Free Riot by Jamie Shaw Page B

about what Joel did for me. I carve off more pancakes and push them into my mouth, trying to make sense of it. What could he possibly have to gain from getting involved?
    A nurse comes to retrieve Joel with her eyes buried in a clipboard, but when they lift, the friendly smile falls from her face. With his mohawk, torn jeans, and battered knuckles, he’s a disheveled mess. He’s also the epitome of a bad boy, and I’m trying to ignore the fact that he’s hot as hell.
    She clears her throat. “Joel Gibbon?”
    Joel nods his head in my direction. “Take her first.”
    I cough around a throatful of pancakes. The nurse eyes me until her gaze lands on my wrists, and an embarrassed flame ignites beneath my skin.
    “I’m fine,” I growl at Joel under my breath.
    “Yeah, whatever,” he says, standing up and waiting for me with agitated impatience. “Waiting on you, Deandra.”
    I narrow my eyes and stand up, and Rowan and Leti are quick to follow my lead, with Joel taking up the rear. The four of us enter a curtained ER cubicle, where I’m prescribed pain medication for my bruised wrists and given a handful of domestic abuse pamphlets, and Joel is lectured about busting through doors with his shoulders and breaking faces with his fists. He’s taken for X-rays that determine his shoulder is just badly bruised, and then he’s prescribed his own pain medication, which we pick up on our way back to my apartment.
    I ignore him as we climb the stairs of my apartment building and navigate the hallways to my front door. Once inside, I attempt to head straight to my room, but he’s right on my heels.
    “Go away, Joel,” I order as I turn a glare on him.
    “Not until you talk to me.”
    Rowan clears her throat and begins backing toward the front door. “I’m going to go pick up some groceries.” She grabs Leti’s sleeve and drags him out with her, and I scowl at them even after the door closes between us.
    With my arms crossed over my chest, I shoot Joel a look of impatience and wait for him to say whatever the hell he needs to say. But he just stares right back at me, engaging me in a silent standoff that I don’t stand a chance of winning.
    “What do you want from me?” I snap.
    His trained expression reveals nothing. “Why do you think I want something from you?”
    Because that’s what boys do. They pretend to give a shit about you, but only because they want something. And then when they don’t get it, they try to take it anyway.
    My fingertips are absent-mindedly nursing my wrists when Joel gently draws my hands toward him. His thumbs caress my pulse points while he studies my bruises, and he wears a look of such sincere sympathy that I almost choke up. “He shouldn’t have done this to you.”
    I pull my hands away and try to slam the lid back on my emotions, resenting Joel for bringing them to the surface. I spent all yesterday nearing tears and choking them back down, and if he makes me break down now, all of that effort will have been for nothing. “I shouldn’t have led him on.”
    It’s the truth, but Joel’s brows pull down in a picture of contempt that makes me look away from him. “Are you seriously standing there excusing what he did to you?”
    I shrug my shoulders. I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing, but fighting and lying seems easier than telling the truth and crying.
    “Dee,” Joel pleads, his slender fingers coming to rest on my shoulder, “you know nothing that happened was your fault, right? Cody is a piece of shit. The entire band voted him out. It was unanimous. It wasn’t even a fucking question.”
    “You voted him out of the band?” I ask, dread churning in my stomach.
    Joel nods, pushing my thick chocolate hair behind my shoulder.
    “You shouldn’t have done that.” I hate that the band is now going to suffer because I was too stupid to know better than to play games I couldn’t win.
    “Why? You’ll never have to see him again . . .”
    God, he just doesn’t