The Handoff (Big Play #3) (6 page)

#10:

Judge Jones

Finn

Lifting the weights with a grunt, I hold them for a second before slowly lowering them back down to my body. Working out has always been the best way to de-stress for me. I love working up a sweat, lifting weights, improving my body so it works in the most proficient way possible. I like feeling strong, like I could take on anything and still come out standing.

The bar clangs into place and I sit up, satisfied with what I’ve achieved. Wiping the sweat off my face with a hand towel, I stand tall and head for the showers.

It’s nice of Coach Watson to give the team access to the gym over break. He told us at least one coach will be at school every day so we can use the facilities and stay fit for the new season. I won’t be playing next season, but I want to stay in shape and Coach Watson is cool with that. I’ll no doubt bump into Colt and some of the other guys during the week. I actually invited him to join me today, but he’s hanging out with Tori this morning and I didn’t feel like an afternoon workout. I never work as hard in the afternoons. I don’t know why. I guess I’m just a morning person.

Flicking on the shower, I soak under the hot spray for a minute before soaping my body down. My mind wanders to the text I got from Mack yesterday. After he landed in Auckland, he paid like a million bucks to catch a taxi straight to Kaija’s school.

All he said after that was that everything went to plan, and then he sent a thumbs-up emoji. Looks like the guy is going to be gone for two weeks, just like he hoped.

Which means I have to check in on Layla.

I let out a sigh and push my head under the water, closing my eyes as the drips run down my face. I blow the droplets out of my mouth and switch off the water.

I should get it out of the way right now. I scrub a hand over my eyes before pinching my nose and staring at the wall. I should just head over to her place and see how she’s doing. School finished yesterday, so who knows what kind of party she went to last night. I should have checked in on her, made sure she was okay.

Dammit.

Snatching my towel, I dry myself off. Worry niggles the back of my neck as my mind plays with different scenarios. What if she got into trouble last night? Mack will kill my ass if I don’t stick to my word. I should have called her after school to see how she was doing.

According to Mack, Layla gets even worse when she’s vulnerable. I don’t get it, but if he’s right, then she’s no doubt feeling it right now with her brother out of the country.

I slide on my jeans and T-shirt, throwing my gym bag over my shoulder as I walk to the door. With the keys in my hand, I head for Mom’s car. She needs it back by eleven, but it won’t take me long to swing past the Mahoney’s place and check in on Layla.

Pulling the phone from my back pocket, I note the time then stare at the screen for a second. I could just call her…but if I do that, I won’t get to see her face, and I feel like I need those visual cues to really help me assess her.

I jog into the parking lot and am about to unlock Mom’s car when I spot Layla shuffling along the edge of the building. I jerk to an abrupt stop and stare at her for a second.

She looks like shit.

Not to be mean or anything, but it’s obvious she’s been out all night. Her hair is ratty, her skin pale. She’s walking like she’s drunk. I frown, letting out a disapproving sigh before heading over to her.

“Layla.”

She flinches when she hears her name and glances up with wide eyes. She almost looks like she’s afraid, which is kind of weird.

Her brown gaze assesses me for a second, and then she sags against the wall and lets out a disappointed scoff. “What are you doing here?”

“Working out.” My words come out clipped and quiet.

It’s obvious she thinks about as much of me as I think of her, so it’s kind of hard to be friendly. But Mack did ask, so I force myself to stick around and check on her.

She’s got these little cuts on her dirty arms and there’s a tear in the upper thigh of her skin-tight pants. It looks like it’s not meant to be there, which confuses me. Layla usually prides herself on her appearance. She must have had one wild night.

Shit, I should have been there. If Mack finds out she’s shuffling home at nine-thirty in the morning, he’ll be pissed.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, noticing the way Layla’s fingers tremble as she clutches her bag strap.

She sniffs and looks to the ground. Her hair, usually so glossy, frames her face like a black bird’s nest. “I’m fine, okay?”

“That’s not what I asked.” My voice sounds so deep compared to hers.

Everything about us is different. I’m tall and broad. My skin’s dark brown. She’s short and slender, her skin almost milky white against mine. I like to be calm and peaceful. She likes wild parties and stumbling home after having been out all night.

As if reading my mind, she takes a step forward and proves me right by nearly toppling over. Her knee buckles and I reach forward to snatch her elbow.

“Layla, are you drunk?” I snap the question like a disapproving parent.

She turns to me with a narrowed glare and mutters, “Take that look off your face, Judge Jones. I’m not drunk.”

As soon as she’s finished spitting out the words, she lurches forward with these gross, gagging sounds and throws up all over the pavement.

My nose wrinkles as spew splatters across the concrete, nearly catching my shoe. I jump out of the way but don’t let go of her arm. If I do, she’ll probably flop right into her own vomit.

So, I stand beside her as she gags and coughs, trying my best not to act like Judge Jones. I hate that she called me that. I pride myself on being a nice guy. I don’t buy into any of Nelson High’s social bullshit, but I’m no judge and I don’t want to be thought of as one.

Too bad Layla’s making it so damn hard on me. How am I supposed to stand here, holding up her drunk ass and not feel at least a little justified in my opinions?

#11:

Strong Arms

Layla

Finn’s holding me too tight. His fingers are digging into my arm, trying to keep me upright as I empty my stomach. It feels awful…and kind of good. I’ve been wanting to throw up all night, nausea roiling in my stomach as I shivered on the gym floor. The school was still unlocked when I arrived. The janitor was doing his final check when I slipped past him and hid out in the gym bathroom.

It was the longest, most horrible night of my life.

It took me forever to get rid of Derek’s phone. I tried flushing it down the toilet, and had to take it apart and smash it with my boot heel so I could flush it away in smaller chunks. I was freaking out the whole time, praying he hadn’t kicked up
Find my Phone
on any of his devices. I then had the shuddering thought that maybe he could track
my
phone so, after a whimper, I drove my boot heel through that as well and cried just a little as it was sucked down the S-bend.

Desperate times.

Once that was done, I snuck into the gym. I was feeling too sick to do anything more than crawl behind the bleachers then lie on my side and cry. The shiny floor was hard and it was impossible to sleep.

Those nasty photos kept flashing in my brain, meshing with the fuzzy images already locked inside there. I could feel Quaid’s hand squeezing my butt, and if I tortured myself hard enough I could even taste Derek’s tongue on my lips.

Each time I did, I’d slap at my face, wanting to claw my skin off.

How could I let him touch me?

It didn’t matter how tightly I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t escape that sensation of ants crawling all over my body, nipping at me and telling me how dirty I was.

By the time morning came, I was a trembling mess. Nausea plagued me no matter how hard I tried to talk myself out of it.

When I spotted Finn glaring at me with those dark, judgmental eyes of his, I knew my number was up.

And I’m too tired to even care.

My head is pounding. My entire body is aching. I’m not sure how much fight I have left.

I let out one more gagging cough, then wipe the drips with the back of my hand.

“Are you sure you didn’t drink too much last night?” Finn’s deep voice makes me stand up, trying to put on that show I always do, but I can’t pull it off.

Leaning my head against the wall, I look at him with glazed eyes. “I’m not hungover. I just don’t feel well,” I murmur, my body starting to sink as my legs give out on me.

Finn tightens his grip on my arm, pulling me towards him so he can wrap his other hand around my waist. My head flops back and, just before I close my eyes, I’m sure I catch a flicker of concern on his face.

He lets go of my arm and steadies my floppy head, resting it against his chest. His long fingers run across my forehead and stay there, reminding me of Mom when she used to notice me…back before Dad got sick.

“Layla, you’re burning up.”

All I can do is grunt at his observation. I’m not surprised. I feel like shit.

“I’ve got to get you home.”

The statement jolts me for a second and I push against him. “No. I’m not going home.” His arm around my back is strong, so I thump his chest with my fist. “Let me go.”

He loosens his hold but doesn’t back away. His hand is still beneath my arm, making sure I don’t fall over. “Layla, you’re sick. Home’s the best place for you.”

I shake my head and start to turn away from him, but he captures my elbow and stops my retreat.

“Layla, come on.”

“No!” I grip his collar, more to hold myself up than anything. His eyes round with surprise as he gazes down at me. “I did not spend last night sleeping in the gym just so you can drag me home now.”

His dark eyebrows bunch in query, but I don’t have it in me to answer him. I let go of his collar and stumble back.

“Just leave me alone, Finn. I’ll be fine.”

My knee buckles as I step back and Finn is right there to catch me. His arm comes around my back and then he sweeps me off the messy pathway. I should be struggling right now, but his arms are so big and strong. I’ve always liked that about him.

“Tank.” I mutter his nickname, my eyes burning with tears as I get ready to plead with him.

His brown eyes flicker with a look I can’t decipher, and then he starts carrying me to his car.

“Please, no,” I whimper. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home.”

“No.” I start to cry, then kick my legs in a pathetic, last-ditch effort to get away. “I told you I don’t—”

“
My
home.” He squeezes me to his chest to combat my frail fighting and stops to gaze down at me. “Just relax.” The expression on his face softens with a sweet look as the edge of his mouth rises into a smile. I look at the faint dimples curving around his lips. I want to reach up and touch them, but instead I rest my head against his shoulder and quit fighting.

The car beeps in front of us and I expect Finn to put me down so I can get in, but he doesn’t. His strong arms stay wrapped around me as he bends low and opens the door. He lowers me into the seat, even going so far as to put my seatbelt on for me. I can’t help staring at him while he snaps the buckle in place.

“What?” His forehead wrinkles with confusion.

I shake my head then curl into my seat as he moves away, shutting the door behind me. His tall body lopes around the car. I can’t take my eyes off his solid legs and the smooth way he moves. For such a tall guy, he’s got some elegance going for him.

I don’t say anything as he slips into the car and starts the engine. All I can do is close my eyes and pray I don’t throw up on the drive to his house.

Going there is probably a really bad idea. But I don’t have anywhere else to hide right now, and already a fresh wave of nausea is washing over me. I don’t think I can deny that I’m sick anymore, and I need a place to recover before I get out of Nelson. There’s something safe about Finn and his calm manner. Maybe being there for a few days will be okay. As long as Derek doesn’t find me, I can skip out of town before school starts in a week.

#12:

The Jones Residence

Finn

I’m nervous as I steer Mom’s car back to our house. I don’t do this kind of thing …bring girls home. Especially sick, crying girls. But the look of fear in Layla’s eyes when she whispered, “Tank,” wrenched my insides.

I don’t know what happened to her or why she spent the night in our school gym, but it was enough for me to bring her back to my place. Something went down. Something bad. I
will
find out what it is, but for now, I just need to take care of Layla.

Pausing at the traffic light, I look over at the girl curled up in the passenger seat. She’s holding her stomach and looking ready to puke again. Her jaw is clenched tight, her skin tone a sickly cream color. Her body is still trembling, just like it was when I carried her to the car.

She was so light I felt like I could have walked her the whole way home with her floppy head resting against my shoulder. I’ve never carried a girl that way before. I’ve picked up my cousins and flung them over my shoulder as they giggled in my ear, but I’ve never carried a girl like a princess.

It felt kind of good.

An image of Mack’s angry glare suddenly pops into my head and I snap my eyes back to the road. The light turns green and I accelerate through the intersection. Layla’s face is bunched tight, like she’s concentrating on not hurling or something. I need to get her out of Mom’s car as soon as I can.

Pulling into the driveway, I leap out the door and run around to Layla’s side. She’s already scrambled out of the car and is gagging into a patch of grass by the mailbox.

It’s not as bad the second time around; most of what was in her stomach is back at school. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, I hold it back for her until she’s finished.

She’s puffing and crying by the time she’s done. Snot’s dribbling from her nose and she wipes it away before flopping to the ground like a rag doll.

I lurch forward, but I’m not fast enough to catch her head before she hits the grass.

“Oh, Layla,” I murmur, crouching down and brushing the dark locks of hair off her pale, round cheek.

Shuffling my arms beneath her, I lift her off the ground. Her head flops against my shoulder and her legs bob up and down as I walk her up our front steps and through the bright red door with the big oval glass panel in the middle.

Mom chose it, along with the sunny yellow paint that covers the weatherboards and the white trim that frames it all so nicely. Not my first choice, but as my dad always says, “Happy wife, happy life,” so we live in a yellow house.

I turn the handle, then lightly kick the door open with my foot.

“Oh, good, you’re back early. I might get going—” Mom’s voice cuts off as she bustles into the front entrance and spots me. “What in the world?” Her wide mouth pops into a perfect ‘o’ and then her eyes do that bulging thing that tell me I’m about to get a talking to. “Finn Branson Jones, why are you carrying a girl through my front door?”

“To put her into bed,” I murmur.

She crosses her arms and gives me a pointed look. “Better not be your bed.”

“Come on, Mama, she’s sick. She needs to lie down.”

“Can’t she do that at her place?” Mom walks over to me, her wide hips swaying, then places the back of her fingers against Layla’s forehead. “Hmmm.”

“She doesn’t want to go home.”

“Why not?”

“She won’t tell me.” I shrug then hitch my arm as Layla’s head starts to flop back. The move jolts her and her eyes flash open, landing on me first before scanning her surroundings. She takes in the neat entryway with its old-fashioned hat stand in the corner and the wicker basket of shoes beside it. Her gaze then tracks over the archway into our living room and she flinches against me.

I look up to see Dad walking into view.

“Who is this?” His voice goes high with the question and his eyebrows dip low as he stares at her. Yes, he’s seen her before, but I’m not about to remind him. Layla’s right here and I don’t want him saying anything to embarrass me.

Layla shrinks away from his curious appraisal, leaning into my chest as I answer his question.

“This is Mack’s little sister, Layla.”

I look down at her and she catches my eye. “Are those your parents?” she croaks. “I don’t like parents. Take me back to the gym.”

I snicker while Mama rolls her eyes and feels her forehead again. Layla shivers and lets out a little whimper.

“Oh, okay. Go on, put her in the spare room.” Mom nods towards the stairs.

“Thanks, Mama.” I wink at her, knowing her reluctance is all for show. My mother has the biggest heart on this planet and she’d never turn a sick, whimpering girl away.

Layla closes her eyes as I walk her up the stairs. Her fingers curl into the back of my shirt and she lets out this little sigh. I wish I could tell her that everything’s going to be okay and she can totally relax now, but I can’t.

Poor Layla doesn’t know it yet, but she’s gonna have to tell us the truth at some point. Because although my mother has the world’s biggest heart, she’s also got the world’s biggest attitude, and she doesn’t settle for flaky answers. If anyone’s gonna find out why Mack’s little sister is hiding out at our place, it’s gonna be her.