Page 13 of Hating On Riot

“Yes.”

“And when will you lift the restrictions?” He drops the blasters on the ground.

Large hands cup my shoulders, pulling me against a tall, muscular body. “You can’t keep what happened bottled up. Eventually, you need an outlet, or it’ll just fester, and,” he waves his hand. “Fuck.” He blows out a breath. “You’ll fucking implode or something. Laney was your twin, Arie. That’s gotta mean something deeper than what you feel for your other siblings.”

He averts his gaze, suddenly fascinated with what’s over my shoulder. He clenches his jaw. Thick fingers grip, then loosen on my shoulders. He’s conflicted. I’ve never seen him like this, and I’m not sure what to do with this side of him I’m seeing for the first time.

Or was it always there, but I was too caught up with being with him? With experiencing the natural high of being happy and content with my crush? A guy no one in our school would’ve thought would give me the time of day, and that’s why our secret relationship worked. He was the loud, cocky jock. I was the quiet nerd who played it safe.

Riot is usually blasé, bottling up his emotions. But when he shared his insecurities and became so vulnerable I hurt for him, my world opened because I felt the same way. Suddenly, I felt seen and connected to someone other than my twin.

Riot also did the opposite. He looked on the bright side instead of accepting that the world can be a shitty place. Like when someone stole and wrecked the first car he bought with his hard-earned money at sixteen.

It hurt him to lose that car, but he rationalized that she was old and keeping her would cost him more money than someone doing him the favor of wrecking it. Ever, the most real person I know because of her life circumstances, calls it toxic positivity.

Riot doesn’t get emotional when talking about death, but now? Why does he sound like he’s in agony when he talks about my sister, as much as or more than I do? Missing my sister is an ache in my chest that never goes away. I stare at him like he’s from a different planet. My mouth is open. My eyes must be wide. I blink, and everything comes crashing down on me, like glass shattering.

Kids scream and laugh, their voices drifting from the playground. The sun is hot on my face. The noise and heat are almost too much to bear until a cool breeze floats by, cooling my skin and dulling the screaming and laughing into something tolerable. I tip my face to the breeze.

I don’t talk about my sister. I don’t want to be that girl again after the funeral. Catatonic at first, then, as the weeks passed, numb to the point that I didn’t care whether I took another breath.

Laney and I weren’t identical, but we had a connection that only nine months in the womb could produce. Then I had a different connection. Friends. Real friends who genuinely cared about me. Who didn’t betray me like Bella and Riot had done.

I found girls—roommates—with pasts that weren’t all roses and sunshine. They came from poor families, broken families, blended families, but weren’t bitter or complaining about their lot in life. It didn’t matter that their lives were rough and imperfect to begin with.

They were genuine and happy as though nothing bad happened to them or the people they cared about. But I knew, just from being with them, that horrible things did happen.

At first, I fought against how they reeled me in with their humor and bravery. Eventually, I gave in. I’m so glad I did.

Riot takes my ruminating the wrong way, misinterpreting my silence. But I’m glad for it. Thinking too much about the past has me feeling sad.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bring them up again. I’ll leave that to you. Fair?”

“I don’t mind talking about Coop,” I mumble, conceding. “But Lan,” I heave a sigh, “she’s off limits. Never bring her up again. Promise me?” My voice trembles, and my eyes burn with unshed tears.

I turn away, but he pulls me back with his fingers, his hand cupping my chin. He searches my face. My tears fall. His face softens. He wipes them away and, cupping my head in his palms, drops a kiss on the top of my head.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I stare at the ground. “What do you want, Riot?”

“A do-over.” He tucks my hair back behind my ears. “It’s been four years. We’re almost strangers, but not.” He shrugs. “What do you say?” His gaze is penetrating, searching.

“We shouldn’t.” For his safety, I have to refuse.

It’s bad enough that I agreed to stay with him and his teammates. Once my brothers finish renovating the money-pit house in Alexandria that they’ve gotten themselves into, they’ll refocus their attention on me.

A week of freedom is a godsend I’m not willing to waste, but I sure won’t use it to reacquaint myself with Mr. Heartbreaker-Troublemaker.

“Let’s stick with the plan.” Staying with him for a week is part of the plan, but addressing my feelings for him isn’t. “I’ll help you booby-trap the house,” I say with as much excitement as I can muster. If he’s disappointed with my answer, he doesn't show it.

“Are they allowed?”

I shrug. “I don’t recall them being unallowed.” Is that even a word?

“Good. We’ll brainstorm ways to snatch and trap our enemies. We’ll immobilize them, then take the kill shot.” He picks our blasters off the ground, and we walk back to the rugby house.

“Jesus, Riot. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“You can get on my right side. I call dibs on the left side of my bed. Being near the door gives me the heebie-jeebies.” He waggles his eyebrows. My mood lightens.