Free The Handoff (Big Play #3) by Jordan Ford

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