Some Scars Never Fade

Chapter Fourteen (O)

*Chris’s Point of View*

I walked to school by myself the next morning, waiting by my locker.

Tyler showed up a few minutes before the bell, slowing his pace when he saw me.

“You’re not usually here in the morning,” he grinned, “Did you want to see the great beautiful Tyler?”

I rolled my eyes, but smirked darkly. “I believe you’ve some explaining to do, Prowler.” His cocky expression fell and, suddenly, his features held those of a deer caught in headlights.

“Busted,” I whispered.

*Tyler’s point of view*

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. How did she find out?!

“Trainings off,” she told me, “And now I have my own conditions.”

Folding my arms, I stared at her, waiting for her terms.

“You keep my secret, and I keep yours,” she said, “No strings attached, no conditions, fair deal. The cops would be just as happy to get a hold of you or any other fighter out there, and the fighters would have a field day if they knew the identity of any other fighter. They like to jump people when they’re least expecting it. Agreed?” she asked me, extending her hand.

Short, sweet and to the point. “Agreed,” I said, grabbing her hand.

I yanked her forward so her body slammed into mine.

“But for what it’s worth,” I whispered, “I’d be happy just watching you teach me.”

I had the satisfaction of watching the blush creep into her cheeks and a peek of a slight smile before she shoved away from me and went to her homeroom.

Gym was interesting. Her sweatshirt had kept it hidden, but in her gym clothes, I could see a slight bruise on her jaw line, diagonal from her ear.

Her hair covered it up unless she turned a certain direction and her hair followed the motion.

I joined her team for flag football. I don’t know why, but, for some reason, I felt closer to her.

Maybe it was because I knew she was a fighter and she knew I was a fighter and no one else knew. Or maybe it was because she was down-to-earth about fighting, about everything.

I came up behind her when the game started and spoke quietly so she could hear but she could also play.

“Where’d the bruise come from?” I asked her, just louder than a whisper.

“Saturday’s fight,” came her answer. “Stop lying, it’s almost gone, it would still be dark from a fight that was that recent,” I told her, “Care to try again?”