Let It Be Me by Becky Wade (top young adult novels .TXT) 📕

she definitely did know what love was. She recognized the staunch commitment at its core. The fierce protectiveness. The willingness to sacrifice for the other. The determination to hold on.

Do the math, you ninny. You love him.

A tornado had formed within Sebastian back when Dylan had told him Leah’s location.

It was still spinning.

Still stirring up old terror and pain.

He studied Leah’s face. “Your cheek,” he said.

“Oh.” Her hand lifted to her swollen cheekbone. “Do I have a bruise?”

He dipped his chin, wanting to kill Claire’s dad. He’d arrived just in time to see the man clock Leah with his elbow. The sight had affected him like a body blow, and after that, he didn’t remember exiting his car or running forward.

She reached out and skated a fingertip across the throbbing skin next to his eye, leaving sparks. He inhaled raggedly.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Then so am I.”

“Thank you. For defending us.”

He didn’t reply.

She tucked her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Dylan. He checked his app and told me where you were.” Inside himself, he was fighting his temper with just as much strength as he’d used earlier with Claire’s dad. “Why did you come here?”

“Claire texted me and said that her dad was on a rampage. I called the police, but they were at the scene of an accident. I drove here and told Claire’s dad that I was scheduled to take the kids to the library.”

Nearby, a metal lawn chair lay on its side. It, and the situation he’d found when he’d arrived, gave evidence to the chaos that had resulted from her attempt to help.

“Claire’s dad wouldn’t allow Claire to leave with me,” she went on, “so Claire climbed out her window. Her dad caught us and dragged Claire toward the house.”

“At which time you confronted an abusive man who owns guns?”

“His other kids confronted him. I was just trying to keep everyone safe.”

“You could have been hurt badly.”

“And yet, look.” She spread her hands. “I’m fine.”

“You could have been hurt badly,” he repeated.

“But I wasn’t.”

“But you could have been.”

A short pause. “You . . . might be reacting slightly overprotectively.” Her tone was mild.

She was accusing him of being overprotective? That was rich. She wouldn’t allow her brother two seconds of freedom. Yet he was supposed to be fine with watching her get whacked in the face by an enraged man?

“In the end, things worked out well,” she said. “You told me that you’re okay. The kids are okay. I’m okay. I stand behind my decision to intervene.”

“Even though you promised me that you wouldn’t come here alone?”

“I take promises seriously, and I’m sorry that I broke my promise to you. But I couldn’t leave the kids to fend for themselves.”

He had zero tolerance for broken promises. “You promised me, Leah.”

“Today’s situation forced me to go back on that promise for the greater good.”

“That’s a cop-out.” Frustration tightened his words. It was hard to think straight, to speak. This is why he didn’t trust people. This is why he shouldn’t have trusted her.

His mom had failed to keep her promise when she’d told him she’d recover. Her death had stripped him of family and security. It had wrecked his life and his faith in people. It had taught him that the safest course was to depend on himself. So why had he strayed from that?

He’d strayed from that because he’d been unable to resist Leah. “I have to step back from this relationship,” he stated.

She flinched. Wind stirred through the strands of her hair. “Why?”

“I can’t get any more involved.”

“You’re upset, and I want to understand why.”

He backed away from her.

“Stay,” she said. “Let’s talk this through—”

“I can’t.”

His self-control was cracking like plaster. He couldn’t let that happen in front of her.

“Sebastian,” she said.

He climbed into his car and drove away.

As he took one unthinking turn after another, the sensation that he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs grew more and more urgent. Finally, he pulled onto a half circle of dirt that formed an overlook and exited his car.

The land fell away, providing a view of mountains retreating into the distance. No houses or people nearby. Just nature.

He wrapped his palms around the metal railing at the curve’s edge and concentrated on breathing. Anger flew around inside him like a black crow.

“I’ll be fine,” his mom had told him, when she’d spent all day one Saturday in bed.

“What’s the matter?” He handed her the Pop-Tart and glass of milk he’d made her for dinner.

“I’m just a little under the weather.” She sat up in bed, her back supported by pillows. “All of us get sick sometimes. Remember when you had strep throat a few months ago? Now you’re as healthy as can be.”

“Yeah, but . . .” She didn’t look good. Why was she so thin? Her face was too white. He swallowed down worry. “I went to the doctor for medicine. You need to go to the doctor, too.”

“I’ll go on Monday, ’kay? Will that satisfy you?”

She was teasing him, but it wasn’t funny. It was dark and scary in here with the blinds closed.

“Will that satisfy you?” she repeated.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Hey. I’ve taught you to say what you mean. So don’t say ‘mmm-hmm’ if it isn’t what you mean. What’re you afraid of? You can tell me.” She looked right at him, challenging.

“That you’ll die.”

She smoothed his hair, then took hold of his shoulder. “I promise you that I won’t die.”

She was his mom. He believed her. He needed to believe her.

“I’ll go to the doctor and get medicine,” she said, “and they’ll fix me up. I’ve never let my health beat me once. I’m a fighter. You know that about me, right?”

“Right.”

“I’m raising you to be a fighter, too.” She squeezed his shoulder. “You can’t let fear have control. We’re Grants, and Grants are strong. We can do whatever we put our minds to.” She shooed him. “Now go make me another Pop-Tart. I