, new guy," he turns his attention to me, eyes glinting. "How you liking being QB? You settling into it okay? Must be quite the change from... where was it you said you were from again?"

"I didn't." I keep my voice neutral, even as my pulse picks up.

"Gotcha. Working the mysterious stranger angle. I'll tell ya a secret though." He leans in a bit, with a smile plastered on his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "The girls around here? Let's just say, you're working too hard if you're working at all. They don't need all that." He stops to shove half a slice of pizza in his mouth. His eyes flit around the table as he chews. "You sure managed to impress Coach though, and most of these losers. Some of us put in years for our spots. Earned it, you know?"

The way he emphasizes 'earned' makes my jaw clench. It's the same tone my father used when he'd talk about 'earning' things. It screams entitled. Asshole.

"Sounds like you’re having a little trouble letting go," I say, matching his stare. "Maybe I’m not the one who needs to worry about settling into their new… position. I hear the bottom isn’t so bad once you get used to it."

A few guys snicker. One of the linemen smirks into his drink. Even Ryan looks down at the table, trying to hide his grin.

Zack notices. His shoulders tense, jaw tightening as his face flushes red. His grip on his soda tightens like he’s imagining throwing it in my face.

He opens his mouth—probably to say something stupid, something threatening—but before he can, the waitress approaches. She can't be more than sixteen and seeing how much she's struggling with the tray she's carrying, she's pretty new to the job.

"Welcome back, sweetheart." Zack's voice drops to what he probably thinks is a seductive tone.

She starts setting down pizzas, trying to ignore him. My stomach turns as Zack leans forward, deliberately sliding his finger down her arm as she works. She jerks away from him.

"Come on, don't be like that," he says when she steps back. "I'm only trying to be friendly. When do you get off? I could take you out. Show you a good time."

"Don't be difficult, dear." My father's voice, smooth as oil."Most women would kill to be in your position."The memory of my mother's face, tight with fear and forced politeness, makes me grip the edge of the table.

"She's not interested," I say, the words coming out harder than intended.

"What's your problem?" Zack's attention snaps to me. "White knighting for some random piece of—"

"My problem," I cut him off, "is sitting here watching you act like some entitled prick. No one here owes you anything, Zack."

---