Her father disappeared into his study when they got home, making Layne wonder why he’d even bothered to stay with her. He’d tried to be supportive in the car, talking about how they’d find another place for her to ride, to move her horse to another facility, all concrete, easy things that should have been reassuring but weren’t at all, really.
She stripped out of her clothes in the bathroom, clenching her eyes shut as usual, hating the sight of her naked body. She couldn’t see, anyway; her eyes kept blurring with tears that she chased off. She kept her mind occupied by flinging her clothes into two piles by feeclass="underline" keep or trash. The jacket was disgusting. Trash. The boots were expensive and could use a good cleaning. Keep. Turtleneck, keep. Socks, keep. Riding breeches, trash.
Then the memory of that moment in the grass hit her, full force.
Your scars aren’t all you are, Layne.
She gasped and pressed her hands to her eyes, letting her shoulders shake with emotion but refusing to let the tears fall.
Gabriel saw her. Really saw her, despite the scars, despite her imperfections. He’d kissed his way across her abdomen, saying all the right things and touching her in ways that had made her want to cash in her V card right there. She’d never felt like she could have a relationship with a boy, had never thought anyone would look past the destroyed flesh marking half her body.
That moment, that had been perfection.
And then it had all gone up in smoke. Literally.
She shivered and rubbed at her eyes. She was still standing in the middle of the bathroom, sniveling in her bra and underwear. All she could smell now was smoke and sweat.
But first, she wanted to see what he’d seen. She wanted to see just how bad the scars were, as if they’d changed since the last time she’d dared take a look in the mirror.
Quickly, before she could change her mind, she swiped the tears away, opened her eyes, and stared at her reflection.
And despite the chill in the air, she kept right on staring, not believing what she was seeing, despite the evidence right in front of her.
Her scars, every last one of them, were gone.
CHAPTER 33
Gabriel sat in math class, hating the empty chair beside him. He couldn’t focus. Five hours ago, he’d been dragging Layne out of a burning barn.
Now he was listening to Anderson prattle on about negative numbers.
He’d been able to pull enough energy from the sun to ensure his hand wasn’t broken, but when he went for his lighter to draw more power from a true fire, he didn’t have it.
Whatever. The pain felt good.
He hadn’t wanted to come to school. But Nick had a good point: If he was already a suspect—even an unofficial one—not showing up for school on the same day as a fire might raise a huge red flag. He’d spent most of first period fidgeting, watching the door, absolutely certain that cops were going to come storming into the classroom any minute to arrest him.
Absolutely certain that Layne would have turned him in.
But as time went on, as students went about their business, he realized that nothing had changed.
He hadn’t seen Hunter yet, and the morning was too complicated to sum up in a text message. But when he hit the cafeteria, Calla was already sitting with Hunter.
Gabriel sighed and slung his backpack over his shoulder, heading for the gym.
The halogen lights were off, but sunlight streamed through the grated windows near the ceiling. The long stretch of beige floor was usually empty at this hour, but at the opposite end of the room, a kid was shooting free throws from the line. And from the looks of it, he was hitting every one.
Simon.
Gabriel stopped short. Would Layne have told her brother? Was Simon waiting here to confront him, to ask what exactly had happened this morning?
But that was crazy. He’d only just made the decision to come to the gym himself. And why would Simon be shooting free throws before a confrontation? Gabriel couldn’t make it work out in his head.
Everything was making him paranoid today.
At the very least, if Simon was here, it meant Layne was okay.
He walked into Simon’s line of sight, and the boy’s expression brightened.
“Hey,” said Gabriel. He held out a fist. Simon hit it.
But then the boy quickly gestured for Gabriel’s phone.
There was a fire at the farm this morning. Layne was there. They took her to the hospital.
It answered a lot of questions—and created just as many. Gabriel stared at the words and wondered how to play this. He looked up and didn’t have to fake concern. “Is she okay?”
Fine. Doctor says take it easy today. Precaution.
“Makes sense.”
I emailed her from computer lab. She wanted to come to school. Dad said no.
Gabriel nodded. “Figures.”
Can you stay for the game this afternoon?
This afternoon. He’d planned on it earlier this week, because he and Layne had fallen into the routine of watching Simon’s practice. He’d just assumed they’d watch together.
“As long as I’ve got a ride, I’ll stay,” he said.
Simon’s face broke into a grin.
Gabriel gestured for the ball. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got time. Let’s play.”
It felt good to lose himself in the sport, to have some distraction. His hand ached, but he played through it. Simon was getting good—practice was clearly paying off. Gabriel used the signs Layne had taught him, but he didn’t need them much. When Simon ducked under Gabriel’s guard to steal the ball and make a basket, Gabriel started to wonder if the kid shouldn’t just be playing—he should be starting.
One of the gym doors slammed somewhere across the court, but Gabriel ignored it.
Until Ryan Stacey stepped onto the court and intercepted a pass.
His face was still bruised from Friday night, and the split lip hadn’t healed, making his smirk look a little crazy. “Looks like the retard has a girlfriend.”
“Looks like you didn’t get the message last Friday.” Gabriel could feel the anger coiling in his chest, ready to be let loose on this jerk.
But hands caught his arms, holding him back.
Ryan had brought friends.
At least four guys, but Gabriel couldn’t see who else was behind him. Probably the same losers who’d been beating on Simon last week. Gabriel tried to fight them, but there were too many—and with the lights off, he couldn’t pull any power from the electricity in the room.
Gabriel felt sure Ryan was going to take the chance to hit him—but the guy was going after Simon, who was backing away.
“Hey!” said Gabriel. “You touch him, I’ll break your goddamn arms off.”
Someone hit him in the back of the head, sending stars across his field of vision. Ryan caught up to Simon and gave him a solid shove in the chest, hard enough to knock him to the court.
Simon scrambled backward, but Ryan was leaning down, a hand drawn back, ready to slam a fist into Simon’s face.
Gabriel redoubled his struggles, but he’d never be fast enough.
“Hey!” a new voice yelled from the corner by the bleachers. An authoritative voice.
The coach’s voice.
The guys holding Gabriel scattered and ran. Ryan tried to follow, but he was under the net, and the coach beat him to it, even while dragging a full mesh bag of balls. Though he wasn’t a big man, Coach Kanner could be plenty intimidating, and Gabriel enjoyed watching Ryan’s face go pale under those bruises.