Page 56 of Worth the Risk

It only serves to prove my dad right. That I act before I think, without taking anyone else around me into consideration.

The heat from my dad over the photo was just another reprimand in a long line of them. It’s water off my back.

The pang of remorse I feel when it comes to Luke, though, is a whole different ballgame that I’m not sure how to process.

My actions caused him to be bullied and teased. To throw a punch in defense. He’s hurting, and it’s all because I acted in haste without thought to anyone else who might be affected.

Feeling like shit is putting it mildly.

I don’t know why I’m here.

It’s because I want to apologize to Luke.

I don’t know why I’ve sat staring at the front of his house.

It’s because I really want to see Grayson.

I don’t know why I’ve spent the last thirty minutes watching the porch swing move ever so subtly under the influence of the intermittent soft breeze. Why I keep glancing at the blue BMX bike lying on its side in the driveway or the baseball bat propped beside the front door.

Even more, I don’t know why I keep staring at the lights in the windows and wondering what’s going on inside.

I should start my car and drive away.

But I can’t.

Something happened to a little boy yesterday, and it was because of me. My dad may say I’m heartless and only think of myself, but no matter how many times I told myself to stay home, I couldn’t. And then as I told myself I was just going out for a drive to clear my mind, my hands kept turning the wheel to navigate the streets until I ended up here.

With a deep breath, I climb from the car and make my way up the front steps. The house is quiet except for the undertones of the television coming out from the open window.

I hold my breath when I knock, letting my hand fall to my side as my heart pounds in my ears and nerves jitter in my stomach.

Last time I stood on this porch, I told myself that it was just Grayson. He was just some guy from high school I hardly knew.

This time it’s so much more. This time, I get that. It’s Grayson. It’s Luke. It’s a whole different dynamic from what I’m used to.

“I got it.” The television is clicked off. The door opens.

Grayson seems shocked to see me standing on his porch. He’s in athletic pants, a plain blue T-shirt that looks like an old favorite, and a baseball hat pulled low on his brow.

He isn’t trying to be as handsome as he is, which makes him simply stunning as he stands there—irritated expression and distrustful eyes included.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard about Luke.”

“Heard what about Luke?”

“The fight. The picture. The—”

“Goddamn small-town bullshit,” he mutters under his breath.

“Is it true?

He glances over his shoulder before crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging. “What does that have to do with you?”

I open my mouth to say everything and then stop myself. That’s exactly what he expects me to say. That’s exactly who he has painted me to be.

I try again.