Whiplash: A Sports Romance (64 page)

I look around, but I try not to stare at anything for too long. It’s the first time I’ve seen his room, although it’s exactly what I expected. Blank, white walls and simple furniture. Even his bedsheets are black, void of color. I focus on the task at hand and drift over to his dresser to look for a fresh shirt. “You should shower,” I say. “Get the blood off.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” he says.

I don’t argue with him. The less noise in the house right now, the better. I grab a clean shirt out of a drawer and push it closed. “Sit down,” I say. I hold him softly as he lowers himself down to his bed. I push his jacket back slowly, letting it fall down his arms while he kicks off his boots. “Can you raise your arms?”

He tries and manages to hold them up for me as I bend down to pull the blood-stained shirt over his head. I look at his beaten chest again and wince with new tears in my eyes.

“Claire,” he whispers, watching me closely. “I’ll be okay.”

“You should see a doctor.”

“I’m fine. I just need to get some rest.” He grips my hand. “Trust me.”

“I do,” I nod. “I’m still going to worry though.”

He smiles. “Okay.”

I take the dirty shirt and gently wipe the loose blood-splatter off his chest and arms, trying hard not to put pressure on his fresh wounds. My mind attacks me with vicious images to somehow explain how he ended up covered in blood, but I force them out and ignore them. “Raise your arms again.” I hold up the fresh shirt and slip it over his head. His hair, thick and black, gets roughed up in the process. It brings out a subtle, boyish charm, one that I can’t ignore. “I never pegged you for a Bowie fan,” I say, shifting the subject to distract him.

“What?” he asks.

“Your music.”

He winces as I pull his right arm through the sleeve. “Oh,” he chuckles. “I’m surprised you even know who Bowie is.”

“I may be a stupid girl, but I pay attention.”

He slips his other arm in. “I didn’t mean that you were stupid—”

“I know.” I stop him with a smile. My eyes fall to his jeans and I pause. “Uh…”

“I can do the rest myself,” he says.

“Are you sure?” He nods, but I hesitate to go, still too scared to leave him alone. “Do you need an ice pack, or—”

“Claire,” he says. “
Tobias the Untouchable
isn’t going to die in his sleep.”

I chuckle. “I thought you hated that name.”

“I do,” he says, “but it made you laugh, so…”

It’s a losing battle. Tobias wants to tough it out alone and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. “You promise?” I ask.

“I promise,” he whispers, his eyes soft on me.

“You know where I’ll be,” I sigh.

He nods. “Go listen to more of that music.”

I smile, holding back tears. “Okay,” I say as I turn to the door. “Get some rest.”

Tobias says nothing as I step out into the hall.

Chapter 9

You’re Not A Monster

I haven’t seen Tobias in two days.

But that’s not entirely true. I sneak a peek into his room every chance I get to make sure he’s still breathing and to leave a glass of water out for him. Every time, I see his chest moving up and down in the darkness and I hear his soft breaths passing through his nose. Part of me expects his body to shut down at any moment and that terrifies me.

I brush a finger over my lips, once again feeling the phantom tug of his kiss.

You’re just a kid.

I guess Tobias isn’t the only one that’s untouchable.

Charlie walks into the barn and I drop my hand from my lips. “You’re up early today,” he notes.

I keep my head down to shield my burning cheeks and reach out to draw Gloria the cow a little closer to me. “Oh, yeah,” I say. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Bad dreams?” he asks.

“Something like that.”

“Listen,” he begins, “I need to take a drive. There’s some farm equipment up in Jefferson City I want to take a look at.”

I stand up from the stool. “And I’m going with you?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No, I need you to stay here and focus on your chores.”

“You’re leaving me alone?” I ask, perhaps a bit too excitedly.

“I’ll be back by dinner. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“I mean it…” He points a finger. “Don’t let me regret this.”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “I won’t,” I chuckle.

“See you tonight.” Charlie turns around and walks out of the barn towards his truck.

I listen closely, suspecting a trick, until I hear the engine purr with life and the tires roll across the gravel road. My gaze drifts up towards the house, focusing on Tobias’ window. I want to go check on him again, but I did that before I came out here less than an hour ago.

I turn back to the cow, deciding to focus on the task in front of me instead.

By the time noon rolls around, I’ve finished with my chores. Before exiting the horse stables, I pause by Leo’s pin and reach out to stroke his neck. To my surprise, he doesn’t budge and lets me touch him again.

“You’re not so bad, are you?” I laugh. He kicks his feet up and I take a step back. “Okay, okay,” I chuckle, feeling a little better about the situation. But fear still lingers at the edge of my mind.

Instinct drives me back inside the house, pulling me straight towards Tobias’ room. My throat clenches shut, just as it always does as I reach out to grip the doorknob. I turn it slowly and push the door open.

Panic strikes me quick when I see his bed is empty. I force the door open the rest of the way, quickly scanning the room for him, but he’s nowhere in sight.

“Tobias?” I cry out, letting my voice carry throughout the house.

There’s no answer. I rush down the creaky stairs and step outside onto the front porch. I inhale deep, ready to shout his name again, when I notice the barn door sitting wide open.

“Tobias?” I ask again as I step inside. I hear the rhythmic thumping of fist against rubber near the back wall and rush towards the sound. He’s here, shirtless and sweaty, standing in front of the punching bag, firing quick jabs at it over and over again.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask him.

Tobias lowers his fists briefly and pauses to take a breath. “Training,” he says, keeping his eyes forward.

“Why are you training? You should be resting.” My eyes fall to his glistening body, but I force myself to look away.

“I’ve been resting for two days, Claire,” he points out before jabbing the bag again.

“That’s not enough.”

He finally drops his fists and turns to look at me. I bite my inner cheek, forcing myself not to look him up and down again. “Don’t you have chores to do?”

“I already finished.”

“We shouldn’t be seen like this,” he says, looking over my shoulder towards the house.

“Charlie’s gone.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Jefferson City.”

Tobias turns back to the punching bag and chuckles. “Let me guess, farm equipment?”

“Yeah.”

He raises his fists, this time switching sides to lead with his left. “Dad’s got a thing for antiques.” He throws another punch at the bag.

I watch him pivot back and forth. The bruises, which were a deep red just days ago, have healed somewhat, but not enough to make me feel better about him being out of bed. “How’s it feel?” I ask.

“It’s manageable.” He puts on a tough front, but I can tell he’s holding back on his punches. His movements are sloppy and slow and he’s favoring his left side.

“Liar,” I say.

He throws a last punch and turns around to look at me. “You should go find something to keep you busy.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I have an errand to run,” he says.

“Tobias, you can’t go anywhere like this—”

“Claire.” He clenches his jaw. “I’ll be all right.”

I look down his body again, still as worried as ever. Tobias has his mind set on this. I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing, or else I’m sure I’ll go insane. “Okay,” I whisper.

He looks back at me. “Hey,” he says, taking a quick step forward. “Like I said, I’ve had worse.”

I nod. “I trust you.”

His lips curl and he reaches out to drop a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks for checking in on me,” he says. “You didn’t have to do that.”

I shift slightly. “Someone had to…”

“Did Dad ask any questions?”

“No, you usually sleep all day anyway. I don’t think he noticed.”

“Good.”

I follow him back to the house, keeping a close eye on him as he climbs the stairs to the porch. He goes into the kitchen for a glass of water and I linger back in the doorway.

My eyes fall to the kitchen table and I chew on my lip. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Tobias looks over at me. “Like what?”

“Who’s Mary?”

He pauses and sets the empty glass down in the sink. “Why do you ask?”

“The other day, Charlie called me Mary by mistake,” I explain. “He wouldn’t say who she was.”

Tobias fills his chest with a deep inhale and holds it for a second. “Mary’s my sister,” he finally answers. “You live in her room.”

“Oh,” I mutter. “Well, that… answers those questions.” I look at him and his eyes drop to the floor. “Where is she now?” I ask. He doesn’t answer and quite a few moments pass by in silence. His attentions shift around the room, avoiding me at all costs. “Tobias?”

“Get dressed.” He walks out of the kitchen and starts up the stairs.

“What?” I ask, following behind him.

“Get cleaned up and meet me outside.”

“Why?”

He turns around and looks down at me, towering higher than usual with the aid of the stairs. “Do you want to know where she is or not?”

It’s so blunt, I grip the banister beside me to hold me steady. “Yes,” I say, the word falling off my lips fast.

“Then get dressed.” He turns back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“I’m not supposed to leave the farm,” I point out, standing still.

“We’ll get back before he does.”

I rush to my room and do as he asks, grabbing a clean shirt and jacket from the closet to wear while the rest of my clothes are in the wash. My eyes scan the walls.
Mary’s
walls. I’ve been occupying her living space for a few weeks now, but I still don’t know anything about her. I wear her clothes every day. I read her books. I’ve been dying to know more and if Tobias has decided to leak the details, then I’ll take what I can get.

I step outside to see Tobias sitting on his motorbike, waiting for me. “Where are we going?” I ask.

“A hospital,” he says.

I quicken my pace towards him. “You said you were okay—”

“Not for me,” he says, holding out his helmet. “Put this on.”

It’s so heavy, I nearly drop it. “Whoa—” I say, tightening my grip. “Why is this thing so big?”

“So I don’t crack my skull open on the highway,” he says.

“Don’t have to be so graphic about it…”

“And here I thought you liked a bit of violence now and then,” he teases.

I lift the helmet and set it down on my head. He presses his hand on the top and forces it down until it’s secure. “What about you?” I say, my voice partially muffled.

“I’ll be—”

“Fine,”
I interrupt, finishing the thought. “Right, of course.”

He glares at me, but his lips curl into a smile. I try not to imagine how silly I look with a giant motorcycle helmet sitting above my petite shoulders. Thankfully, he says nothing about it, but his smile tells me everything. “Sit behind me and hold on tight.”

I slide onto the seat. “This is just like riding a horse, right?” I ask.