Page 53 of Serpent In White
“Everything okay there, champ?” I ask, eyeing him carefully as he yanks the dresser drawer open forcefully, damn near ripping the whole thing out.
“Great,” he grunts, removing some clean clothes.
“Well, that’s a fuckin lie,” I huff, and he finally looks at me. “Practice didn’t go well?”
He sucks in an audible breath, then lets it out slowly, raking his fingers through his damp hair the color of cinnamon. “Not really.”
I sit up straighter. “What happened?”
“I was distracted as fuck,” he admits quietly, as if I really give a fuck about football and would judge him on something like that. “I fumbled twice. Got my ass tackled more times than I could count. Coach wasn’t pleased.”
“So? It’s just practice. Not like it was a game.” I give him a look like this should be obvious.
“That’s not the point, Drake.” He shakes his head. “We’re playing the ’cudas next week. I need to be on top of my game, and I can’t fucking focus.” He slams the drawer shut hard enough that all the shit on top of the dresser rattles around.
“Why can’t you focus?” I tilt my head. “What’s wrong? Maybe I can help.”
“You can’t,” he says dismissively, tugging his t-shirt over his head. “I’ve got it under control.”
He tosses the shirt, which lands nowhere near the hamper, but I can’t even be bothered by it because I’m too busy staring at the bruises on his ribcage. They’re shaped like fingerprints…
He slips a new shirt on, cutting off my line of sight, but the image is burned into my brain. Putting my book down, I scoot off the bed and stand up, watching him closely.
“You havewhatunder control, Darian?” My tone is firm, enough that his eyes widen at me.
He’s frozen for only a second before he brushes me off. “Nothing. Just… my life. My problems. I’m fine, Drake. It was just a bad day.”
Eyeing him, I ask, “Are you sure?”
“Yea,” he answers too fast, nodding too much. “I just… I’m sorry I missed dinner. I hope Dan wasn’t pissed.”
My eyes narrow. “Who gives a fuck about that asshole…”
He blinks, his brows pulling together in such a vulnerable expression, he looks like he could break down at any moment. “Yea…”
I step closer to him. “Darian, please… Tell me you’re okay. Just…” I stop to work out my thoughts. I don’t know anything. I have no evidence of anything at all, and this is the first time I’m noticing it. But now that it’s in my head, it won’t leave. “If something’s wrong, you have to promise to tell me, okay?”
His Adam’s apple dipping in his throat catches my peripheral, but I can’t stop watching his face. He looks distraught. He’s not fine, despite what he says. Far from it.
Please, God…
Let me be wrong.
My mind sifts through an inventory of things that never clicked until right now.
How much attention Dan pays him.
The occasional bruises in strange places, even for a football player.
The alone time…
When I was younger, it made me jealous; the fact that my foster father spent his time with the new addition to the family rather than me. I always hated Dan, but still… He’s the closest thing we have to a dad.
When Darian arrived, he was bigger than me. He’s interested in sports, and I’m not. Dan clearly loves him and hates me. I made my peace with it over the past couple years. And as I grew up, got taller and bigger, gained some confidence in myself and one amazing brother, I stopped giving a fuck what that asshole thinks.
But Darian is different. He’s been searching for a father his entire life. He’s desperate for one.
If that fucking scumbag took advantage of him, I swear to God…
