Page 54 of The Devils They Are

I'm hit with a wave of exhaustion as the long day finally starts to get to me. I stopped at the hospital after school and promised Mom I'd go back to visit her after the fights were done and I'd stopped at the beach to check on everyone. I'm wasting time and bed is calling my name. Visiting hours will be over soon and now that the electric energy from the fights has departed, I'm crashing fast.

"Let's just get this over with," I murmur, walking toward his truck.

The sound of keys jingling reaches my ears before the lights flash orange as the vehicle unlocks. Rylan walks next to me as I step up to the passenger door, and for a moment, I almost think he's going to open the door for me, but he quickly pivots and heads to the driver's side.

Slipping into the car, I silently curse him for his cab being nicer than mine. I'm thankful to even have a vehicle that gets me around but damn it—these seats are comfy as fuck after a long day.

Rylan leans back, dropping the keys onto the dash. "We doing this here or on the drive?"

"Here, I guess," I answer. It's already embarrassing that he has to give me a lift. At least if we talk now, I can jump out of the truck as soon as we arrive at the beach. If I linger to chat, everyone will ask questions. Best to save that for text messages, away from prying eyes and ears. And where I can hide behind a screen.

"Alright," he says, twisting his body more towards me. "How much damage do we think there is?"

An exhausted laugh escapes from my throat. "You didn't give me time to check. But to be fair, it depends on how we want to rebuild it. I could probably source some second-hand material."

Rylan nods, contemplating my offer. "Personally, I think it would be better if we rebuilt the entire cage with new material. Otherwise, we'll just be back here again in a month of two."

"I know," I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "But it would cost a small fortune. We're not the UFC. I can ask around if anyone is willing to donate, but truthfully, we're hard pressed with our current situation. Students are already out of pocket at Willowbrook with having to buy new textbooks and supplies for stuff we didn't already have because of the fire."

"How about this?" he straightens up, like he's in a professional corporate meeting. "Willowbrook will cover the cost of a new cage, but you have to offer us something in return."

I raise an eyebrow. "And what would that be?" I ask, warily. "What could we possibly have that you want?"

"The beach," he suggests. "You let us use the beach every weekend for the next month or so until the cage is fixed. And," he pauses. "You have to tell everyone howniceI am."

Laughing at the stupid grin on his face, I shake my head. "Hard pass, Rylan. Beach I'll consider, but nice? I don't like lying."

"You wound me, Spencer."

"You'll survive," I smile. "You don't have a heart so I can only assume you're unkillable. Not that I haven't thought about it."

Rylan slaps his hand on the steering wheel with a chuckle, his silver rings reflecting the moonlight. "Fine," he concedes. "But you have to give us a proportion of your votes at the next town election."

The smile wipes off my face faster than a speeding bullet. "You're kidding."

"Just a percentage," he says. "I'll even let you pick it. If you're confident in your numbers, then it should be a sure thing."

"Zero is a percentage," I argue back.

"Has to have value otherwise the deal is worthless. Whole numbers too—don't be trying to pull a fast one on me with some bullshit decimal crap."

I run through my numbers again, like I have done a hundred times, counting all the new voters and weighing them up against the margin from last time. If I factor in a percentage of new voters for them too, I'mfairlyconfident we have the numbers. For some reason, we had a Cedar baby boom eighteen years ago—probably from all the giddiness of kicking Willowbrook's ass that year.

Dad used to love boasting about it, often telling me stories of his earlier days. You know, before he became a coward and took off without even saying goodbye.

"One percent of the new voters," I finally answer. "And you can't take your sweet time with the cage. It has to be done reasonably quick—we have a reputation to uphold. Plus, everyone will be antsy at having to wait to fight again."

Rylan runs his tongue over the back of his teeth, seemingly biting back a remark about his loss tonight. "Fine. No more than a month, beach is ours every Saturday until then, one percent of votes, and you don't have to tell people I'm nice. But I would appreciate it if you didn't tell them that I started at some ridiculous number like fifty percent of votes. I can't have them thinking I'm a pushover."

I laugh, holding out my hand. "Alright, deal. But you can't tell people I'm a pushover either. I might be alone, but I got here for a reason."

It's not a lie. I did get here because of a very good reason. But they can't ever know my pain, not to that level. Everyone might know I have daddy issues, but at the end of the day, I earned my place. I worked hard, fought with my life, and survived. My father doesn't get to steal that from me. He doesn't get to take my moment and diminish my credit.

"Deal," Rylan replies, shaking my hand.

Our joined palms stay connected, neither of us moving. That niggling feeling returns, the one that I've been trying to fight the past week.

I hate seeing this side of Rylan—because I can'thateit, no matter how much I try. I've spent my entire life being trained to hate them all, swearing to uphold our rivalry and believing they were nothing but assholes in flashier uniforms. We're not supposed to humanize them—not like this.

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