Page 78 of Break Point

Jaden is flat on her back when I get there, and my mind races with terror for a short second, recalling her just like this after her seizure. Only that’s not what’s happening now. I squeeze my eyes tight and block the vision before kneeling, then lying beside her. I stretch my arm out, and she scoots into the crook of my arm, resting her head on my bicep and her palm on my chest. I hope I’ve slowed my pulse enough to mask the fear that raced through me. She has her own demons to slay. I don’t want her worrying about mine.

“Tell me, Crash. What’s holding you back?”

She pats my chest with a tiny bit of gusto, and I huff out as if it were a heavy blow.

“Fine, Jaden. Not Crash. Crash is gone. History.” I roll my head enough to meet her waiting gaze.

“I don’t really mind it so much,” she admits.

“I know,” I answer.

She hangs on to my gaze for a long, quiet moment, then flits her attention back to the sky. I was right about the clouds. But there are patches missing, and some of the stars are shining through.

“When I was in high school, there were a few people that called me a not-so-nice nickname,” she says.

My chest tightens, and I can’t help the beast that wants to beat up her enemies. He’s in there, waiting. Let me at them.

“What was it?”

She’s quiet for a few seconds, and her fingers scratch against the cool center of my T-shirt and the middle of my chest.

“The red hair makes it easy for them. I mean, Carrot Top was on regular rotation. But other terms weren’t so PG.”

I jet up to a sitting position, aware enough to bring her with me to make sure her head doesn’t hit the ground.

“Fire Crotch, or when they really wanted to embarrass me, Fire Cunt. Because of the hair, and I guess my temper.”

“Temper? You?”

She levels me with a hard look, and I swallow the rest of my words as I think back to our first encounter.

“I know I can come off callous, arrogant, maybe mean.” She blinks slowly, and I can read the hurt in her eyes. She was given the nickname years ago, and she’s outgrown it for sure, but it still stings. Words are terrible that way.

“Not true. You’re the nicest.” I squint one eye as her chin tucks and her brow pulls in. “Though, you are quite red . . . down there.”

She shoves me to my side, and I laugh hard, grabbing her body and rolling her with me. She ends up lying directly on top of me, and while I could probably explain the lights being on as well as the two of us sitting out here and talking, I know I wouldn’t be able to explain this. Neither of us moves, though. So I guess . . . fuck it.

I run my hand along her cheek, then sink my fingers into her hair.

“What is it? For real. What’s in your way, because I’ll move it. However heavy it is, I’ll move it to get you there.” I lift my forehead to meet hers and close my eyes before whispering one more plea.

“Tell me.”

“It’s me,” she breathes out. “I’m in my way.”

My head rolls against hers.

“Explain.”

She hums in thought for a moment as I let my head rest on the court again. I hold her hair away from her face with my hands and brace her weight so her neck doesn’t tire from holding her head up. I want to do everything for her, which I know isn’t right, but it’s how I feel. And I think I’m going to fight that urge to do things for her for a long time. Maybe forever.

“I’m twenty-two years old, and I’m still harboring bitterness over a nickname someone gave me seven years ago, when I had acne and braces. How do I handle wearing a badge that says I have epilepsy?”

My gaze flickers from one of her eyes to the other.

“You own it,” I say.

She pushes up from me with a tsk.