Fighting for Flight by JB Salsbury (best books for students to read .txt) 📗

eyes narrow and jaw tenses. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” I blow it off with a disinterested shrug and pray the pink drains from my face.

He’s still staring. Blake’s never serious for this long. His face looks pained as he studies the space just above my head. I look up. Nothing there. What in the heck is he doing?

“Blake, you’re freaking me out.”

He looks at me, grief working behind his eyes before he blinks it away. “Look, I know . . .” He grimaces and stares at the floor, like he’s gathering strength from it. “I know what it’s like to have a no-good, asshole for a father. I’ve lived it. Still living it.” He rubs his shaved head. “It’s one thing to fuck with your son, but to fuck with a girl?” A half groan, half growl rumbles in his chest. His focus is fixed on me. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I got your back. And Jonah’s. You feel me?”

I rub my lips together, trying to smash the inevitable quiver. Whatever happened to Blake in his past is enough that the simple memory erases the man I know and replaces him with a scared, timid boy.

My eyes burn with forced back tears. This is too much. First Jonah and now Blake. They act like they would lay down their lives to protect me. That’s crazy. And unfamiliar. It feels like . . . family.

“Yeah, I feel you.”

His eyes sparkle and his cocksure smile returns. He leans toward me with his hand cupping his ear. “I’m sorry. Did you say you want to feel me?” He runs his hands over his chest. “Anywhere in particular or you want me to make suggestions? There’s one place, down—Ow!”

I smack him in the stomach, happy to see the anguish wiped from his face.

He rubs the spot at his belly where I hit him. “We need to get you in the octagon. Damn, that hurt.”

I shoulder bump him, and he takes his cue to pull me to his side. I don’t say a word, afraid that my voice might show the deep emotions I’m feeling.

“Come on. I’ll take you to your man.”

Twenty-three

Raven

Two days until fight day.

My mind is focused on installing a new timing belt on the Impala while the lulling voice of Al Green being so in love fills the air. I mentally inventory my progress. White wall tires, a paint job, and she’s done.

Bent over with my head under the hood, I feel a tight grip on my hips. Jonah’s touch has become a second skin, as recognizable as my own. I smile and gently press my backside into his groin.

“You wanna tell me what it is you’re hiding from out here?”

He’s managed to figure me out in the short time we’ve been together. Come to think of it, he seemed to read me pretty well after a few days.

I straighten from beneath the hood on a sigh. His hands slide from my hips to my stomach and I melt into him. His touch in any capacity renders me totally helpless.

“I’m not hiding. I’m processing.”

With my hair pulled up high on my head, my neck is at his mercy. He kisses his spot before gently nipping. I shiver.

“You’re freakin’ out because that formal dinner is tonight and because my mom is coming into town tomorrow.” His ability to read me can also be incredibly annoying.

“Yeah.” Can’t a girl have a secret? “I don’t do well with parents. What if she doesn’t like me? I’m sure she’s really protective of you. I mean if you were my son I would be too. It’s just . . . I know how my mom feels about me . . .”

I’m unable to finish my thought, not wanting to hear the words out loud. The fact is I’m pretty sure my mom hates my guts. She must blame me for her horrible life. If she never had me, she would have been able to run away from Dominick and have a chance at a real life or love. How could she not hate me? Thinking about it makes me hate myself.

“She’s going to love you, baby. She’ll be charmed by you just like everyone else.”

I wish I had his confidence.

“Besides, you don’t know how your mom feels about you. I know her actions show that she doesn’t care, but maybe she doesn’t know how to show you how she feels. Maybe she thinks you hate her. Hell, you have every right to.”

I usually brush off the subject of my mom when it comes up, but something deep inside tugs at me. His love has given me a safe place to fall. I can give him a piece of me. With his chest pressed to my back, I won’t have to witness the pity in his eyes. I can do this.

“When I was a little girl, I used to sneak into her bed at night.”

His arms tense and his chest flexes against my back.

“I would curl up next to her, desperate to feel the heat from her skin. I remember I would slowly inch my hand closer and closer, so afraid to wake her, until I could touch just the tip of my finger to her back or her arm. Sometimes I would just loop a strand of her long hair around my finger.”

My voice drops to a whisper as I’m taken back to those nights. I feel small and insignificant. Crushed with sadness, my lungs struggle for a full breath.

“I usually only got a minute or two before she’d wake up. It was as if she could sense me, even in her sleep, like my very presence triggered an internal alarm system that told her to get away. She would make me go back to my bed. Some nights I’d be so angry and desperate I’d refuse to leave.” My humorless laughter breaks with emotion. “She would get sick of telling me to get out, and she’d