“Listen—”

“No. I watched you f**k yourself over this weekend. We all watched it today at practice. I don’t know if you’ve just stopped caring or what, but you’re bad for the team.”

I peek around Silas’s back just in time to see the way those words contort his expression. And I say something. Because that’s who I am. I’m the girl who says something. Maybe not for myself, I don’t always know how to speak up for me, but for others? That’s what I do.

“This is the exact opposite of what he needs right now.”

His roommate, Zay, glances at me, and if possible his expression turns even colder.

“No offense, but I don’t think what you were giving him is what he needs, either.”

My mouth drops open, and I see Silas stepping forward out of the corner of my eye and I throw out an arm to stop him.

Then I give my best diplomatic smile and say, “No offense, but you don’t know me. And I don’t think you know your friend all that well, or you’d know that he cares a lot. And he’s already on his knees and doesn’t need you pushing him down farther.”

Torres snorts and says, “On his knees, was he?”

I skip straight over embarrassed to furious.

“No wonder he’s spiraling out of control. Clearly he doesn’t have any support from his so-called friends. One of you just wants to make jokes and the other wants to yell at him. Both of which are only going to make things worse!”

“Listen,” Zay says. “I’m sure you’re a nice girl. And you obviously mean well, but I think you’re overestimating why he brought you here. You might think you’re here to support him while he’s upset, but trust me, if we hadn’t walked in, you would have been gone the minute he was done with you.”

“Brookes.” Silas’s voice is hard, and when he lays a hand on my shoulder, I realize I’m trembling. “Lay off. This has nothing to do with you.”

“You want me to go in the other room so you can finish dragging this girl down with you?”

“Brookes. I mean it. Lay. Off.”

I know as soon as the other guy opens his mouth where this is heading. Right as Brookes says, “Fuck you,” I slide in front of Silas and place a hand on his still bare chest to stop him from barreling over there and starting his third fight in less than a week.

“Hey,” I say. His chest is pushing forward against my hand, but not enough to move me like I know he could. “Hey. Look at me. Getting angry at him won’t change the fact that you’re angry at yourself.”

He glares over my shoulder. “Maybe not. But it will take my mind off it.”

I grab his jaw and make him look at me. “We made a deal. You have to listen to me or none of this works. Getting angry at him doesn’t fix anything, so let it go.”

He lets out a harsh breath, and under my hand, he grinds his teeth together.

“Fine.” His eyes shift from me to his two roommates, and I let my hand drop away from his face. I go to move, but he rests a hand at my waist, keeping me close. Then he says to his friends, “I f**ked up today. I know that. I knew it even as it was happening. And I’m gonna figure my shit out. I promise.”

That was actually a pretty mature almost-apology.

My heart clenches for a moment because I can feel the desperation buzzing around him. He does have issues. And I don’t love that his first inclination is always to get angry, but there’s something there. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but even with the violence and the issues and the dangerous sex appeal . . . there’s something about him.

I believe in him.

His friends don’t say anything, and when I turn to look at them over my shoulder, they’re leaving the kitchen. But Silas apparently isn’t done.

“Isaiah.” His friend turns. “I am sorry, but I will kick your ass if you can’t mind your own business.”

I sigh, and think, baby steps. His friend nods his head thoughtfully and exits the kitchen without a word. I relax and breathe easy for the first time since his roommates walked through the door.

Silas pushes some of my hair behind my ear, and I glance up.

The look in his eye flattens me, twists me up, and wrings me out. A girl could read all kinds of things into the look he’s giving me.

“Thank you,” he says. “You were right. That would have made things ten times worse.”

“That’s what friends do.”

That look disappears. And I’m both incredibly relieved and a little sorry to see it go.

“So . . . what’s the plan?” he asks me.

For possibly the first time in my life, I am completely without a plan. I’ve got no backup, no safety net below me in case I screw things up. And I can’t decide if it’s more exhilarating or terrifying.

He must get where my head is at because he clarifies: “Our deal. What do we do first?”

It’s hard to think with him this close to me, and I’m still a little too caught up in what we almost did as part of that deal.

“I answered your question. So now it’s my turn.”

He doesn’t look happy, but he shrugs, and I figure that’s as close as I’m going to get to a go-ahead.

“You asked me what I’m afraid of . . . now I want to hear your answer.” He opens his mouth, and I cut him off. “And I don’t mean getting kicked off the team. I want to know what’s behind that . . . what happens if you do get kicked off the team? Why is that the worst thing that could happen?”

The stare he pins me with is dark and clouded, and his jaw is clenched so tight it might as well be wired shut. And I take pity on him.

“You don’t have to tell me right now. But that’s part of this, Silas. If you’re not willing to eventually let me in, there’s no point in me sticking around. Think about it.”

“I don’t need to think about it. I’ll do what I have to, but . . .”

“But you need a little time. I get that. We’ll start small.”

“With what?”

I think for a moment and then ask, “What are you doing tomorrow?

The expression that pulls at his face is excruciating.

“Nothing. I’m suspended from practice for a week.”

“Good. Then I’ve got an idea. I’ll pick you up at eight forty-five in the morning. Wear something that you don’t mind getting messed up.”