Page 30 of Lost Boy
RYDER
I’ve never been so terrified as I was when Sofie came running to me in tears, screaming about Fallon and Dustin and tugging on my hand to follow her upstairs. I burst into the bedroom to find six-and-a-half-foot-tall Dustin on top of Fallon with his eyes closed and blood smeared across his face.
Jamie and Cole were seconds behind us, grabbing Dustin and hauling him away so I could scoop Fallon up and run to Jamie’s truck. I can deal with Dustin later after Cole does.
Sofie told all three of us he wanted to make out with her. She changed her mind once they got to the bedroom, and Dustin was too drunk to realize. He’s been after Sofie the entire year, and half of that is just to mess with me. Throw me off my game so they can win the championship. It won’t happen. Either thing.
Sofie begged us not to tell Dad and Joel. She said nothing happened, and he couldn’t get into trouble for trying to make out with her anyway. That she thinks what he did isn’t that bad really pisses me off. It makes me even angrier because Mom should be here to explain these things to Sofie. She should have a mother to confide in, not just a big brother and a dad.
I hate it for her, but I can’t think about that tonight. Sofie is safe, and Fallon is too. Jamie dropped Sofie’s friends off, ensuring Katie’s older sister had everything under control. I know she’ll take care of the girls, so that’s one load off.
We pull into Fallon’s driveway, and Jamie shuts the engine off so I know he plans to stay the night. He won’t leave this all to me; he’s worried about Sofie and Fallon too. I trust him with my sister completely, to care for her like I would.
She had too much to drink after sneaking out and coming to the party when I told her not to. She hates being left out, but it wasn’t safe for a fourteen-year-old girl, and tonight proves that.
Jamie gets out and shuts his door quietly, walking around and scooping Sofie up from her side of the vehicle. She’s over a foot shorter than him and curls up in his arms like one of the little kittens she still likes to wear on her pajamas. “I got her, dude,” he whispers. “You can trust me.”
“I know,” I tell him. It’s not a question in my mind. He loves my little sister like his own, and she loves him. They disappear inside after I use the app on my phone to disarm the house alarm and open the garage door.
“Blue. You ready?” I don’t know why the nickname is coming out so much tonight, but I can’t seem to stop.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, sitting up from my lap with his eyes barely open. It’s been hard to tell if he’s sleeping or not, but he assured me he was awake each time.
I hop out on my side and run around, helping him before he tumbles to the ground.
He’s kind of a mess.
Fallon stumbles three times before I get impatient that he’s not in bed with his injuries being attended to. I scoop him up, and he doesn’t even protest as I walk up the stairs to his room.
I kick the door shut behind me and lay him gently on the bed, scanning his body for any injuries.
Fallon curls up on his side. His chest rises and falls steadily, small puffs of air leaving him as he hovers on the edge of sleep. I roll him to his back, and he lets me, still out of it.
“I’m going to take your shirt off now,” I inform him, giving him a chance to stop me as I reach for the hem.
I gently peel it off as Fallon lifts his arms. His eyes are half-lidded from the drugs, booze, and possible concussion as he stares at me. I climb onto the bed fully, hovering beside him on my knees. My hands reach down, lightly resting against the pale skin of his belly, causing little goosebumps to break out across his skin.
He’s so small my two hands nearly span the entire width of his abdomen. I could grip his hips easily, controlling his body effortlessly. Fuck, I want to know what that’s like.
I shake the lust-fueled thoughts from my mind because he’s lying injured in front of me. His lean, toned abdomen is so tempting, even with bruises blooming on the soft flesh where it looks like Dustin punched him.
That worries me a little.
“Does this hurt?” I press lightly on his stomach, his muscles jumping under my touch.
He shakes his head no.
“Did he punch you here?” I ask, skimming his ribcage with my fingertips and noting the dark red splotches already turning purple from where flesh met bone.
He shakes his head no again, and I narrow my eyes. He hasn’t lied yet, so why would he start now?
“Kicked,” he clarifies, eyes barely open.
I grit my teeth at the casual way he says this, my jaw pulsing with the pressure. I scoot up higher on the bed and lean in to inspect his face more closely. He doesn’t have a split lip, thankfully. He must have bit his tongue, though, and his previous black eye looks darker and a little swollen.
It’s not too bad, but he needs ice.
I brush his hair back from his face, telling him this.
