"I'm nothing like him," I interrupt, my voice suddenly sharp.
It's not a terrible thing," she says gently, moving into a chair beside the table. "It just means sometimes you run before you even understand that something's wrong."
Mom's perceptive. Sometimes annoyingly so. "Nothing's wrong. School's great, Tanner's Tanner, Sebastian's..." I cut myself off.
"Sebastian who?" She props her elbows on the table
. "That's it, isn't it? This Sebastian. It's a boy. Of course—it's always a boy."
"Never with me," I say quickly. "It's never been a boy with me."
"That's true." She nods. "It's never been a boy with you."
"I'm not stupid. I'm not going to let a guy mess up my life." The unsaid 'like you' is unintentionally obvious, and I rush to conceal it. "I don't have time for guys. I ha
ve a lot to do, and after Dad—”
"That man." Anger jolts into her tone. "I haven't been angry with him for ten years, but now I am, you bet."
"You haven't been angry with him for ten years?" Her inability to hold down a job, her gambling problems—I'd always assumed it was a reaction to his abandonment.
"Oh no, honey. I've always had my own problems. Your father was just one of many, but he hasn't been for a long time. Wherever he is now, he stopped affecting my life ages ago. I had no idea he was still affecting yours."
"What do you mean?" I rummage through the cupboards to distract myself.
"May, if you don't want to let a guy mess up your life, you can start by not letting your father. Love is such a wonderful thing. If you've got it, don't let anyone throw it away for you."
I'd grown up convinced that love was a trap, something that roped you in for future pain and betrayal. But being with Sebastian doesn't feel like a trap. It feels like freedom.
Have I been stupid to declare that I'd never fall in love?
"He's really great," I say hesitantly. "Talented and smart, and kind, even though he's convinced he's not."
"And he cares about you?"
I say "yes" without thinking about it, surprised at how obvious it suddenly is.
She twirls a loose hair around her finger, wincing as she adjusts her leg. "Well, there's a good reason to give it a chance right there."
Feeling cheered, I offer to make pasta and set about locating ingredients. She's out of mostly everything, so I slip on my shoes—there's a store just a few blocks over.
"Are you sure?" Mom says, folding down her newspaper. "It's getting dark."
It is—I hadn't noticed how much time we'd spent at the hospital today, getting test results and information. This isn't the greatest of neighborhoods, but I hate the idea of Mom spending the day in the hospital and then having cereal for dinner. "I'll just be a few minutes."
"Take your cell."
Outside, the air is crisp and chill in a way I'd forgotten it could be. Sirens wail far away, creepy echoes of sound. Growing up, I'd stopped noticing the constant whine, but now it stands out. I sigh and hitch my jacket collar high on my neck.
The sun's practically set. I can hear some dude yelling at his girlfriend in the distance. A dog barks. Mom never used to let me out by myself after dusk, but maybe she wants to prove she's okay with my new independence. I wish I was. I can't stop feeling guilty about leaving her on her own.
My thoughts wander back to Sebastian—damn. I'd gone a whole five minutes without thinking about him. About his sculpted lips, his angular shoulders, his muscular stomach—
I tell my brain to shut up when I realize I'm sweating, despite the cold.
A noisy clanking reaches me, and I pause. There's a construction crew finishing up on the road ahead, equipment blocking my way. I don't want to climb awkwardly over their things, so I duck down a side alley that'll get me to the store faster anyway.
But I've been away longer than I thought. The alley's a dead end, and when I turn around, there are four guys behind me.
"Shit." The word slips out from my lips by mistake. They're older than me but not by much—bigger than me by a lot, though. Nobody's pointing a gun, which is a miracle on its own in Newark, but the biggest guy in front has a shiny knife.
"That ain't a nice way to greet strangers, baby." He cracks his neck to the side and grins. "Don't make me make this hard on you."
I'm tired and angry and scared all at once. Tired because I don't want to deal with this. Angry because I shouldn't have to. Scared for obvious reasons. "Go fuck off, why don't you."
A guy in back laughs. He's way tall, with a tattoo rippling over his bicep.
"You found a sassy bitch, Jack."
"One of my many special ta
lents." This asshole called Jack takes a couple steps forward, getting way closer to me than I like. He smells like cigarette smoke. Suddenly the situation hits me and my legs go completely weak, I almost stagger, holy shit.
Holy shit.
"Better turn around, because none of you are going to enjoy the next thirty seconds and you might as well see the reason why," a voice hisses.
Sebast
ian has just appeared out of nowhere.
Below his T-shirt sleeves, I can see every muscle carved out against the skin of
his arms. His expression is—scarier than everything else put together. It's pure murder.
The first guy goes down so fast I don't even see w
hat happened—just a blur, a crack and a grunt. Then the guy who laughed at me is out cold, and Sebastian's eyes are black with fury.
Oh my God.
Relief rips through me like a tornado. Relief and then fear—because Sebastian doesn't have a knife, and the other guy does.
His fist connects with the second guy's jaw, but this one is built like a water tower and only stumbles, doesn't fall. It's enough time for the third guy to punch Sebastian in the face. I yelp involuntarily, but Sebastian kicks the legs out from under his attacker and slams his head into the wall, paying no attention to the bruise blooming on his cheekbone.
The second guy is struggling around, dazed. I take the opportunity to kick him in the crotch. He collapses backwards with a really satisfying squeal.
"You're gonna fucking regret this, man," barks the leader with the knife. He rushes Sebastian, slashing wildly. Sebastian ju
mps back, but not fast enough—the knife cuts deep into his arm. Blood splatters his shirt.
"Sebastian!" I yell, and cast my gaze around. There's an abandoned segment of a metal bar, the kind used for propping up storefronts, lying in a pile of trash. I seize it just as the guy lunges at Sebastian with the knife again.
"Get away from him!" I swing with all the strength in my arms. The bar cracks hard against the back of his neck. He lets out a strangled shout and drops the knife, which Sebastian immediately kicks to the side before knocking the guy out with a couple trained-looking punches.
I drop the bar. It falls with a clatter. Sebastian's arm looks serious. There's blood dripping from the ends of his
fingers. "Sebastian, are you—”
I lose my voice as he grabs me, gripping my shoulders as tightly as he can without hurting me. "Are you all right? Did they hurt you at all?"
"No—no," I manage, trying to reassure him while simultaneously craning my neck to get a better look at his arm.
He bows his head for a moment. I realize his shoulders are shaking. His voice is thin and frayed. "I should have come earlier. They could have attacked you. They almost..."
There's actual terror in his voice. It cuts right to my heart. Instinctively I hug him, his body damp with sweat. "I'm fine. I'm right here. See? Nothing happened."
He stands rigid until I let him go, and then he slowly nods.
"Your arm..."
He glances down like he's just now noticed it, despite the fact that everything below the gash is stained red. That happened because I was stupid enough to wander into an alley. I grit my teeth. "Let's go get a cab. You need stitches."
But Sebastian's not looking at me. One of our attackers is stirring. "I'm not finished with these pieces of shit yet."
I'm taken aback by the malice in his voice. It's the first time I've heard genuine malevolence there, not just a front to scare people away. "Yes, you are. You have to go to the hospital."
Sebastian ignores me. He lifts the semiconscious leader by the collar, suspending him above the ground, and hisses, "You really should have picked someone else to corner."
He cocks his fist.
"Sebastian, no!" I grab his arm before he can strike, his skin slippery with blood. Sebastian's expression is nearly blind with hatred. "That's not who you are."
"It is." Sebastian's voice shakes. "I could kill him in a second."
"But you won't." My grip tightens on his wrist. "Drop him."
Sebastian's jaw tightens, but he obeys, letting the other man slump back to the ground.
And he lets me lead him back to the main street.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MAY
Sebastian needs thirteen stitches. When the doctor asks, he says he cut it falling down the stairs. The irony gives me a headache.
When the doctor talks about insurance and billing, my headache gets worse, but Sebastian doesn't bat an eye. Everything's paid up in moments. I guess I never realized how being rich means there are some worries that never touch your life.
Then again, I was never kidnapped or had my mom slaughtered in front of me.
When Sebastian's arm is all bandaged up, we catch another cab back to my apartment. He's still tense enough that he doesn't notice my hands knotted in my lap, or the way I shrink back into the seat with every block.
He's probably never even been inside an apartment as small as my mom's and mine.
"Wait." I catch his uninjured arm as the cab pulls to a stop and he moves to get out. "Maybe you should get a hotel. There are some nice ones not far from here."
"Ah. Right." He shakes himself out
of his thoughts and nods resignedly. "I can understand why you wouldn't want your mom to meet me."
"Wouldn't want Mom to meet you?" I say disbelievingly. "She'd probably have a heart attack at the idea that someone like me could bri
ng home a completely gorgeous—”
I snap my mouth closed, annoyed at sounding like a high school girl, but there's a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Repeat that last part again."
I fumble. "I just thought maybe you'd be more comfortable at a nice hotel. I could bring Mom around tomorrow..."
The smile disappears, buried beneath understanding. "May, I couldn't care less what kind of place you live in. I'm not that kind of person. I'm not my father."
He says this with such vehemence I get the sense that he's been careful to make it true.
"Okay. Yeah, okay." I take a deep breath. "I'm being stupid."
He fingers a strand of hair that falls down my cheek, his touch passing over my skin before he tucks it behind my ear. "You're not stupid."
I could really use that cold shower.
"Do me a favor and don't tell my mom about what happened in the alley?" I ask. "She worries.”
"I didn't tell the police, I won't tell your mom."
"Why didn't you?" I say. "Call the police, I mean."
"They would have taken too long to get there. Besides, I don't like cops."
"I don't blame you," I say, thinking about what he must associate them with. "Well, you handled it on your own."
He stares at me so long that the cab driver makes an irritated sound in the back of his throat. We get out and stand on the sidewalk, the city sounds settling into an eerie backdrop.
"Why the long look?" I ask finally, slightly uncomfortable—his gaze is so penetrating.
"I was trying to figure out whether or not you were joking. I decided that you weren't. But you should be," he adds, the white bandage on his arm standing out bright in the night air. "On my own? I would have been fucked without you."
I blink and he mimes swinging a bar.
"Oh, that. Yeah, I've been meaning to tell you I'm secretly a total badass."
"You're bad at keeping secrets." There's that hint of a smile again, the one I've seen more and more often lately. I like it. It's cocky and warm all at once.
I glance back up at my apartment again and feel slightly ashamed for worrying about something so shallow. I know Sebastian better than that. "Ready to meet my mom?"
"Yes," he says. "If you want."
I catch a not
e of uncertainty in his voice—he's as nervous as I am. Why? It's pretty obvious which one of us is the catch and which one got lucky.
"Come on." I lead him up the stairs and through the door, twisting the key in the lock. Once we're inside, I'm immediately struck by the dusty windows, the un-vacuumed carpet, the empty fast food bag beside the trash can. I want to r
un straight back outside. But—