Halfway up the hill, my feet moved on the pedals, but the bike went nowhere. I pitched over before I could get my feet down. The concrete came up fast. My hands shot out, taking the brunt of my fall and most of the gravelly scrapes.

The chain snapped. I kicked my bike, cradling my hands against my chest. Shit! A sharp burn spiked through my palms. The adrenaline pumped through me, turning the pain into a throb. But it was only a matter of time before the sting came rushing back in.

Papers from my backpack were stuck to the wet grass, having made a safe and gentle landing, while I’d ended up on the dirty side of the road. That seemed about right for my life.

Grabbing the papers, I winced. Pain shot down my leg. My jeans were ripped at the knee, and a bloom of red stained the denim. Dammit, I loved this pair. I took a deep breath, not wanting to look at what was underneath. The pain hadn’t hit me yet, but walking my bike home was going to suck.

A car door opened. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m—” I shoved the papers into my backpack, sucking a sharp breath in through my teeth at the lick of pain radiating from my palms.

“Shit, you’re hurt.” His voice sent goosebumps down my arms.

I shielded my eyes from the afternoon sun.

Dare rushed around the front of his car and crouched down in front of me. “Those look nasty.”

“They’re not so bad. I’m fine.” I tugged my hands from his grasp and pushed myself up with my fingertips, careful of my cuts.

His hands wrapped around my waist, hefting me off the ground like a weightless sack of potatoes.

My nudges and not-so-subtle elbows to his side were ignored or unnoticed. I looked everywhere but at him. “Thanks.” It came out sharp and biting.

He cocked his head to the side and stared at me.

My body throbbed in time to the cuts and scrapes on my skin. But anger simmered in my chest.

He picked up my bike and dumped it into his trunk, which I hadn’t seen him open.

“What are you doing?”

“Were you planning on walking your bike home? You’re hurt. I’ll drop you off.” He closed the trunk halfway and came around the passenger side. “You coming or what? “

“No, I’m not coming. Give me my bike.”

“I’m not giving you your bike. It’s busted. Get in the car.”

“Screw you.”

“Language, Bay. What’s your problem? I thought we’d come to a truce yesterday.”

“You mean right before you went to the bonfire after telling me you weren’t into it? Right before you told Knox you were outside doing nothing?” The words turned in my mouth like it was full of old pennies. Bitter and petty. What did he owe me? Nothing. The same as I owed him.

He stared up at the sky with his lips moving like he was asking some higher power to give him strength to deal with me. Welcome to the club.