JESSIE:

When we pull up outside of Dean's frat house, I tell Kelsey to wait for me because I don't plan on letting him talk his way around this. I just want him to know that I know, and that I'm pissed. Then I want to go home, take whatever miracle meds the doctor prescribed, and sleep until my first class starts tomorrow.

With my non-injured arm, I pound on the door until it swings open. As if the universe doesn't suck enough right now, filling the door frame is the second to last person I want to see.

"Damn girl, you look like shit," Mike says with a laugh. I can't imagine where a normal human being would find humor in this situation, but no one ever accused Mike of being normal, or human.

"I don't have time for this. Where is he?" I ask, assuming he's got enough intelligence in his pea-sized brain to know who I would come here looking for.

"Up in his room, and he looks even worse than you. Lover's spat? I'd be happy to console you, baby doll."

Ugh. He's disgusting. But my stomach clenches as his words sink in. I'm furious, but I don't want to think of Dean hurt at the hands of my father. Even if I do want to punch him myself.

Without acknowledging his remarks, I push past Mike, careful to keep my arm clear of his massive body, and climb the stairs two at a time. Winded from the physical exertion on my damaged body, I stand outside his door. Knocking would imply that I care whether or not he wants to talk right now, and I don't. I'm talking, he's listening, then I'm leaving. Simple as that.

Mind made up, I shove the door open and find Dean stretched out on his bed, shirt off and hands holding a bag of frozen vegetables to the left side of his face. There are bruises blooming along his side and stretching across his abdomen. I cringe and the sympathy threatens to snuff out the fire of my rage. When he shifts the bag and looks at me, my resolve all but crumbles. His face is a wreck. Dry blood covers his lip and chin, the bridge of his nose has begun to swell and his left eye is nearly swollen shut.

"Jesus…" I mutter as I cross the room to him.

"I told them not to tell you. It's not a big deal. You should be home, resting." He swings his legs off the bed and sits up gently, trying not to do more damage.

There he goes again. Always thinking he knows what's best for me but not willing to let me make those decisions for myself. Not understanding why I need to make them for myself. That's all it takes to stir the embers and rekindle my anger.

"Yeah, that's not all you told them apparently." I attempt to cross my arms but end up shifting them awkwardly so that my good arm is gently cradling the bad one. "I can't believe you. How could you do this? Tell my father the one secret that you know could destroy my family?" The weight of his betrayal settles over me like a dense fog. I can't see through the haze surrounding me, choking me. My only way out is to push back. "I trusted you."

The silence hangs between us for far too long. Obviously he hadn't had enough time to contemplate how to 'handle' me. He looks almost as hurt as I feel, but then schools his features before he finally replies. "Clearly not enough."

I shift my weight, puzzled by his response. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. You know what? You're right. I knew what would happen if your parents found out about you and the fights. But I didn't care. I decided that, after spending the night lying beside you having nightmare after nightmare about losing you, that I would do the one thing that would ensure it actually happened. And I chose to do it now, while you're recovering from a concussion, a dislocated elbow, and who-knows-how-many bruises so that I could add that stress to the mix. Because that's the type of person I am, right?" His eyes cruise over my face, searching for something and looking away when he doesn't find it. More confused than ever, I let his words swim around in my head.

"No, it's not. That's why I don't understand…" I trail off, not sure why he's being so cruel.

He crosses the room to me and I'm forced to take a step back, bumping into the closed door. "Jessie, I know you don't. That is the problem. You should know that I would never, never do something like that to you. No matter how much I disagree with what you're doing. Regardless of how many times we argue over it. I would never go behind your back with something like this. But you don't know that. And that's not something I can fix."

Unable to meet his eyes any longer, I run through everything that has happened since I was released from the hospital. Did Dad ever actually say that Dean told him? I can't remember. Everything is so muddled in my aching head. "But if you didn't tell him, then—"

"Think about it." He says, turning away from me, leaning weakly against his desk chair for some support.

I run through the conversation in the parking lot and remember the way Jamie stonewalled me. No emotion on his face at all. Closing my eyes in realization, my head drops forward like a heavy weight. "Jamie…"

I look up and Dean's expression confirms that I've drawn the correct conclusion this time. "But, why the hell did my father beat you up then? I don't understand."

"He insinuated that he thought I might've hurt you. Didn't exactly believe that all this damage came from you falling down the stairs." He crosses his arms over his chest, no longer willing to meet my gaze either.

"I—Shit. Dean, I'm so sor—"

"Don't. Let's not pretend this was just some misunderstanding. It's clear that you don't trust me the way you've claimed to over the past few months." His words cut me like a blade.

"That's not fair," I say, my voice wavering.

"No. On that we can both agree. It's not fair that I have never given you a reason to mistrust me, yet without even talking to me you assumed I sold you out. Over nothing but your own assumptions." Another slash, another wound, another throbbing ache laced with the harsh, bitter truth. "When I'm with you, Jessie, I'm better. I'm a better student, a better brother, a better friend. I'm just a better person. Being with you makes me that way. You open me up, make me feel alive. But I'm seeing more and more that I don't do that for you, I'm not that person for you. I don't think I can keep doing this. I don't make you better. And that's not something I can keep ignoring."

I hear my throat force a hard swallow. I hear the dull roar of my heart pounding. I hear my breath as I inhale and exhale. Everything is amplified. "What are you saying?" I know, but the masochistic part of me has to hear him say it.

"It's over, Jessie. You need to learn how to really trust people, and it's evident that I can't help you do that." The shutters come down and I know that I've lost him. Really lost him this time. His expression turns cold, his jaw set, eyes empty of emotion. "You should go." He moves forward and I sidestep out of his way. He grips the doorknob tight, holding the door open and staring at me, through me.

Knowing I only have about ten seconds of control left before the dam bursts, I nod once and take the two steps out of his room. It might as well have been two miles. The door doesn't slam, but closes with a deafening click. I turn, placing my hand on the cool wood that feels like a slab of ice beneath my fingers. I rest my forehead gently against the door and softly whisper thirteen words that I know will do nothing to change his mind, but I have to say them all the same.

Then my time has run out and on a sob I'm charging down the hall, flying down the stairs and out the front door. I make it to Kelsey's car and yank open the door as the tears run in a silent torrent down my cheeks. Covering my mouth, I mumble at Kelsey to drive, and she does. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks at a stop sign.

"No." I manage that one word and that's about all I can muster on the short ride back to the apartment. When Kelsey opens the apartment door, I dart through it and close myself in my room. I don't acknowledge my parents and Jamie, sitting tense on our living room furniture. I don't stop to explain myself. I just slam the door behind me, tear the blanket off the bed and wrap it around myself, then collapse into a heap on the mattress.

My whole body is wracked with sobs. I wrap my arms around my midsection with no regard for the searing pain radiating from my elbow. I welcome it. Any physical pain is a joy compared to the agony spreading through me. I barely hear the door open and close, but when I feel the weight behind me on the bed and my mother's small yet strong arms wrap around me, I cry harder. The loud, ugly kind of cry you never want someone else to witness. But I let it out anyway, because it's my mom and somehow I just know she understands.

Eventually my weeping tapers off to sniffles and the occasional whimper. When I take a deep, shaky breath, she finally speaks. "He'll forgive you."

As is often the case, she knows what's wrong without me having to explain. "No, Mom. He won't. He said that he doesn't think he makes me a better person, and that he won't be with me if I can't trust him." I guess my tear ducts replenish themselves quickly, because a few more tears escape.

She presses a kiss into my hair and inhales deeply. With her index finger, she turns my face to hers. I shift so that I'm flat on my back, looking up at the woman who raised me and who I've spent a year deceiving. She places her hand on my cheek and kisses my forehead. "He will forgive you."

There's such conviction in her voice, and part of me desperately wants to believe her. "How do you know?"

"Because you're your father's daughter. In more ways than we thought, it seems. And I've never known Travis Maddox to let go of something or someone he loves. Neither will you. You're a fighter," she says with a rueful smile. "So prove him wrong. Fight for him."

DEAN:

I force myself to close the door behind her, knowing that it will kill me inside. I need to do this for her. If this is the way she thinks when she's with me, then I'm no good for her anyway. Doesn't change the fact that I'm ripping out my own heart by pushing her away. I flatten both palms against the door, close my eyes and lean my head against it. I'm no good for her I repeat to myself.

As if she read my mind, I hear a tiny whisper from the other side of the door. "You're wrong. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me."

I suck in a breath and my resolve shatters. I slap my hands against the door in frustration. With her, with myself, with everything. I step back and yank the door open to an empty hallway. I run to the top of the stairs in time to see the door closing behind her. Jogging down the steps, I rip the door open just as Kelsey's car pulls away.

It's better this way. She needs someone who can gain her trust. That person isn't me. No matter how hard I've tried. Pissed off all over again, I send the door crashing back into place, window panes rattling in response. An annoying chuckle causes me to spin on my heels. Mike is leaning against the staircase, a smug look in place.

"Kinda figured she was gonna be too much for your ass, Wilkins." I want to punch the smirk right off his face. "A girl like her?" he jerks his thumb in the direction of the door. "She needs a man who can handle her fine ass. Not some punk like you."

"Keep talking, Matthews, and we'll see how much you can handle." I step up into his personal space, eye to eye. He may have thirty pounds on me, but I've got blind fury on my side. That, and not giving a shit about what happens to me at this point. I just don't care.

"Please, like you could take me. Back up before you hurt yourself." He shoves me with one hand and that's all I need to ignite my nearly nonexistent fuse.

My fist is rearing back and smashing into his nose. I don't even think about it. I just react. And it's the best feeling I've had all day. He grabs me around my middle and shoves me against the wall, but he's underestimating the level of rage inside of me in this moment. I take him by the shoulders and bring my knee up into his groin. It's a cheap shot, but again, I don't give a fuck. Once he hits the floor I take that opportunity to really lay into him. Hit after hit, and I stop seeing his face. I see Will, attacking Jessie. I see Jessie, lying motionless on the gym floor. Accusing me of betraying her. Running from me, for the last time. After I pushed her away.

I don't register the arms pulling me off of Mike at first. Reality begins to slip through. Mike is lying on the floor, conscious but barely. Paul and Greg have each of my arms in a death grip. I shrug them off and assure them that I'm done. I crouch down until my face is about a foot away from his. He glares up at me but doesn't say a word. "That's the last time you talk about her. And if I catch you so much as looking her way, this will feel like a love tap. Next time you won't walk away. Got me?"

I don't bother waiting for him to respond. I straighten, climb the stairs, and shut the door to my room. For the second time today, I crash down on the bed with blood on me.