She sighed. “Maybe.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. “I-I gotta go.” I hung up the phone and lay on my bed, shivering, curled around my pil ow as my tears darkened its case.
* * *
I rode Rio out of the paddock and down the hil that night. Together we tore around the farm, looking for anything to jump. For anything to chal enge us.
We didn’t return until we were sprinkled with sweat and flecked with foam.
I made up my mind on that ride. I would prepare for the Golden Jumper. I would remain Cat’s friend, helping the Rusakovas as I could. I would consider dating Derek and move past Pietr.
My broken heart would heal.
Things would return to normal.
I would embrace my new, new normal life. Horseback riding, farm chores, school, the newspaper and a handsome non-werewolf boyfriend with a potential footbal scholarship.
Normalcy. Life would be good again.
Because it had to get better than this.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What the—”
“Whoa,” Amy echoed as Pietr took a seat at our lunch table.
“I know—it’s awful looking, isn’t it?” Sarah whispered dreamily, reaching up with a brazen fingertip to touch the bandage stretching from Pietr’s eyebrow to his cheekbone.
Everyone at the table paused, gawking.
Everyone except for Pietr and our most recent addition, Cat, who had switched classes to eat lunch with us. Pietr loaded his fork and began to eat.
Cat shook her head, lips pursed as she played with her straw until it squeaked.
Most of us had been there when Pietr nearly knocked his head off during a risky ATV ride. We’d spent ten fear-fil ed minutes as he lay in the mud, bleeding …
… dying.
Cat and Max revived him and he recovered remarkably quickly. I’d been ready to believe in magic then.
But that wasn’t it at al . It was cold, hard science that kept Pietr alive. He’d worn a smal Band-Aid a few days thanks to his extraordinary healing abilities.
This bandage was much— much—bigger. Which meant he’d been much, much dumber.
“What did you do to get that?” I demanded.
Pietr didn’t answer. He glowered at me and shot a look over my head. To the clock.
Cat answered. “He fel out of a tree. Onto some rocks. Head first.” She looked at him, her jaw tight.
Amy winced for me.
“Why were you in a tree?” I pressed.
Cat again: “Curiosity.”
Amy grinned. “But curiosity kil ed the—”
“Cat? Da,” Catherine responded, never missing a beat. “Ironic, is it not? Except that curiosity only gets Pietr started. Stupidity wil surely finish the job.”
Pietr rol ed his eyes to her. Then back to the clock.
“Who patched him up, Cat?” I asked, realizing that talking to Pietr was a lost cause.
“Max.” She shrugged. “They’re spending a lot more guy time together recently.”
Not reassuring. If I’d looked up hedonist in the dictionary I was fairly certain I’d see a picture of Max grinning wickedly back at me. His theory was simple: Do what feels good, live in the moment. Just have fun.
And why not? As the eldest true Rusakova, Max was closer to death than the others. His internal clock would start running down almost as fast as it had been wound up.
When Pietr rose to empty his tray, I fol owed.
“Listen, jackass,” I began. “I don’t care if you don’t want to see me anymore. I’m over it, okay? Have al the fun with Sarah you want. With my blessings.”
“But for God’s sake, Pietr,” I continued, tone wavering. “Remember, I’m stil your friend.” I grabbed at his arm, and he pul ed back, glaring. “Stop trying to kil yourself. As mad as I am, I don’t want you hurt.”
The last words came out softly, a sad whisper of fact. “I’m stil your friend. I care what happens to you.”
Derek was suddenly beside me, looping an arm around my shoulders he glared at Pietr on my behalf.
“Is he giving you trouble?”
“More than you can imagine,” I admitted, breaking free of Derek’s hold and storming off.
* * *
That afternoon as I scrambled to swap books for my next classes, I saw something out of place at the bottom of my locker. More than something out of place (which described most of my locker’s contents), something new. A note. From Pietr.
Jess.
I can’t be your friend.
Sorry.
So I wrote him one back. A simple note that summed things up for me at that moment.
Jackass. You idiotic jackass.
I slipped it in through the grate at the top of his locker’s door, hearing it flutter and flop onto whatever was inside. I took a breath.
And remembered my mother’s words: “Never write anything you might be ashamed of later.”
I fumbled with the locker’s handle, rattling the door. It held. We had computers in constant blue-screen and water fountains that leaked more often than they worked. Pietr’s locker, however, was the one thing at Junction High that seemed absolutely fine. Of course.
“You okay?”
Derek.
I spun around. He leaned against the lockers on the other side of the hal , arms crossed, head inclined, watching me. Amusement grew in his blue eyes as I struggled.
“Yeah,” I grumped, giving the door a last try. And a kick.
He crossed the hal and picked up my backpack, brushing against my shoulder.
My body tingled in response. “I can carry that.”
“I know. Just let a guy do something nice for you for a change, okay?” He winked at me. “We’re not al jackasses.”
I blinked and let Derek walk me to class.
* * *
I rode the bus each day, like normal. Most days Pietr arrived late; some days he left early. I tried not to notice.
Sarah grew more tired by the day, the results of exhaustion accumulating and showing themselves when she’d snap in anger before pul ing herself back together. She was quick to apologize for anything she said (except to Amy).
I wasn’t sure which part of her was quicker to react—the good girl seeking a better way, or the vicious girl she had been. She wouldn’t open up about her problem, but I bet something was chasing sleep from her.
Derek walked me to classes regularly. Tempted to ask about his ex-girlfriend, Jenny, I caught her watching us once. He simply stepped over to her, spoke a few soft words, and touched her shoulder. She smiled dul y, but even that was a big improvement considering how sad she used to act.