“You all right?” she called. “God, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention—” She broke off the apology, hearing her father’s voice in her head. If you’re ever in an accident, don’t apologize. It immediately implies guilt . . . .
But how could she not apologize?
He was staring at her now, and she was relieved to see that he wasn’t a man man, but a teenager, with dark hair and features that were slowly coming into focus as she got closer.
Features that shifted into something like surprise. “Layne?”
She stopped short on the path. “Gabriel?” Then she hesitated. “Or Nick? I’m sorry—”
“It’s me.” His voice was rough. “Gabriel.”
And just then, all her rationalizing went straight out the window. He looked . . . overwrought. Rumpled sweatshirt, disheveled hair. That shadow across his jaw had turned into true stubble overnight.
Regret twisted her gut. She should have called. He’d apologized and left his number, and then she’d as good as smacked him in the face.
No, she’d trampled him with her horse.
Get over yourself, Layne. He’s probably hungover.
She straightened, folding her arms. “Are you hurt?”
He must have heard her voice turn flat, because his expression hardened. “I’m all right. You?”
“I’m great.”
And then he was standing, looming over her, an abrupt shift from vulnerable and wounded to vaguely threatening. “What are you doing out here?”
She always had to battle with her emotions when he looked like that. One part of her wanted to back away to get a little more air. The other part wanted to step into him, just to see what it felt like to share his warmth.
“Riding,” she said. “What are you doing out here?”
“Running,” he said, like it should have been obvious—and really, it kind of was. His eyes flicked down her form, and she wished riding breeches weren’t quite so formfitting. “I guess I should be glad you weren’t driving a car.”
“Shut up.” Then she realized what he’d said. “Wait. You live around here?”
He lifted one shoulder and looked around—though they were surrounded by trees, so she had no idea what he was looking for. “Nah. I’ve been running for a while.” He pulled an iPod out of the pocket of his hoodie and glanced at it. “Four miles, maybe.”
Layne blinked. “You ran . . . four . . . miles?”
“Yeah. I didn’t realize my morning run could get fucked up, too, but maybe that’s just my week.”
His voice was sharp enough for her to feel an edge against her skin. But somehow it didn’t seem directed at her. He’d reacted the way an animal would lash out if it was in pain. Layne frowned, afraid to dig at an open wound—but kind of afraid not to.
She opened her mouth to ask, but her words died at his expression. Eyes hard, jaw set. His hands were in his pockets, but it didn’t make him look relaxed. It made him look like he was trying not to hit something.
Layne let the air out of her lungs. She smoothed her jacket against her hips. “I need to walk back . . . catch my horse—”
“How far?”
“What?” Her eyebrows went up. “Oh, he probably ran back to the barn. Half a mile, I guess. The trail’s a loop. I just don’t want someone to find him and call my dad. If they knew I was out here alone . . .”
Her voice trailed off again. Gabriel was simply looking at her with that inscrutable expression, so Layne turned and started walking, calling over her shoulder. “Hey, I’m really sorry about running into you. I guess I’ll see you around school.”
He didn’t say anything. Sneakers ground against dirt behind her, and she knew he was taking off, running for home or wherever.
Then he drew up beside her, falling into step.
Her breath caught. “What are you doing?”
“You think I’m going to leave you alone in the middle of the woods? What the hell kind of guy do you think I am?”
She glanced up at him. A streak of dirt ran across his face, and it took everything she had not to reach up and rub it off. She wondered what his cheek would feel like.
She swallowed. “I have no idea.”
Gabriel snorted. “I don’t think that’s true.”
She hunched her shoulders, feeling the muscles pull. Having a conversation with him was like navigating a minefield. She bit the inside of her lip and concentrated on keeping her mouth shut.
But after a while, he said, “I should have heard you.”
His voice was cautious. She didn’t look at him, worried this was just another mine waiting to explode.
“I had the music too loud,” he said. “I don’t usually run like that—it’s a good way to get hit by a car. I didn’t even look when I came out onto the main trail. I just . . .” He hesitated.
Layne held her breath. Her dad once told her the best way to get the truth out of a witness was to be patient enough to wait for them to tell you. Everyone likes to talk, he’d said. The trick is letting them talk long enough.
Gabriel glanced over, making a frustrated noise. “You ever just have to do something to get all the thoughts out of your head?”
Layne nodded. That, she understood. “So you ran four miles?”
He shrugged and stared out at the trees around them. “I had to get out of the house.”
The words rolled around in her head for a moment, and she could practically see a construction worker throwing a flag in her path. Proceed with caution.
She went with something safe. “I’m surprised you’re not saving all that energy for tryouts. They’re after school, right?”
He shook his head. “Not for me. You were right. Anderson caught on.”
Layne almost stumbled on the trail. “What do you mean, she caught on?” God, if her dad knew she’d fixed some kid’s test—especially the future felon’s—he’d have her off to an all-girls’ boarding school before she could explain herself.
Yeah, and what explanation would you give? Sorry, Dad. He was hot.
“Not you.” Gabriel’s voice was flat. “She just figured out I was cheating.”
“So you’re off the team? Are you suspended? Are you—”
“A week and a half. She gave me a week and a half to hand in perfect homework and take a unit test—myself. Then I can try out for the team, if I can pass.”
She stared at him. “But . . . that’s great! You can just do the work, and—”
“It’s not great.” His words could cut ice again. “I can’t even do the goddamn homework; I’m not going to pass the test.”
“But I can still help you—”
He put out a hand to stop her. “Yeah? Why?”
Breath fought its way into her lungs. “Because—because—”
His eyes were fierce. “What, you want to put some do-gooder activity on your transcript? Helped the resident fuckup pass a math test? Why do you even give a shit, Layne?”
She jerked back. His chest was rising and falling quickly, and she had a suspicion that if she put a hand against the front of his sweatshirt, she’d find his heart beating every bit as rapidly as hers. Sunlight was pouring through the trees now, and sweat crept along her neck.
Abruptly, he turned away, blowing out a long breath and running his hands back through his hair. “I’m sorry. This isn’t about you.”
Layne wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, but she wasn’t sure how he’d take it. What had he said? I had to get out of the house.