LEX

“Let’s blow some shit up!”

I press my eyes closed. Of course. As if just being in this place doesn’t suckass enough, I’ll have to listen to him—for an entire semester.

I glance out of the corner of my eye as he slaps hands with a couple of other football players, laughing and carrying on as if this is the grandest place on earth.

I angle my body away from his dramatic entrance and stare out the window. I’d give anything not to be here, and for some reason, it’s as if Mark Sandberg senses that. It’s like he knows I’m only here to put in the hours so I can get back to the thing I love. The only thing I’m really good at.

Why? Why does he have to be in the one class I actually like? The only class I can scrape by without having to read a single thing. No reports to write. No talking. Just hypotheses, experiments, and findings.

“I wonder how long it will take before he gets kicked out,” Ryan whispers, leaning into my personal space.

I glance at him as he straightens his glasses and runs a hand under his nose. I fight a grimace, noticing a streak of snot left on his wrist.

I’d prefer to have the science table to myself, but Ryan sat down before I could throw my backpack onto the stool. I have no doubt he plans to let me do the experiments while he takes credit for them. It’ll be physics all over again.

My stomach rolls into a ball as Mark cackles hysterically about something someone said.

I shift my stool further away from Ryan, pulling my notebook out of my backpack.

“Move.” It’s a low, deep command.

I twist and peer up to see Mark, hovering over Ryan.

What. Is. He doing?

I stare at him, and he stares back. Not at Ryan. Those dark chocolate brown eyes that hold nothing but amusement and mischievousness are locked on mine.

I drop my notebook on the table, preparing to ignore Mark with every compounding anxious fiber within me.

Ryan remains planted on his stool, opening his worn composition book.

I glance around the room. There are plenty of tables open. But Mark remains rooted in place, apparently set on the occupied table in the back corner. Where I always sit.

“Welcome to Chemistry,” Mr. Gebheart grins from the front of the room. His crooked teeth are a tinge more yellow than last year. “If you have plans to light this place on fire, make illicit drugs, or concoct your own fireworks, you’re in the right class. We won’t be doing those things, but hopefully by the end of the semester, you all will understand what I just said and how not to create mass destruction.”

Mark drops his textbook on the table for two. “I’m sitting here, so move.”

Ryan, student body president and official school mascot, only cocks a shoulder toward Mark, who towers over him.

Mark Sandberg is the sophomore quarterback playing varsity. He’s obnoxious as hell, loud, and acts like his presence is a gift to us mere mortals just trying to survive teenage existence under the radar. We’re simply getting by while he’s living up every moment like it’s the best damn day of his life.

I rip my bag off the floor and tuck my notebook against my chest, not needing the entire class to start whispering on the first day.

“No.” Mark holds out his hand. “Not you. Him.” He gestures to Ryan with his chin. “Ryan can find someone else to carry him through science this year.”

My head whips in Mark’s direction.

How in the world does he know Ryan took credit for my work in Physics?

I have to wonder if this is Mark’s flirty ass attempt to do the same.

I know nothing about high school sports other than that athletes have to maintain a certain GPA requirement. Part of me wants to laugh in his ridiculously handsome face. If this is Mark’s plan, his strategy outside this class is significantly lacking.

“Alex is my partner,” Ryan states as if Mark doesn’t intimidate him in the least. “She handles the experiments and I write the reports.”

I let out a breath of relief as Mark turns, grateful this little pseudo-masculine whatever is over.

“Yo, Mr. Gebs. Have you assigned partners?” Mark interrupts our teacher’s spiel about classroom safety.

“I’m getting to that, Mr. Sandberg. Please take a seat.” Mr. Gebheart waves a hand over the array of empty stools. “You all may choose your partners, but I suggest you select wisely. Slackers will only find themselves slumping through life.”

Mark twists back, smiling. “I guess Lex technically isn’t your partner. Unless. . .she wants to be.”

Lex?

That’s not my name, but I wouldn’t put it past Mark to think that it is, given we’ve never actually spoken, other than when he’s asked to borrow a piece of paper or needed to share my history book when he forgot his.

“Sit down, Mark.” Mr. Gebheart pauses his review of the class rules, waiting for Mark to let this ridiculous stunt in adolescent power play go.

“One sec, Gebs. Ryan is being presumptuous.” Mark crosses his muscular, but lanky arms over his chest.

I contemplate crawling under the table as the entire class watches us rather than jotting down rules. I consider the risk of finding a different seat, hoping that Mark will move on. But something tells me it might only make things worse and give everyone watching more to gossip about.

More whispers and chattering are the last thing I need. I’ve survived enough of that, and I was really hoping to start this year off under the radar, but Mark is making that impossible.

“Presumption is never good in science,” Mr. Gebheart agrees, and apparently allows Mark to continue his conquest to have this particular stool.

“We’ll see. . .” Mr. Gebheart rambles on while Mark remains firm in place.

I glance at Mark, wondering what the hell his problem is. He has the audacity to smirk, like this isn’t causing a scene that I want no part in.

My entire body goes rigid, and my face burns with embarrassment.

Mark tosses his chin toward another table. “Plenty of open seats, man.” He leans down, resting his elbows. “Scoot along before I slide a stool over and Mr. Gebs loses his shit over there being three to a table. You know how he feels about trios.”

Ryan yanks his backpack off the floor, finally ending the standoff.

Mark slides onto the stool beside me as Mr. Gebheart warns us of the impending course requirements.

“For those of you who’ve snuck in here to avoid Ms. Stanton droning on about her political insecurities amidst the great science debate, beware that instead you will be tackling a major project with your lab partner, which will include research, experiments, and a final presentation.”

I press my eyes closed as my already volatile stomach rolls into a tube and rams itself into my esophagus. This day just keeps getting better.

Not only has this morning become a spectacle over seating arrangements, but the words “research” and “presentation” make me a bit woozy.

I grip the table, feeling like I might actually puke. Again. I already did that once this morning at the garage, when memories of past years overwhelmed my nerves.

Something presses into my thigh—a quick tap-tap, and my eyes snap open. I glance down at Mark’s retreating knuckle. This joker staged a protest over this seat, and now he’s taking handsy liberties that cause my stomach to flare out like an unraveling scroll, flapping around in search of what in the world is going on.

“Hey, no snoozing on the first day,” he whispers, leaning close to me, as Mr. Gebheart hands out the syllabus. “Once we pick a topic, I’ll let you nap. I got this. I’m excellent at research.”

My gaze drops to Mark’s mouth and the gentle words that flowed out of it. He actually sounds serious and. . .genuine.

That obnoxiously loud mouth twitchws, and my gaze snaps to his as a sly grin replaces the rare glimpse of tenderness.

I roll my eyes as Mr. Gebheart slides the packets to us. I flip through, knowing I’ll have to attempt to decipher it later.

“Can I borrow your pencil?” Mark asks, his eyes flicking between mine, and there’s calm, curiosity to them, and what can’t possibly be a hint of shyness.

My stomach does some kind of swirling thing again, and I clench my abs, needing whatever is happening inside me to stop.

Why does it feel like he’s asking to borrow so much more than a pencil?

“You. . .don’t have a pencil?” I ask softly, needing not to be called out for talking when Mr. Gebheart is.

Mark slides just a little closer, and I catch a whiff of his clean, soapy scent. “I do, but. . .I want yours.”

“What?!” I ask and then slap a hand over my mouth to hide the noise and my smile.

What. The. Actual hell is going on?

Is Mark Sandberg flirting with me? I’ve seen him with other girls. His playfulness and charm are constant.

I scan the room. This has to be some kind of joke. Someone is punking me to see how far they can push until I break, but everyone is doodling in their syllabi as Mr. Gebheart goes through the class requirements.

Mark extends his hand, waiting for me to lend him my pencil.

This feels like a test. Giving Mark Sandberg my pencil seems like stepping into something I’m not entirely sure I’m ready for.

“Listen up.” Mr. Gebheart claps his hand. “Look to the person beside you, like it or not, they are now your partner for the semester. You will work together to complete your project. If you sat next to your best friend who’s hilarious but a complete imbecile, well, get ready to work your tail off and think about making new friends.”

I stare at Mark. My lab partner. He’s still waiting for me to hand over my pencil.

“I’ll take notes and copy them for you in the library.”

It’s that face again, the one that looks like he’s asking me to trust him.

I hand over my red pencil with the Cal’s Garage logo on the side. It doesn’t get much use, but it’s the one familiar comfort and reminder that I’m actually capable of something while I’m stuck in this institution.

“That’s my favorite pencil.” I lay it in his open palm. “I want it back.”

“Are you an artist?” His gaze runs over my grease-stained fingers.

I tuck them in my lap.

“Your secret is safe with me.” That ridiculously handsome grin appears again, and I roll my eyes as my body begins to feel more like my own.

“It’s grease. I work on cars.”

His eyes roam my face as if he’s trying to determine if I’m serious. “Cars, huh? What are you working on?” He jots down whatever Mr. Gebheart is scribbling across the board.

“Replacing a catalytic converter.”

“Really? Sounds interesting.”

I smile into my shoulder, confident he has no idea what I’m talking about.

The bell rings, and books slam closed.

“Complete the first assignment and define a theory for your project. We’ll review next time!” Mr. Genheart hollers as students scurry out of his classroom.

“Sorry, Lex, but I’m going to have to keep this.” He drops my pencil into his bag.

“Alex.”

He side-eyes me, shoving the syllabus in his backpack.

“My name is Alex.”

“Since we’re partners now, I think Lex is entirely appropriate.”

I follow him into the hall, not having any idea how to respond.

First, he steals my comfort pencil, and now, he’s calling me some silly little nickname. There is no way the guys at the shop can ever know about this.

“What are you doing?” I ask, feeling bold.

He stops and faces me. “Something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.” That smirk reappears. “Are you ready for this year, Lex?”

My shoulders slump with the reminder that I have another excruciating year of this ahead of me, and depression and dread settle in once again.

“I’m ready for this entire experience to be over,” I admit honestly.

He bites his bottom lip to prevent that ridiculous grin from breaking free. “We’re gonna change that.” He takes a step back. “Come to my game. I’ll make sure to have your notes and. . .we can talk about when to meet to develop a theory.”

I watch him as he backs away, having no idea what is happening. I’ve never been to a single football game or school event. The less I have to be here, the better. Explaining all of this to the guys and the questions and shit-giving that will follow is something I’m entirely unprepared for.

“I have better things to do.” I tease.

He grins, stretching his arms wide. “Don’t worry, Lex. You’ll find there isn’t anything better than this.” He winks at me. “I’ll see you after the game.”

MARK

Two Years Later

I drop the stack of books into the return bin and head to the holds shelf, scanning quickly.

I have to be on the field for pregame warm-ups in fifteen minutes. I pull two books from the shelf, but don’t see the remaining requests.

I hurry to the counter and pull out my library card.

“Hey, Mark. Is this all today?” Mrs. Krueger takes my card and scans it.

“I’d requested a couple of auto repair books, specifically brake and steering systems.” I tap my card against the counter, watching the time.

“Still into cars, huh? I’ll have to check on those, but if they weren’t with your holds, they haven’t arrived yet.”

She slides the books to me and holds up a finger. “Oh, hold on.”

Mrs. Kruegar disappears into the back and returns with a thick, floppy book. “I snatched this from the donations. I thought you might be interested in it.”

She hands me a Chilton Repair Manual for vintage Ford F-150s. “I know you’ve been searching for all you can on the 70s models, but I thought you might like this.”

She smiles as I shove the book in my backpack. Mrs. Kruegar has been doing whatever she can to fulfill my curiosity since I was allowed to get my own library card.

“Thank you. This is awesome.” I will spend my nights poring over this and absorbing everything I can.

“Good luck at the game tonight. My husband and I’ll be in our usual spot.”

I nod, racing out the door. I stay out of the school library, not needing anyone to see what I’m checking out. Shane and Sean are bad enough. Their incessant teasing that I’m learning everything I can about auto repair to impress Lex is enough, but I don’t give a shit. Those dickwads are just jealous.

I’ll learn whatever I can if it means I get to talk and spend time with her. I want to speak her language and understand how her brain and hands work. I’ve watched her remove and rebuild things. It’s fascinating.

She may struggle to read and piece written information together, but. . . If only people could see what I see and know what she can do with machines. I’m in awe of her and want to share in what she loves as much as she’s begun to support me in football.

I jog to the high school and throw on my equipment and uniform.

“Where’ve you been?” Sean hisses, buckling his pads. “Coach won’t put up with you being late.”

“I know. I had to stop at the library,” I whisper.

Shane groans, passing me on his way out of the locker room. “She’s gonna think you’re obsessed. You need to calm down.”

I slip on my cleats and pull the laces tight, just how I like them. I’m totally and completely obsessed with Lex, and I don’t give a shit who knows it.

My heart begins to race a little just at the thought of seeing her after the game. Living in a group home with these two idiots affords me minimal time with her, and I’ll take full advantage of every minute I get.

I tug my pads on and tighten them, then squeeze into my jersey. If I get to work and do my job, this game will be quick, and I can hang out with Lex until curfew.

Jogging onto the field, I scan the stands looking for her, even though it’s early and she’s most likely still at the garage. I want to see her and her stained fingers pressed to her heart. She calms the nervous anticipation that vibrates through me.

“Get your head out of the stands.” Shane slaps the back of my helmet.

Sean punches me in the shoulder. “This is our ticket out of here, bro. We give it our all on the field.”

They aren’t wrong. This sport is our way out. Football doesn’t care about circumstances, and for three guys who have absolutely nothing and no one, it might be the only thing that offers us a better life.

I warm up my arm, and after the coin toss, I’m zeroed in, calling plays and completing passes. The energy from the stands spurs me on through pain and fatigue.

I jog off the field as our kicker takes his place, solidifying our victory.

My gaze roams the bleachers, knowing college scouts are scattered through the crowd. I spot her near the very top, trying so hard not to smile. Her dark fingers form the shape of a heart over her own, and warmth spreads through my scarred chest, weaving through all the places that were burned, battered, and tortured beyond recognition.

Our team gathers in the locker room, and my leg bounces, waiting for Coach to wrap up his speech and dismiss us.

“Don’t miss curfew,” Sean warns as I throw my duffel over my shoulder and shove my way through the guys.

I find her in the parking lot, sitting on her tailgate.

I’d give anything to be able to climb in a car and take her away from here, as all the other guys do with their girlfriends, but I can’t. I detest it.

She bites her bottom lip as I approach, and I drop my bag at her feet, throwing my arms around her and pulling her close.

She hugs me back just as tightly, and I inhale her scent of car oil and coconut, unable to imagine not having this.

“Someday, I’m going to take you away from here.” I’ve had to sit by and watch her struggle and fight to make it to this point. I’ve seen her defeated, despite how hard she tries to accomplish what is so easy for the rest of us.

Learning shouldn’t be something someone fears, but for Lex, it comes with nothing but anxiety, and others treating her like she’s incompetent.

She buries her face in my neck, never caring if it’s still slick with sweat. “I just want to be wherever you are.”

I press my lips to her forehead. She’s like the home I’ve never had.

“Come on.” I take her hand. “We have reading and lots of making out to do, and I only have an hour.”

She laughs, shoving me and grabbing the blankets from her truck. “Who says I’m making out with you? You smell.”

I grin, slipping my arm around her waist as we walk toward the football field. “It’s never stopped you before.”

Her head falls back toward the clear, dark sky with a groan.

We spread the blankets and then wrap them around ourselves to shield us from the chilly night air.

Lex lies with her head on my chest, and I feel her shiver, holding the pen light while I read out loud.

“Do you think it’s possible?” she asks as we stare up at the stars.

“What’s that?” I toss the book in the grass and wrap my arm around her.

She lifts her chin to look at me. “That love can make us forget the things we don’t want to remember.”

I search her eyes, contemplating the words I just read.

Perhaps your love will make me forget all I wish not to remember.

I press my eyes closed, pondering Dumas’s words. I’m no Count, but I’ve always been a prisoner to all I’ve suffered.

I wish to be set free from the torment I’m terrified will never ease, despite distance and time.

She shifts, resting on one elbow and peering down at me. One stained finger runs over the scar on my forehead. “I’d give anything for my love to do that,” she whispers. “I want to take it all away. Forever.”

I swallow, pulling air in through my nose as my eyes burn. I want to tell her that it does, but the words get lodged in my throat. I want her to know that her love is a beauty I’ve never seen before, and it gives me hope that there might still be a bit of that beauty inside me. That they didn’t gut it all.

I tug her body on top of mine, and her lips press against my neck. I surround her, unsure how I’ll survive if I get picked up by a college team. I can’t think about it.

“Someday, we’re going to lie in a warm bed instead of on this hard ass grass,” I promise.

“Oh yeah? Who said I’m ever crawling into bed with you?”

I lift her face, glaring at her. She tries so damn hard not to smile, and it kills me.

“Babe, I’ve slept in the shitiest places. Bed or not. Makes no difference to me.”

She laughs, and I steal her mouth, taking my time with the few minutes we have left.

I roll on top of her, angling her head and kissing her until neither of us can breathe.

I pull away, allowing just enough space for air. I drag my finger across her waist.

“You’re not playing fair,” her voice is ragged, and I love it.

I press a kiss to her lips, letting them linger over hers. “I never said I’d play fair, remember?”

She tickles my side.

I groan. “That’s not nice, Lex.”

“I never said you could call me that.” Her hand slips under my shirt, her fingers gliding over my sore muscles.

“Don’t even try to pretend you don’t like it.”

Her blue eyes hold mine, all teasing falling away. “Just don’t ever stop.”

If she only knew I never plan to. Loving her wasn’t ever a choice.

I don’t know if I’m any good at it. I’ve never had any kind of example or experience of loving someone or being loved. But I’ll damn sure give her absolutely everything I’ve got.

“It’s always us, Lex. Don’t ever forget that.”

That slight smile appears, lighting all the dark places within me, and I know this, just her, is all I need.