Run Bad Boy Run

Chapter 36

"This is quickly becoming a trend, Cross. Me patching you up. I understand you like those Hello Kitty bandages but this is too much."

Shifting against the sink of the restroom we stand in, Hayden glares. The pale white lights of the dingy restroom wash his eyes silver almost transparent, and I find myself struggling to keep contact with them. "Last time I checked, you were patching me up after I saved your ass," he snorts. Watching my movements, he begins to tug his shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" I screech.

Hayden throws his head back, laughing, and knocks his head into the mirror in the process. Serves him right.

"I have some scratches on my back, Emmy. Oh, come on. You don't like what you see?" he narrows his eyes. "Not even a little?"

"Actually, I was looking at your scar...your scars..." I tell him truthfully, giving myself a mental high five for keeping my calm despite it feeling like someone's cranked up the heat to a thousand degrees here.

Thin ribbons of dark, discolored skin run from the base of his neck to flares over his chest and shoulders like a crack of lightning. I don't remember his scar being so large—or so red—the last time I'd seen it. Granted, it had only been glimpses and my memories of Nate's party are smeared from drunkenness. Parts of his scars, I realize in absolute horror, are freshly healed wounds and I don't realize that I've reached out to touch a jagged cut on his collar until Hayden Cross snatches my wrist away from his skin. Neither of us moves—or breathes for that matter—and slowly, I lift my gaze to meet his steely glare.

"You didn't have some of these before," I whisper harshly. "At Nate's party. You didn't—"

"Fuck Nate's party," Hayden growls. "Fuck him. That was almost two months ago, Emmy. A lot has happened since then."

Sourness enters my mouth. "You can say that again."

Walking over to dampen a handful of paper towels in hot water, I glance at Hayden through our reflection in the mirror. Hayden looks as bad as a delinquent can look with his scrapes and bruises and almost permanent scowl. It fits him and the situation. Me on the other hand? I look like someone bleached the color from every part of my body, dunked me in ice-cold water, and threw me in a dryer with the spin cycle set to high.

An absolute mess.

Hayden's chest radiates heat with each inhale and exhale. I'm standing very close, tiptoeing in and out of the space between his legs. The splashes of freckles across his body stand out beside the scrapes. "How did you get those scars?" I begin. "How did you learn to fight like that?"

Unable to mask his shock, Hayden looks up at the ceiling and scoffs. "My dad thought the best way to get my shit together was military boot camp over the summers. And then he thought taking martial arts class and training for the military would set me straight. You know. Instead of doing things normal fathers do like talking to their kids and actually giving a shit?" He shakes his head. "I guess it did come in handy in the end. Derek thought the best way to toughen me up was to beat the shit out of me. He can't have weak guys in his operation."

Acid burns the top of my throat. "Derek did all of this?" My throat is dry. Hayden waits for me to clean his wound before he continues.

"Derek. His friends. My dad."

"Your dad?" I gasp and the cloth in my hand drops to the floor with a loud thump.

Hayden smiles devilishly. "After your chat with him and Miller, he thought the best way to get some answers out of me would be to shove me into a coffee table. Turns out glass isn't as sturdy as he thought."