"Why aren't you afraid of me?"

Of course, Malcolm, being Malcolm, waited until she was about to drift off to ask her such an imperative — in his mind, anyway — question. Sorcha turned onto her side so she could look at him.

Not that Malcolm was staring at her. No, his gaze was on the ceiling. It didn't take much to figure out why he was fixated on this particular question. They had been having dinner with the Arroyo's at a local restaurant that evening when a man about hers and Malcolm's age walked up and sneered, "Don't you know he's the son of a killer?" at them. "Probably helped his old man kill all those people."

Gil shot out of his seat like a rocket, his face a mask of rage at Mal being insulted so openly, and his hands curled around the napkin that had been in his lap.

"I think you need to walk away," he told the younger man in short, clipped tones. "Now."

The guy simply turned dark, predatory eyes to Gil's. "And what will happen if I don't?"

"I will escort you to the door personally."

A tense stare-down followed. Finally, an older man came over and took the younger one by the arm.

"Let's go, Henry."

They walked away but not before the younger man got one final shot in.

"People should be terrified to be around you."

Clearly, those words left an impression on him. As that jerk intended when he said them. Sorcha heaved a soft sigh and scooted closer to rest her head on Malcolm's shoulder.

"Mal..."

"Why aren't you afraid of me?"

"Because I have no reason to be afraid of you."

"You should."

"I'm honestly more terrified of failing all my finals than I am of you."

His brow furrowed. "I can hur..."

"Nope."

"I tackled you the other night."

"No, you ran into me," she corrected. "Big difference."

"I still hurt you."

"Don't flatter yourself." Sorcha pushed herself up onto one elbow so she could look him in the eyes. "I've gotten tackled harder by Sean and his friends during flag football."

"You play flag football with Sean and his friends?"

The surprise in his voice made her smile.

"Hey, I'm not a girlie girl here," she teased. "I play as hard as the boys do."

He rolled his eyes. "I know you aren't a girlie girl."

"Then you should know that you running into me was nothing."

"I wasn't in control. I could have lashed out."

"Which is why I pinned your arms and held you down until you woke up."

A shadow swept over his face. He was frustrated, hurt, and angry. All normal responses to the incident from earlier. Only, Malcolm didn't trust himself to express his emotions the same way other people did. He feared turning into his father if he let himself be angry.

So, he repressed his emotions until something set him off. Then he'd react with a quick, explosive outburst. She had only seen him react with violence once and that was after Tyler McKoy wouldn't take no for an answer. Even then, Malcolm only slammed him against the wall and told him in no uncertain terms, "No means no."

"It's okay to get angry."

"I know it is."

"So, get angry."

"No."

Short, simple, final. Sorcha twisted so she could straddle his legs. Surprise erased the darker emotions of a few moments ago. Good, she decided as she folded her arms across her chest. He's easier to deal with when he isn't being moody or stubborn.

"Why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Why can't you get angry about what that asshole said? Gil did. Jackie did. I sure am. And I'm not afraid to say so. Why can't you?"

"What good is there in being angry?"

He didn't growl it. No, he just sounded exhausted. Tired of it, and, she suspected, himself most of all.

"It's healthy to get angry," she said. "Anger inward is a volcano waiting to erupt. Anger outward is a volcano that has erupted."

"You just answered your question about why I don't get angry." The tips of his fingers touched her knees. Just a brush of skin against skin. The most he allowed himself because he didn't believe he deserved more. "I don't want to be a volcano that has erupted."

"You're more dangerous as a volcano waiting to erupt."

"Only to myself."

"And that's harmful to others."

His brow furrowed. "How? I'm only hurting me."

"You just answered your own question."

He made a face at her. "Don't parrot my words back at me."

"If the shoe fits, buddy boy."

Malcolm let out a small sigh. "I see you're in a mood."

"What happens when my best friend wakes me by asking me why I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be afraid of me. I'm dangerous."

"Bullshit." Now, she was angry. And she wasn't afraid to show it. "That's bullshit, Malcolm. You've given me no reason to be afraid of you. Afraid for you, yes. Of you? Never. Have I made myself clear?"

Malcolm's face filled with a mixture of wonder and curiosity. As if her being angry with him was a new and fascinating puzzle. To him it likely is, she realized.

"You're angry with me." He seemed so awed that she almost smiled. Almost. "You're really angry at me."

"Yes, I am," she said. "And have I lashed out at you with hateful, ugly words? Hit you with my fists? Threatened to hurt you or someone you loved?"

"No."

"Exactly." She leaned down until they were nose to nose. "So, are you angry about what that dick said?"

"I'm always angry, Sorch." His tremor rattled his fingers hard enough that they bounced against her knees. "That's the thing."

"Then let's do something about it."

"Like what?"

"Boxing," she announced as she stretched out atop him. "We'll take up boxing."

"Boxing?" She felt more than saw the dubious look he sent her. "You think boxing will help me with my anger?"

"Put on gloves, hit a bag as hard as you like." She stifled a yawn as she tucked her head under his chin. "Seems like a good idea to me."

"Are you going to sleep on top of me?"

"That's my plan, yes."

"Why?"

"To show you how not afraid of you I am."

"Sorch," Malcolm groaned. "You're being ridiculous."

"Our first class starts at eight." Sorcha closed her eyes. "Might want to try and sleep before then."

A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

I just want to send a special thank you to Rookblonkorules for their lovely reviews