Tell Me It’s Right (Sweetspire #1)

Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

LIAM

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me today. From the moment Gracie stepped around the corner, I haven’t been able to string a coherent thought together, let alone get one out. I drive her to Leo’s in silence, cursing myself the entire time as I scramble for something to say.

But in the end, she just gives me a closed-lip smile and hurries inside, still in my clothes, her dress and shoes from last night draped over her arm.

It’s a confusing as fuck image.

But I also really, really don’t have time for this today.

I hadn’t realized what time it was until Gracie and I were in the car. I do the math in my head as I hurry across town, but no amount of breaking the speed limit is going to get me there in time.

The parking lot is full but quiet when I arrive since school started and everyone is already inside. I flip the visor down and check my hair before stepping out of the truck, smoothing my hands over my shirt, then jogging to the front door.

A rainbow carpet lines the entryway, and a woman with short gray hair smiles at me from the front desk as I rush inside.

“Sir. Sir ,” she calls before I can get very far. “You can’t go any farther without a visitor’s pass.”

“Right. Um. I’m Liam Brooks.” I shove my hair out of my face and step in front of her desk. The entire thing is behind a wall of glass like this is a maximum-security prison and not an elementary school. “I’m sorry. I’m running late. But I’m here to see my brother, Casey Brooks. I signed a form for today, so I should be on the schedule or whatever.”

“Oh, for Career Day?”

I nod.

“I’ll just need to see your ID.”

I fumble with my wallet and slide my license through the tiny slot at the bottom of the glass. I bounce my leg and check the time on my phone as she rolls her chair away to make a copy of it. Casey’s teacher probably only has so much time allocated for this today. Odds are if I show up too late, Casey won’t get to do it at all.

The worst part is, if that happens, he probably won’t even get mad at me.

“Here you go.” She slides my ID and a visitor’s pass—a peel-and-stick name tag—through the slot. “Room 111. Do you need help finding it?”

“I’ll manage. Thank you.”

I stick the name tag to my shirt as I hurry down the hall. Luckily, Casey’s classroom is one of the first. The door is shut, and a young blonde woman in a long dress is talking at the front of the room. I hesitate before rapping my knuckles against the door.

The woman pauses whatever she’s saying and glances my way. I wince and wave as I meet her eyes through the small window in the door. She turns back to her class, holds up a finger, then hurries toward me.

I step back as she opens the door, but she cracks it only a few inches.

“Liam Brooks?”

I nod. “Hi. I’m so sorry I’m?—”

“Late.”

I try to peer over her shoulder for Casey, but I can’t see past the first row of kids. “I really am sorry. Something…unexpected came up, but I got here as soon as I could.”

She sighs, steps into the hallway with me, and closes the door behind her. “We’ve already moved on.”

“Look, I know you’re busy and you have a schedule for the day and I’m screwing it up, but if I could please just have a few minutes? Not the whole time, but this means so much to Casey. He’s been talking about it for weeks. I’m the one who messed up, not him. Please.”

She scoffs, like, very audibly, and crosses her arms over her chest. As if I’ve said something ridiculous.

“This has become a real trend with your family, you know? I’ve heard a lot of similar excuses. There’s always something important going on. Always something that keeps you all from getting anywhere on time. And I’m just supposed to, what? Accommodate you because your dad owns half the town?”

Great. Dear old Dad’s already left an impression, it seems. And this teacher—I peek at her name tag—Ms. Berry, is glaring at me like I dumped pig’s blood on her at the prom. I know a losing battle when I see one. And I’m not keen on causing a scene in a goddamn elementary school. For fuck’s sake. As if the past twenty-four hours couldn’t get any worse.

I basically rushed Gracie out the door this morning. She looked a little better than she had last night—that haze over her eyes was gone, at least—but there was something distinctly traumatized about the way she carried herself. And for nothing, apparently.

“Casey is a sweet , sensitive kid,” she continues. “What kind of message is this sending to him? His mom is late to pick him up half the time, his dad just didn’t show up to his parent teacher conference, and now his brother?—”

“Look, I know. I know .” It comes out more forcefully than I meant it to, and she stops midword.

I’m all too familiar with what it’s like growing up with Candyman Brooks as a father. At least when I was Casey’s age, I had Mom. Christine loves Casey, there’s no doubting that. But she’s basically a kid herself. She acts like one, at least.

But Casey’s teacher is right. Of course to her I look no better than them. And maybe I’m not.

I scrub a hand across my face and sigh. “You have no reason to take my word for it, but this isn’t usual for me. I’m never late. I’m sorry. Can I—can I at least see Casey for a minute before I go? So he knows I was here? So I can tell him I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders deflate as she drops her arms to her sides, as if she’s disappointed I’m not arguing further.

She looks me up and down. I bristle under the scrutiny, but finally, she opens the door and steps aside to let me pass. “You two get five minutes.”

I don’t remember having Career Day when I was in school, so I didn’t know what to expect. A few dozen small children ogling me and asking to touch my tattoos, apparently. Casey was thrilled though. Told the class I get to “draw on people for money,” then proceeded to point to every tattoo that was visible and explain it to the class, including his commentary about which ones he likes and doesn’t like. That part was a real hit. The other kids were all too eager to jump in and let me know which ones don’t look good.

As for Ms. Berry, I swore she was hiding a laugh behind her coffee cup as she sat back and watched the entire room roast me.

But the light in Casey’s eyes, the sheer joy on his face from getting to be the center of attention, hell, I’d let him talk shit all he wanted.

But as soon as I climb into my truck, reality filters in.

I have a few hours to kill, so I swing by the skatepark between Casey’s school and the shop. It’s late enough in the morning that it’s busy—especially since it’s summer and most of the public schools are already on break. Poor Casey’s got a few more weeks though.

I stay in the parking lot beside the skatepark, frowning at the crowd. I never used to mind it, but when I’m trying to clear my head, it’s exhausting. A few guys I used to squeeze in sessions with are across the park, and I have half a mind to go catch up. They gave me shit a few weeks ago about never coming around with them anymore.

And maybe I would, if it weren’t for the group next to them.

I could spot my weaselly little brother anywhere with that ridiculous haircut. It’s shaved on both sides and stupidly long in the middle, but it somehow doesn’t budge in the breeze with all the hair gel he uses.

And standing beside him with his usual cocky, shit-eating grin is Miles. Asher says something, and Miles throws his head back with his laugh like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

He has no idea what happened to Gracie last night. Has no idea if she ever made it home, if she’s okay. Probably hasn’t given her a second thought since he kicked her out of his car. She could be lying dead out there for all he knows, and as long as he wouldn’t get blamed for it—as long as his dad could get him out of it—he wouldn’t care.

Everything that happens next is a blur.

There’s pain in my hand, and the sound of a car door slamming. I force my fist to release my keys enough to shove them in my pocket as I make short work of the distance.

I don’t plan to do it. I don’t plan to do anything at all.

I’m just moving. Moving and breathing hard and seeing blood dripping down Gracie’s terrified face and then?—

“Brooks!” Miles grins when I reach him, Asher having already skated off and leaving him alone for a moment. He frowns and glances at his watch. “The shop not open today?”

My fist lands square across his jaw. Someone gasps behind me as Miles goes down and lands on his hands and knees on the pavement. He doesn’t get up right away. When he does, he lifts a hand to his mouth. His tongue flicks out to lick his lip, and it’s stained bright red with blood. I can’t help but picture Gracie’s bloody mouth—but hers looked even worse than that.

I should’ve hit him harder.

He sighs, dropping the bullshit friendly act. “If this is about your receptionist?—”

“Her name is Gracie,” I say through my teeth. “And you don’t even know what happened to her after you left, do you?”

He blinks, and his eyebrows draw together, the first hint of concern finally coloring his expression. “Look, dude, I was fucked up that night. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and…”

I tune out whatever else he says. If he thought his words would calm me down, they had the opposite effect. Not only did he throw Gracie out on the side of the highway like some roadkill, but he was driving her while he was on drugs?

I grab the collar of his shirt in my fist, and he stares up at me, nostrils flared, but he doesn’t fight back.

“You could’ve killed her,” I say lowly. “Do you understand that?”

“Look, I don’t know what she told you?—”

“She didn’t have to tell me anything because I’m the one who found her on the side of the road, bleeding and half frozen to death. Not that you care. Not that you checked to see if she made it home last night.”

“Hey, Liam. What’s going on here?”

I don’t acknowledge Asher as he walks up to us.

“Nothing, man,” says Miles, that shit-eating grin back in place. “Stepped a little too far into your brother’s territory, apparently. If I’d known you were already fucking her, I never would’ve asked her out. It was a waste of a night anyway?—”

I shove him away roughly, and he trips over his board and lands hard on his ass. I should turn around now. I should walk away, get in the truck, and go.

And maybe if he’d shown even an ounce of remorse, I would’ve.

“ Liam ,” warns Asher, who must recognize the look in my eyes. He tries to step between us, but I push him aside. Miles grins up at me from the ground like he’s fucking daring me to do it.

And God help me, I do.