Free 97 (Rise of the Battle Bred) by V. L. Holt Page A

my mom’s car.
    I was so tired that I didn’t really appreciate the feel of his strong arms holding me, and the smell of his sweat and the feel of his warm breath distilling over my skin.
    He didn’t say a word, just carried me like I weighed as much as a blade of grass. He buckled me into the back seat, asked Crady to pop the trunk, and put my wrecked bike into it.
    The ride home was a blur. The next thing I realized was that I was sitting on my couch. Crady was bringing warm wet washcloths to William who carefully bathed my wounds. Then Crady brought ointment and bandages. William’s bulk belied his gentleness. My awareness bloomed as I watched his long fingers press the Band-Aids onto some of my smaller scratches. He cleaned the blood efficiently, almost like…almost like he’d done it a thousand times before.
    “What happened to Mick?”  I asked him. Since he had held me back, I figured he must have seen what happened.
    William shook his head. “You need your rest. You can ask Mick yourself when you visit him tomorrow.”
    It bothered me that William refused to talk about it. And what was that whole dancing or fighting thing that I’d seen?  That wasn’t Mick. Mick could barely talk to me on the phone; he hardly could have been fighting.
    “Who was at the park?  Who were you fighting?”  I asked William.
    He refused to look at me.
    I turned his face towards me; the contrast between my white skin and his tanned cheek startled me. I stared at my hand on his rough cheek and caught my breath. I finally saw the network of tiny scratches all over his skin. He had them up and down his neck and along the bulk of his biceps and forearms. “You’re hurt too,” I whispered to him.
    His eyes bored into mine. The black and brown and gold swirls of his irises seemed to swim before me.
    I felt my temperature rise, and then it came like a tsunami: the blush to beat all blushes. I collapsed back on the couch, completely mortified.
    “Crady!” William called my friend.
    I let him think I passed out. Maybe the blush would fade.
    Crady rushed in and saw me on the couch.
    “Ah. Scoot,” She told William and pushed him away. She knelt by the couch and felt my forehead. “I think she just needs her rest,” Crady said.
    I nodded with my eyes closed. I couldn’t face him, those eyes staring deeply into mine, my ridiculous blush taking over my whole body…I heard him walk to the door.
    “I’ll check on her later today,” He said.
    “Yes, yes. That will be good. We’ll let you know what we hear about Mick too,” Crady practically shoved him out the door. She came back to my side. “Okay, he’s gone. You can stop blushing now.”
    I opened my eyes. “Thanks, I think. He kept avoiding my questions, though,”
    Crady sat on a chair across from the couch. The morning sun streamed through the blinds now. “How are you feeling?”  She asked me, searching my face.
    “I’m worried about Mick. And I’m confused. I don’t know what happened. He called me, and he could barely talk. I tried to get there as fast as I could,” Out of nowhere, tears started coming.
    “My bike crashed on the curb. Somehow…” I replayed events trying to figure out the chronology. William ran by me right after I crashed. He ran to the playground. He doubled back and told me to stay put. How did he do all of that so fast?  How did he even get there in the first place?  Tears ran down my face and Crady sat next to me.
    “There wasn’t anything else you could have done. You were on the phone with Mick; you got your mom to call 911. You did great,” She rubbed my back, and I only flinched a little.
    “Chica, you need to get some clean jammies on and get back to bed. Your mom will call as soon as she knows more about Mick’s condition,” Crady said, and she was totally right.
    I changed and climbed back into sweet-smelling bed sheets. Crady packed up and went home. I tossed and turned for a half an hour and finally gave up. I tried