Ripped - 19. Chapter 19

--Bailey—

Bailey rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He'd managed to keep his emotions in check, but the looks of pity from around the table were almost too much. He was stronger than this. He knew he was.

When the Dean had whispered to the headmaster after receiving a notification on his phone, a break had been called. Bailey had relaxed enough to pick at the muffin Mrs. Tardin had set in front of him. Everyone else had stood up and stretched, milling around the room in low conversations.

Bailey wasn't surprised when his coach pulled out the chair next to him and leaned in. Bailey could tell the man was fighting between being angry and worried. Distress rolled off the coach in waves. "Bailey..."

Bailey only glanced at him, not wanting to see the disappointment on his coach's face.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell someone? Even your mom?"

Bailey had already explained this to the group as a whole, but he could see that his coach just didn't understand it. This man was probably closer to him than any other adult besides his mother, and he still didn't get it.

Bailey shrugged again, as he had when he'd been asked the question by the headmaster. "I didn't want to cause anyone any trouble." He glanced again at the football coach who was grabbing an apple. "I knew if I said anything it would hurt the football team."

Coach Richards sighed heavily, obviously not understanding completely. "You know Coach Reed and I suspected something was going on. Mr. Basinger mentioned an altercation in the lunch room between Justin and Chris. We thought Justin and Chris were the ones coming to blows. We were in Mr. Zamora's office discussing the situation yesterday when Declan Foster came in." The coach tapped his fingers on the table. "He was worried about you."

Bailey's head snapped up in surprise. "I told him I was fine."

Coach Richards chuckled. "Oh, he believed you. But I think his conscience finally got to him. He's a good kid."

Bailey nodded absently, thinking over his impressions of the big football player. It helped allay some of his worries about the guy to hear the coach thought well of him. "I just wish he'd told me he was going to the Headmaster."

Coach Richards cocked his head thoughtfully. "Would you have tried to talk him out of it?"

Bailey flushed and let out a tiny chagrinned smile. "Yeah, I probably would have. Declan is okay, I guess," Bailey admitted, ducking his head to hide the flush he felt rising up his neck. "We've done some talking and stuff."

"Good," the coach nodded, stopping his hand from reaching out. "I just want you to know, that when anything... and I mean anything... happens, or you need someone to talk to, besides Mrs. Tardin, I hope you know you can come to me."

Bailey nodded automatically. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. He just wasn't likely to act on it. He swallowed thickly, his throat feeling dry. That itchy, prickly feeling was creeping under his skin, begging him to cut it out... to slice into his flesh to bleed let it bleed out... to release the foreboding sensation threatening to smother him. Because he knew more was coming.

"Sorry for the interruption." Dr. Lansing breezed back into the room, a smile on his face as Mr. Zamora closed the door behind them. "We actually have some good news."

As the man settled into his chair and smoothed down the lapels of his suit, he laid a USB thumb drive on the table.

"While the two student statements we've had are more than adequate, we all know Mr. and Mrs. Vasser will be trotting in here from Vail or Prague or wherever they are right now with their lawyers in tow as soon as we actually reach them."

Bailey's breath caught in his dry throat. Yep, there it was. This was what he wanted to avoid. Problems for everyone—the school, the teams... The Headmaster turned to Bailey, catching his gaze.

"You don't need to worry about this. This is not a court of law, and you won't have to testify or take an oath or anything. Your statement is clear, and so is Declan's. Plus," He tapped on the thumb drive as he glanced around the rest of the room. "We have video proof now too. I think the facts are pretty clear."

"I'd certainly like to see it. A video would definitely make my job even easier, should the Vasser's try to take issue with anything," one of the men who'd been sitting quietly the whole time spoke up. The school's attorney, if Bailey remembered correctly from introductions.

Bailey cleared his throat, attempting to quell the heaving panic building in his chest. A video. They had a copy of the video too. Damn, this day just got better and better. He pressed his hand to his chest, a couple more coughs barked out as he rose shakily from his seat. "I, uh, I think I need to, uh, go to the restroom..."

Dr. Lansing rose abruptly, concern on his face. "Oh, of course. Maybe you should go down to the infirmary. You can lay down for a bit, drink some water. When your mother arrives, you can go home. Take it easy the rest of the day."

His mother? Of course, they'd called his mother. His hand rubbed at his chest anxiously. Bailey was barely paying attention as he scooped up his pack and backed toward the door. "Thank you, sir."

He fumbled for the knob behind him, edging backwards out the door. Yanking it shut with a heavy sigh, he dropped his forehead on the closed door, allowing the coolness to soothe him momentarily.

"Well, that explains why I was dragged here so damn early in the morning."

Bailey whipped around at the familiar snide voice.

Chris Vasser. Of course.

"What lies have you been telling, McIntyre?" Chris demanded.

"Chris, sit down." The order came from a tall, solidly built man who must have been some kind of escort. He to block Bailey from Chris's view.

"But Mr. Hearny, I have a right to know what lies he's been saying to get me in trouble," Chris argued, sounding somewhat reasonable for a moment.

"You'll get a chance to tell your side," Mr. Hearny explained calmly.

"But he's a liar! He hates me and my team. He's just trying to cause trouble for us," Chris retorted. "Get Eric down here. He'll tell you. Him and those other gymnastics freaks just want to mess with our team."

"Chris, I suggest you calm down. The Headmaster will be talking with you soon," Hearny warned. "I recommend you going in there with a cool head on your shoulders."

Bailey felt Chris's intense glare from behind Mr. Hearny's shoulder as the man turned to him. "Mr. McIntyre, please accept my apologies on Mr. Vasser's behalf. He's feeling a little... out of sorts at the moment."

Bailey nodded silently as they heard more voices in the hallway.

"Why the hell do I have to see the Dean?" Eric's voice echoed down the hall.

Chris smirked at Bailey from behind Mr. Hearny's back, and Bailey darted from the small anteroom into the hallway before he became trapped in the tiny waiting room with his two tormentors. He'd barely made it out before Eric was nearly on top of him. Eric's sneer practically matched Chris's.

"Fucking figures," Eric snapped.

"Quiet, Eric," Eric's escort ordered.

Bailey barely looked at the other teen, slipping out of the way before Eric could say or do anything. Not that his escort would have let him. Bailey darted down the hall, aware of the small knot of students who'd apparently heard Eric's noisy protests and were curiously whispering speculations already as to what was going on.

And Bailey's exit wasn't missed by the spectators either, ramping up the rumors. He headed directly for the exit, having never had any intention of going to the infirmary. He wasn't surprised to hear his name as he fled down the hallway. He knew it was inevitable; he had just hoped to escape before it happened.

"What's going on? Hey, Bailey, do you know—?"

"Looks like Eric's in trouuuble," someone laughed.

"Wonder if Bailey narked on Chris for..."

"Maybe Bailey has a thing for Chris and Eric got pissed and—"

"Eric probably has his own thing for Chris..."

"Bailey!"

"Did you see Chris and Eric being escorted down...?"

"Wonder what the Disciplinary Board is gonna do...?

Bailey ran out of the building for the gatehouse to check out, leaving the buzzing voices of his classmates far behind. He almost thought about heading for his spot under the bleachers, but that left too much of a risk of someone trying to talk to him. He just needed to get out of here. He fumbled with his student ID as he swiped it at the guardhouse.

The guard seemed shocked to see him. "School's about to start. What are—?"

"I'm not feeling well," Bailey snapped, not even pausing to look up at the man. "They sent me home."

"Oh. Well, let me just call to check..." Bailey saw the guard turn to pick up the phone inside, but he didn't bother to wait. He lurched away, breaking into a run.

He thought he heard his name called again but didn't bother to stop. The guard could do whatever the hell he wanted; Bailey wasn't stopping. When he finally reached his house, he stumbled up the steps before fumbling for the keys.

Once inside, he fell back against the door, sliding to the floor. He clawed at his chest, wanting to rip out the organ threatening to beat through his sternum. He tried to steady his breathing, allowing the silence to envelop him.

Except it wasn't silent. A buzzing sound echoed from beside him. It took his brain a minute to figure out what it was. His phone.

He ignored it, but it started ringing again almost immediately, so he fished it out of his backpack. He saw his mom's image smiling back at him, along with the text message icon blinking incessantly at him.

Bailey forced himself to answer. "Hello?"

"Bailey!" his mother's voice rushed out in a relieved breath. "Finally! Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I... I'm at home now."

Another whoosh of breath. "Oh, good. I'm on my way, but I'm in Herndon so..."

Bailey frowned at the phone. Why had she gone to the next city? Unless she was making a run to Costco or something...

"... it'll take me a little while," she finished. "Oh, Bailey, is it true? Did... did it happen again—?"

"It's nothing, mom, really. Just a little shoving and stuff. That's all. Don't worry about it." Bailey couldn't help the small smile at the concern in her voice. It actually helped to calm him down hearing the distress in her tone. How long had it been since she had been this concerned about him?

"But you're okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"Hospital? No, mom, God, it happened like last week. Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

There was a long silence before his mom spoke up again. "Okay. Okay," she repeated in an obvious effort to get herself together. "I was about to send Daniel to pick you up from school. He could run over and check on you since I can't get there for a while. I don't want you to be—"

Bailey jerked, the calm evaporating. "Daniel? No! No, I'm fine. Don't—" he rushed out before stopping and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I really am fine. I just want to rest for a bit. That's all."

She hesitated. "Well, if you're sure..."

Oh, hell yeah. He was sure he didn't want Daniel coming over, trying to comfort him or whatever.

"I'm sure. I'm just gonna go sleep for a bit," he said, absently scratching at his chest, allowing the small stings to pacify his growing irritation.

"Okay, well, we'll talk when I get home then."

Sure we will, he thought. Not if I have any say in it.

"Bye." He hung up, letting the phone fall to the floor next to him. His head fell back as he rubbed his face. He thumped his head against the door a few times in frustration. God, what a day.

****

--Declan—

"Bailey!" Declan had yelled for him when he had seen Bailey running across campus in the direction of the front gate. But Bailey hadn't heard him, and Declan had gotten caught up at the guardhouse.

The guard had been on the phone when Declan tried to check out, but he'd barely taken a step before the man stepped out to stop him.

"Whoa, wait just a minute," the guard said, pressing a hand to Declan's chest. "And where do you think you're going?"

Declan glanced after Bailey's fleeing form anxiously. "I've got to check on him. Make sure he's all right," he said breathlessly.

The guard rolled his eyes. "You know I can't let you do that during school hours without permission."

"Then call! Ask!" Declan flapped his arms at the man. "Talk to the Dean or the Headmaster. Better yet, let me talk to them!"

"Fine. Fine. Just calm down and wait a minute."

Declan was sure it was nearly ten minutes before the guard finally nodded. "Okay. Mr. Zamora said you could go check on Mr. McIntyre, but you have to be back for your third period class."

"Okay, okay, fine," Declan agreed quickly as he rushed off.

The distance to Bailey's house seemed even farther than before, and his feet felt like they were sticking in mud for as fast as he felt he could move. When he finally reached Bailey's front yard, he bent over, clasping his knees as he tried to catch his breath before heading to the door.

He didn't see Mrs. McIntyre's car, but that didn't necessarily mean anything, and he didn't want to look like a lunatic racing up and pounding on the door. After pulling in a few deep breaths, he felt together enough to step up onto the porch. Just as he raised his hand to knock, he heard a couple thunks from the other side of the door.

He cocked his head, wondering what had caused the noise. He hoped it was something simple like Bailey's bag hitting the door, and not actually Bailey hitting it.

Declan's worry over Bailey outweighed his fear of what Bailey now thought of him, so he tucked away his uneasiness and focused on making sure Bailey was okay.

He knocked. Three times. There was a sharp curse right behind the door followed by some shuffling noise before the door cracked open a few inches. Bailey had a frown already in place and his mouth open, ready to say something, before his soft gray eyes dawned with recognition.

Had he been expecting someone else?

"Hey." Declan offered a little wave and smile.

Bailey blinked several times, obviously still not understanding that it was Declan standing in front of him. His eyes even darted around the yard behind Declan as if he expected someone else to jump out.

Oh, hell, maybe he thought Chris and Eric had come after him.

"It's just me," Declan clarified.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Bailey finally huffed out.

"Just came to check on you." Declan glanced at the ground nervously. "I saw you leave. You looked... upset."

"Upset? Hell yeah, I was upset!" Bailey yelled, whipping open the door, leaning into Declan's face. "Ya coulda told me, you son-of-a-bitch! Instead, I was ambushed by Mrs. Tardin dragging me into a whole damn room of administrators—"

"Bailey, I—" Declan's plea for forgiveness became clogged in his throat as his eyes dropped to Bailey's chest—and the spots of blood seeping through his shirt.

"Holy shit," he gasped, instinctively reaching for Bailey, wanting to snag the shirt out of the way to see why the hell Bailey was bleeding.

Bailey staggered back, slapping his hand away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I just—" Declan stammered, gesturing helplessly. "I... what happened? Are you okay?"

Bailey blinked at him in confusion.

Declan ventured a step closer, relieved when Bailey didn't back away this time. He raised his hand, almost touching Bailey's chest. "You're bleeding. What—?"

Bailey's head snapped down, a curse muttered under his breath as his hand drifted over the stains on his polo shirt. He backed a few more steps into the house. "Damn, I liked this shirt too."

Declan followed, closing the door behind them. "What happened?" he asked again.

Bailey's previous anger at Declan had dimmed at the sight of the shirt. "Just scratched at it, broke open some... scratches."

Declan frowned. Why would he have scratches in the middle of his chest? "Where did you get scratches?"

Bailey just shrugged, turning toward the set of stairs.

Declan's eyes narrowed. "Did you get them when Chris had you pinned to the fucking pavement?"

"Just go back to school, Declan. I'm really not in the mood to talk right now." Bailey refused to answer the question, which only made Declan believe it was true. He watched Bailey storm up the stairs, turning into the first door on the right and slamming it.

Declan debated briefly whether to actually leave or not before he headed up the steps. He hovered in front of the door Bailey had disappeared behind, hearing water running. He must be cleaning up. Declan glanced around the upstairs hallway, noting the door behind him was half open. The rumpled mess of the full-size bed, the desk stacked with notebooks and textbooks, and the wall of trophies gave away the fact that it was Bailey's room. There were two other doors on the hall. One was closed, and the other looked to be the master bedroom with the dark cherry furniture and floral bedspread.

It probably wasn't his best idea, but Declan decided to wait in Bailey's room. He'd be finished soon enough, and they needed to talk, badly. And he didn't want to risk Bailey throwing him out without having the chance to explain. When he stepped in the room, he stared at the multitude of trophies and ribbons taking up half a wall. They were practically crowded on top of each other on the shelves, some shoved haphazardly in place.

"Damn, he really is good," Declan whispered to himself as he continued his perusal of the room. It looked like any other teen boy's room—clothes dropped near the laundry basket but not all making it actually in the basket, the scattered books, the loose papers littering the edge of the desk. As a matter of fact, it was a little neater than Declan's own room at home. His eyes stopped on a picture frame on top of the chest of drawers.

A rugged looking man, with familiar gray eyes, dressed in tan camo pants and shirt.

Damn. That must be Bailey's dad, Declan realized, a wave of pity and sadness rushing over him.

The nightstand next to the full-size bed was littered with change, a couple of power bar wrappers, a phone docking stand. Declan dropped onto the edge of the bed, picking up the science fiction novel resting on the edge of the nightstand to thumb through it. Something fell to the floor from under it, and Declan bent over find whatever had fallen. He noticed a thin piece of metal nearly under the bed... it almost looked like—

A door burst open across the hall, and Declan jerked to his feet, forgetting the object on the floor for a moment and nearly dropping the book in his other hand.

Bailey had breezed into the room, shirtless. Declan's jaw dropped open at the sight of Bailey's muscular half-naked body. A fading, yellowing bruise marred his abdomen, ointment glistened on the previously bleeding—

Declan frowned. Why were the scratch marks so straight and... clean looking...?

Bailey froze at the sight of Declan, eyes wide, as he clutched the stained shirt in his hand.

"Wh-what are you still doing here?" Bailey finally managed to say, turning to reach for the closest shirt he could find. He had yanked the shirt over his head before Declan could really think about the oddly linear look of the scratches Bailey had apparently gotten from the pavement.

"Uh, I, um..." Declan quickly glanced away and dropped the book back on the nightstand. "I wanted to be sure you were okay."

"I'm fine. Now get out," Bailey snapped, eyes flashing angrily.

Declan swallowed, nodding. He shouldn't have expected more, at least not so soon. Bailey was angry. He had every right to be. "Okay. Okay. I'm... I'm going..." As he moved toward the door, Bailey circled out of his way. He paused, trying to find the words to make this right. "Look, Bailey, I'm sorry, okay. Really. I just couldn't..." Declan raked a frustrated hand through his hair. "...I couldn't let Chris get away with what he'd done. You shouldn't let him get away with it."

Bailey only stared at the floor, giving no indication that he'd even heard what Declan had said. Declan sighed in defeat, having hoped for some reaction. Anything. Even if Bailey yelled at him again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered lamely one more time before turning for the stairs. He was halfway down, and when he heard Bailey's thin, hoarse voice. He froze.

"You're right."