Rules Of Attraction (26 page)

professional.

“Take off your shirt,” I tell him. I search my medicine cabinet for

Tylenol.

“Why, you want to fool around again?”

“Not funny, Carlos.”

“You’re right. But I’ve got to warn you. If I lift my arm over my

head I might pass out. My side is killin’ me.”

Knowing his shirt is already ripped and ruined, I pull out scissors

from one of the bathroom drawers and cut a line down the front.

“After you’re done, can I return the favor?” he jokes.

I’m trying to act like we’re just friends, but he keeps throwing me

curveballs and it’s confusing me. “I thought you didn’t want to get

involved.”

“I don’t. I want to numb the pain, and figure that seein’ you naked

right about now might help.”

“Here,” I say, shoving Tylenol and a paper cup filled with tap water

into his hand.

“Got anythin’ stronger?”

“No, but I’m sure if you let me take you to the hospital they’ll give

you something stronger.”

Without answering, he throws his head back and swallows the pills.

I peel off his cut shirt and try not to gasp again as I examine his

injuries. I noticed a few old scars on his body before, but the damage

done today to his back and chest is downright nasty.

“I’ve been in fights before,” he says as if that’s supposed to make

me feel better.

“Maybe you should avoid them altogether,” I suggest as I gently

wipe down his back and chest. “You’ve got cuts and bruises on your

back,” I tell him. The sight of each mark makes me want to cry for him.

“I know. I can feel everyone.”

When I’m done wiping off all the blood, I step back. He tries to

smile, but his lip is so swollen it’s lopsided. “Do I look better?”

I shake my head. “You can’t hide this from my parents, you know.

One look at you and they’ll be asking questions.”

“I don’t want to think about that. Not now, at least.” He stands up,

grabs his stomach, and growls in pain. “I’m goin’ to bed. Check on me in

the mornin’ to see if I’m still alive.” Carlos grabs his T-shirt and

envelope before heading to his room, then collapses on the bed. When

he looks up and realizes I’ve followed him, he says, “Did I thank you?”

“A few times.”

“Good. ’Cause I meant it and I hardly ever say it.”

I pull the covers over his aching body. “I know.”

I start to walk out of the room, but I hear him start to panic and

his breathing gets labored. He reaches out to me. “Don’t go. Please.”

I sit next to him on the bed, wondering if he’s afraid of being

abandoned. He slings his arm around my thigh and rests his forehead

against my knee. “I have to protect you,” he says softly.

“From who?”

“El Diablo.”

“El Diablo? Who’s that?” I ask.

“It’s complicated.”

What does that mean? “Try to rest,” I tell him.

“I can’t. My entire body hurts.”

“I know.” I gently rub the arm that’s slung around me until his

breathing slows. “I wish I could help you,” I whisper.

“You are,” he murmurs against my knee. “Just don’t leave me, okay?

Everyone leaves me.”

As soon as I can sneak out of his room, I’m going to call Alex and

tell him and my dad what happened. I imagine Carlos won’t be thankful

then. He’ll likely be downright pissed.

FORTY-THREE :
Carlos

I’m holding on to Kiara, feeling a desperate need to protect her. If

I could only move without feeling like crap, I wouldn’t be lulled to sleep

with her fingers stroking my arm. While I welcome sleep, I don’t want

Kiara out of my sight. Rodriguez could hurt her, and I can’t let that

happen. As long as Kiara is safe, está bien. I need to warn Luis and

Mamá, too. I just need to sleep off this pain . . . for a few minutes.

Kiara’s fingers trailing lines up and down my arm is soothing away the

sharpness of the pain. I close my eyes. If I fall asleep for a few

minutes, it’s okay.

The sound of the door creaking makes me open my eyes. I suddenly

realize that Kiara’s not sitting beside me anymore. Not that I actually

expected her to watch over me while I slept. I attempt to sit up, but

I’m so damn stiff every bone, muscle, and joint in my body is

protesting. Giving up, I stay on my side, under the blanket, hoping it’s

Kiara in the room and not her parents . . . or worse, Brandon. If the kid

jumps on me, the result might be ugly. I close my eyes. “Kiara?”

“Yeah.”

“Please tell me you’re alone.”

“I can’t.”

Damn. I sink my head deeper into the pillow in a weak attempt at

hiding the evidence on my face.

“Carlos, tell me what’s going on. Now,” Westford demands in a

clipped and very military-like voice. Usually he’s so easygoing and calm .

. . not now, though.

“I got beat up,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah, but please don’t make me prove it right now. Maybe later.

Maybe tomorrow.”

Westford pulls off the covers and curses. I didn’t think the guy

had it in him.

“I wish you wouldn’t have done that,” I tell him. I don’t have a shirt

on, and he’s seeing the evidence firsthand. I look up at Kiara, standing

beside the bed. “You betrayed me. I told you not to tell them.”

“You need help,” she says. “You can’t do this alone.”

Westford crouches down so he’s face-to-face with me. “We’re

going to the hospital.”

“Not a chance,” I tell him.

I hear more footsteps in the room. “How is he?” my brother asks.

“Did you call the entire cavalry, or just half of it?” I ask Kiara.

My brother takes one look at me and shakes his head. He rubs his

face, full of frustration and anger and responsibility. It’s not his fault,

it’s mine. Whether I had a choice or not, I got myself into this and I’ll

get myself out. Right now I wish everyone would just leave me alone,

because I don’t want to talk about who was involved in the fight and

why it happened in the first place.

“I’m fine. Or at least I will be,” I tell him.

The Professor, with such a concerned look on his face you’d think

the guy was upset about his own son, says to Alex, “He won’t go to the

hospital.”

“He can’t,” Alex tells him.

“That’s insane, Alex. What kind of people don’t go to the hospital

when they need medical attention?”

“Our kind,” I tell him.

“I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. We can’t just sit here and do

nothing. Look at him, Alex. He’s practically in a fetal position. We’ve got

to do something.” I hear Westford pace back and forth on the carpet.

“Okay. I’ve got a friend, Charles, who’s a doctor. I can call and see if

he’ll come over and take a look at Carlos’s injuries.” Westford kneels

down to me. “But if he says you need to go to the hospital,” he says,

shaking his finger at me, “you’re going, whether or not I have to drag

you out of the house kicking and screaming.”

Speaking of kicking and screaming . . . “Where’s Brandon?” I ask. I

don’t want the kid seeing me until the swelling goes down.

“After Kiara told us what was going on, Colleen took him to her

mother’s house. He’ll stay there for a few days.”

Their entire life is in chaos because of me. It’s bad enough I’m

eating their food and taking up space in their house. Now their kid is

banished because I’m a fuckup. “Sorry,” I tell him.

“Don’t worry about it. Kiara, I’m going to call Charles. Why don’t we

give Carlos and his brother some privacy.” Oh, hell. That’s the last

thing I want.

When the door closes, Alex stands over the bed. “You look like shit,

brother.”

“Thanks.” I look at his bloodshot eyes and wonder if he cried when

he found out I was beaten down. I’ve never actually seen Alex cry in

person though we’ve been through some tough times. “So do you.”

“It was Devlin’s guys, huh? Kiara told me you said it was El Diablo.”

“They’re the ones who set me up at school. Last night I got jumped

in— against my will. They said I’m a Devlin now.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Even though it hurts to move, I can’t help but let out a short laugh.

“Tell that to Devlin.” On second thought . . . “I’m kiddin’. Stay the hell

away from Devlin. You’re out of all this. Keep it that way. I mean it.”

I start to get up so I can make sure Alex is listening to me. He’s my

brother, my blood. He annoys the hell out of me most of the time, but

when it comes right down to it I want to see him graduate from college

and have little annoying mini-Alexes and mini-Brittanys running around

in the future. This thing with Devlin . . . I just can’t guarantee I can get

out of it. I wince and hold my breath as I struggle to sit up, wishing I

could suck it up and pretend I’m not in pain. I hate feeling weak and

having everyone else watch me struggle. Alex coughs a few times, then

turns away so he doesn’t have to watch me struggle more. “I can’t

believe this is happenin’ again.” He clears his throat, then turns to me.

“What did Devlin say? He’s got to want you for some specific reason.”

The more he knows, the deeper he’ll get into this mess. I can’t allow

that to happen. “I’ll figure it out.”

“The hell you will. I’m not leavin’ here until you tell me everythin’

you know.”

“I guess you’re gonna be here a while. Better make yourself

comfortable.”

Westford knocks and walks back in. “I called my friend Charles.

He’s on his way.”

Mrs. W. joins us a second later, a tray in her hand. “You poor dear,”

she says, then immediately puts down the tray and rushes over to me.

She examines my busted lip and bruises. “How did this happen?”

“You don’t want details, Mrs. W.”

“I hate fighting. It doesn’t solve anything.” She sets the tray in my

lap. “It’s chicken soup,” she explains. “My grandmother told me it heals

everything.”

I’m not hungry, but Mrs. W. is so proud of the chicken soup I take

a spoonful just to get her to stop looking at me so anxiously.

“So?” she asks.

Surprisingly, the warm, salty broth with noodles goes down easily.

“It’s great,” I tell her. They’re all watching me like mother hens. I was

fine with Kiara but I’m vulnerable right now and I don’t want anyone

else around. Well, besides Kiara. Where is she?

When the doctor arrives, he spends a half hour going over all my

injuries. “You really got yourself in a doozy of a fight, Carlos.” He turns

to Westford. “Dick, he’s going to be just fine. No concussion, no deep

contusions. He’s got badly bruised ribs. I can’t be certain he doesn’t

have internal bleeding, but his color is good. Keep him home from school

for a couple of days and he should start feeling better. I’ll be back on

Wednesday to check on him.”

After everyone heads downstairs for dinner, Kiara slips back into

my room and stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at me. “I’m

not sorry I told them what happened to you. You’re not as invincible as

you thought. And another thing . . .” She bends down so she’s eye to eye

with me. “Now that I know you’re going to be okay, I’ve decided not to

have sympathy for you. If you were dealing drugs, you’d better come

clean. I know that money in the envelope you stuck in your pillowcase

didn’t come from selling my magnet cookies.”

“I liked you better when you were sympathetic,” I tell her. “And

you give yourself too much credit. I couldn’t give your damn cookies

away, let alone sell ’em. And I’m not sellin’ drugs.”

“Tell me where you got the money.”

“It’s complicated.”

She rolls her eyes. “Everything with you is complicated, Carlos. I

want to help you.”

“You just said you don’t have sympathy. Why help me then?”

“It’s selfish, really. I can’t stand watching my fake boyfriend in

pain.”

“So this is about you, not me?” I ask her, amused.

“Yeah. And just so you know, you ruined Homecoming for me.”

“How?”

“If you haven’t noticed the posters around school, it’s next

weekend. If you can’t walk, there’s no way you’ll be able to dance by

Saturday night.”

FORTY-FOUR
: Kiara

On Wednesday, Carlos insists on going to school. He says he’s

feeling better, although I can tell he’s moving slower than usual and is

still in pain. He’s got a black eye and his lip is still swollen, but it just

makes him look tougher and rougher. Most of the students at Flatiron

are staring and pointing as we walk through the halls. Every time Carlos

notices someone staring, he drapes his arm around me. Playing the role

of his girlfriend isn’t fun when all we’re doing is being stared at. But

we’re together, and I feed off his strength in the face of all the

gossip. At lunch, I’m sitting with Tuck when Carlos walks up to us.

“Eww,” Tuck says. “My eyes are almost tearing from looking at your

nasty eye. Do us all a favor and wear a mask or something. Or a

blindfold.”

Before I can kick Tuck under the table, Carlos takes the back of

Tuck’s chair and tilts it.

“Beat it, fucker.”

“It’s Tucker,” Tuck says, sliding off the chair but doing his best to

hold on.

“Whatever. I need to talk to Kiara, alone.”