Breaking The Rules: Book 2

Chapter 14: Makeshift Ice Packs

𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟸𝟻𝚝𝚑
Parker POV

Ever since Miles has been in the picture, I've spent a lot of time worrying how he would fit in my life.

I used to stay awake all night wondering what my friends and family would think if I admitted my attraction to him. I would make myself physically sick when thinking about what the college boards would say, or I'd wonder how many of them would back out.

Concern ate me alive when I introduced him to my friends. Torment drove me up the walls when we first started to date, then again when we broke up for those few days, and then again when we got together the second time.

My point is, I could've swore that I wore every single possibility and scenario in my head from diamonds into dust.

Despite all of that overthinking, I never, ever, imagined this happening.

The inside of my car reeks exactly like how a slaughterhouse might: blood, anxiety, dread. And to be quite fuckin' honest, it looks like I'm dragging around two half-slaughtered animals, too.

My eyes are trained on the road as I fly fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit to get to the nearest gas station, however my brain isn't processing the number on the dashboard. Each of my fingernails are digging into the wheel, shaking with repressed anger.

Miles is sitting on my right, fretting more over the blood that's dripping onto the seat rather than the blood that is quite literally running down his temple and forearms. Every single napkin from inside of the glovebox is tucked into the crevices of the leather seat. He rips one in half to dab the red stream off of his face.

I wish that I had my sanity about me to ask how he's feeling, except it's pretty fucking obvious that he's doing okay if he's still conscious and moving around. That, and if I were to open my mouth at this very second, there's a very good chance that I'd scream at both of them. Deep down in my heart, I love Miles too much to traumatize him like that.

But Griffin, on the other hand...

My eyes deceive me and flit to the rear view mirror to see if he's still alive. If I were to fret over anyone in this car, it should probably be him; especially after Miles grabbed him by the head and cracked his skull into the concrete as if he were trying to open a coconut. There's no way that he doesn't have a concussion after that fight.

All I can see is the top of Griffins hair. He's slouched down in the back, his knees pressing into the backside of my seat. His head is turned towards the window, and as we pass under the warm orange-colored streetlight, his glassy eyes reflect the light. At least he's awake.

Rather than feeling gratitude for his attentive state, I'm more grateful that he's still here on earth with us so that I can chew his ass out. That motherfucker can't die until I give him a piece of my mind.

Up ahead, a Shell gas station can be seen peeking over the hill. The yellow and orange lights shine brightly against the night sky, blazing like a flare for any trucker, cocaine addict, or car full of hurting teenage boys to find.

Miles mumbles under his breath as I take an immediate right turn into the station. His words are slurred, whether from the alcohol or speaking in Spanish, I don't know. And I'm definitely not in the mood to care.