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I looked at him.

He seemed okay—his eyes back to their normal color—but the way his hands gripped the steering wheel told a different story. I wasn't sure if he was frustrated with himself because he lost his cool back there, or if it's because he had to tell me—someone he barely knew, his issues. Whatever the reason may be, I was glad he did. It just goes to show that he's capable of emotions after all.

"So, have you been to the bowling alley in town yet?" I saw his lips moved, his eyes still locked on the road.

I jumped a little from the sudden question, but I was able to compose myself quickly. Hopefully he didn't see me staring at him. "No, I just moved here, remember?"

"Oh yeah." He lifted one hand off the wheel and scratched the back of his neck. "Um . . . have you been bowling at all then?"

I nodded even though he wasn't looking at me. "Lots. But my brother usually beats me at it." Him, and his damn strikes.

"Your brother?" he asked as he glanced at me for a split second, then his eyes drifted back to the road. He took a left and then a right at the exit.

"Yeah. He's twenty."

"I hope he's not one of those overprotective types," he joked, chuckling.

I laughed under my breath. He couldn't be anymore right. "What about you?" I asked. "Got any siblings?"

His face instantly lit up, as he nodded. "I have a sister. Her name's Megan."

"Really? How old is she?"

"Almost nine."

Almost nine . . . wait a minute. If he's here with me, and his parents are gone, who's taking care of her now?  I sighed. "Please don't tell me you left her alone just to hang out with me?"

"She's currently at my neighbor's house. I made sure she got a ride back home," he explained, as he took another right. I closed my eyes and let out a breath. Thank God. "Don't worry, I'm not that terrible." He chuckled.

I glanced down at my lap, chewing on my lip. "Sorry, I didn't mean to jump to conclusions like that."

"You don't have to apologize. I'm glad you did."

I looked up just in time to see him pulling into the Plaza. "You do?"

"Yeah," he said with a grin. "It shows that you actually care about my sister's well being. So, in a way, I should really be thanking you."

"Um . . . you're welcome?"

His mouth twitched and he wore what he thought was a winning smile. "Stay here." The engine soon cut off as he pulled the keys from the ignition. Before I could even question what he meant by that, he was already out the door, and jogging over to my side.

He opened the car door, and offered his hand. "Izzy."

I shook my head and fought back a smile. I said a quick, "thanks" and took the offered hand.

When we made it inside Woodway Lanes, a room full of kids and teenagers greeted us. The kids looked to be around ten as they ran around the arcade area, screaming and laughing. From the looks of it, they were celebrating someone's birthday by the amount of presents and balloons they had set up. While, the group of teenagers sat on the opposite side of the room—closest to the front entrance—with a table full of food and drinks.

"Why don't you go to lane two," he suggested the only lane still available, "and I'll grab our shoes for us."

"Shouldn't you ask me what my shoe size is first?"

"Oh." He laughed and scratched behind his neck—something I'd noticed he did a lot of when he's nervous. "I guess that would be pretty important wouldn't it?"

I laughed, raising a brow. "You think?"

"Right." Lowering his gaze, his cheeks dusted pink. "So, ah shoe size?"

"Five."

"You wear a size five?" he asked, eyeing my feet. "Isn't that a bit small?"

I rolled my eyes. Even though I should be offended, I wasn't. I rather have small feet than big feet. "Say what you want, but they're pretty normal."

He held his hands up and took a step back in surrender. "All right. They're normal," he said in-between laughs. "I'll be right back with our shoes."

I nodded as he turned to leave. When I headed down the flight of steps, I got a closer look at the group of teenagers. They sat, shoulder width apart, with their legs up on the table. When the guy in the middle looked up from his drink, the corners of his lips curved up. He leaned forward, and ran his tongue over his lips. I snorted when his eyes made their way down my body, and continued to stare at me like a sick creep.

"Hey there, cutie." His voice came out deep and scratchy, almost wheezing like. "What's your name?" I coughed, and smelt his breath when he strutted over and stood too close. Whatever he ate did not mix well.

"It's none of your freaking business."

"Oh, a feisty one." He smirked. I inched away when his arm grazed mine. "Come on babe, tell me your name. I won't bite." He chuckled, adding a "much" under his breath.

"Right. Now if you'll excuse me." I didn't even take a step forward, when I felt his hand closing around my wrist. I bit down on my lips, trying not to cry out when he started tightening his grip on me.

"Listen." I winced, shutting my eyes when he dug his nails deeper into my skin. "I was trying to be nice, so don't you dare fucking leave without my permission." His eyes grew dark with every word he spoke, his body now flushed against mine.

I drew my head backwards. "S-sorry." My breathing became erratic, deep, and shallow when I felt his arm sneaking their way up my back.

"Sorry isn't going to cut it," he said through clenched teeth, pushing my face closer towards him. "How about a little kiss instead?"

When I saw his tongue poking out, I gulped, trying to move as far away from him as possible. His smile widened when I started threshing my body around, clearly enjoying the fear he was causing me. I looked around, seeing no one. All his friends were gone.

My heart hammered inside my chest. No. The room started to spin and I closed my eyes, trying to make everything stop. I wanted to call out...call out for help...but I couldn't. It was like an invisible hand was squeezing my throat shut, preventing me from screaming for help.

I wanted to run. I wanted to get out of here, but I couldn't. His hands were still on me, paralyzing me.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

My eyes snapped open to see Thomas—his face was crimson, eyes menacing and blazing red. Nostrils flaring, he ripped my arm away from my attacker. I spun around and collided with his chest. He held me tight against his lean frame—so close I could feel his chest heaving up and down.

I blinked. Why was his presence alone doing this to me?

I looked down to see my hand clutching his shirt tightly. Why was my body reacting like this? Why was this any different? Why don't I feel the need to run away like I did with the other guy? What the hell is wrong with me?

"Fuck off. I saw her first." My body froze hearing his sick and twisted reply.

"I think you should back the fuck off," he exploded with unrestrained fury. "She's not a piece of meat you can have."

Something must've appeared on Thomas' face, because not even a second later, I heard the guy's footsteps. "Whatever, man. You can have her."

Once I knew the coast was clear, I lifted my head slowly, meeting Thomas' eyes. His eyes were narrowed, rigid, cold, and hard. I swallowed. Even when I was Isabella Ace his eyes never looked at me like that. It was filled with so much hatred—like he was ready to kill. It was honestly terrifying to see.

My hand tugged on his shirt. "T-thomas."

I watched as his eyes softened. "Sorry," he whispered and loosened his hold on me. He looked down and grasped my hand. His eyes lowered down, flashing with guilt when he saw the marks on my wrist. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

I nodded, and slipped my hand from his. I didn't like the fact that his touch felt nice on my skin, even though it should've been the opposite effect. "Thanks for um, saving me from that creep though."

His eyes dimmed slightly. "I'm sorry I didn't come fast enough. If I'd seen sooner, I would've—"

"Really, it's fine." Why was he apologizing so much anyways?

"You sure?" He still didn't look convinced.

"I'm sure." I forced a wide smile on my face. "Come on, let's just forget about this and bowl, all right?" The last thing I wanted to do was think about that.

He eventually agreed, and followed closely next to me—a little bit too close might I add. As we walked down the lanes, he eyed every corner, watching and listening.

A smile appeared on my face. I shook my head, catching myself. No, Isabella. Get a fucking grip. He doesn't care about you. He cares, because you're not fat anymore. That's it. Why else would he act like that?

"Here."

I looked up to see Thomas holding out my bowling shoes. The orange and black stripes that ran down the sides reminded me of Halloween. I shrugged and took them from him. Taking a seat at one of the booths, I bent down and exchanged my own pair of sneakers with the rentals. Once they were on, I jumped back up and saw Thomas with his shoes on too.

"So, how should we do this?" he asked, motioning his hand at the scoreboard.

My brows furrowed together. "What do you mean?"

"I mean should we play together, or separate?"

"Separate, duh." We clearly had to see who's better. "I'm so going to kick your butt!"

He threw his head back, laughing. "In your dreams, Little Beauty."

I rolled my eyes at that nickname. "We'll see when I beat your ass." I may not be able to beat my brother, but there's no way in hell I'm going to lose to him.

He let out a chuckle and moved aside, letting me go first.

After I inputted our names into the database, I grabbed the ball closest to me. When I saw the number ten on it, I smiled knowing it was the perfect weight for me. As I headed up to the lane, I made sure I was standing at the perfect angle, before I pulled back, and released the ball. When it rolled down the lane in a straight path, I grinned when the ball connected with the pins, knocking them down with one go.

"Strike!" I turned around to see Thomas with his mouth hung open.

"H-how did you?" He looked at the now empty lane and then back at me. "No freaking way. I thought you said you never beat your brother before?"

"That's because he gets strikes all the time." I may be good, but I wasn't nearly that good to beat John—yet.

"Cheater!" He pointed an accusing finger at me.

I drew in a breath, and let out an overly dramatic gasp. "What? Me? No!"

"I want a rematch."

I stared at him. "Thomas, you haven't even gone yet. How can we have a rematch if you haven't even lost yet?"

"Ugh." He ran his hands through his shaggy hair, and messed it up. "No problem. I just have to roll a strike as well."

"Yeah, good luck trying."

He smirked, but said nothing in return. Heading up to the lane, he grabbed the same ball I used. When he stood slightly off to the side, he threw the ball.

My eyes widened when I saw the ball making its way down the middle of the lane. I let out a string of curses when he also knocked down everything.

"Ha!" He strolled over to me with his chin held up, and his hands across his chest. "Told you, I'll get a strike."

"Whatever, I'll just have to keep getting strikes then." I grinned. It was finally time to wipe that smirk off his face, and show him who's boss.

Me.

"I can't believe I lost."

I grinned, satisfied with myself. After his first and only strike, it only went downhill for Thomas. He only knocked down an average of six to eight pins per round, while I got mostly spares.

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Told you, I'll win."

He dropped his gaze, picking up his bowling shoes. "Let's just go."

"What? Don't you want to play another round?"

"I wish we could," he said. The smile was quickly back on his face, "but I can't."

"Why not?" I was actually excited for another round. Beating Thomas was too much fun to pass up.

"I have to get Megan."

"Oh." Biting my lip, I gazed down on the floor. Should I? Maybe I shouldn't . . . it may be too soon, but I need to know. This could be my only chance to find out if I'm making any progress or not. If my memory serves me correctly, Thomas never ever invited anyone over to his house. That's why all of the parties were either at Jason's or Gabe's house, even if it was to congratulate Thomas and his winning touchdowns. Taking in a much needed breath, I looked at Thomas, who was looking quite clueless. "Um . . . would it be possible, if I um . . . come over too?"

He stood there, his mouth wide open in an expression of stunned silence. "Come again?"

"Can I come over to your house?" I repeated.

"Why?" he asked with a slight tilt to his head.

"Because I love kids." I knew it wasn't the real reason why I wanted to come over, but it wasn't exactly a lie either. I do love kids, and if Megan was anything like Lily, I'm sure I'll love her too. "Plus, I'd love to meet Megan," I added. "That is if you'll allow me."

He stared at me in silence, probably thinking it over. Finally, he nodded. "All right, but fair warning, compared to your mansion, my house looks like a pile of garbage."

"It can't be that bad." Even with his parent's gone, he still attends Woodway Prep. That has to mean something, right?

"Told you it was garbage compared to yours," he said, his voice soft. My heart dropped just hearing him say that.

"Nonsense." It clearly wasn't a mansion but it was far from garbage. Honestly if you looked past the paint peeling off the walls and the rusty floorboards, it was actually pretty nice—cozy almost. I could tell he tried making it as homey as possible with all the decorations he put up. "I like it."

"Thanks for not judging me," he said. He sounded like he was choking on his words.

"Don't thank me, thank my parents for raising me right."

He smiled and nodded. "Don't go anywhere, I just have to run next door and grab Megan really quickly."

"Sounds good."

With Thomas gone, I took a seat on the couch he had in his living room. Looking around, I realized everything had its place. Even as I reached for the TV remote on the coffee table, it was contained in its own little box off to the side.

Laying back down on the couch, I switched on the TV, and waited.

Thomas soon came back with Megan in his arms. She was the definition of cuteness with her rosy cheeks and baby face. With her looks, she could easily rival Lily's.

"Sorry, I guess she fell asleep waiting for me," he whispered. "I'm gonna bring her back to her room."

I nodded just as he turned to leave. When it was just me again, I glanced back at the TV, only to stop when I noticed the huge family portrait on the wall. Thomas was sitting on his dad's shoulder with a big toothy grin, while Megan was wrapped in a blanket in her mother's arms. Seeing his mom in person, I could tell where Megan got her looks from. She was the splitting image of her mother.

As I stared longer at their faces, their features started to become strangely familiar. Though, I wasn't sure why they did. I'm pretty sure I never saw them before...

"All right, Megan's sleeping peacefully now."

I got up and smiled. "You're a good big brother, you know that?"

"Thanks," he said, his cheeks pink. "And um . . . thanks again for not pitying me."

"What do you mean?"

He rolled his shoulders, and took the spot on the couch I was just sitting in. "The school already treats me differently because of my parents. I can't imagine what they'll do when they find out I'm poor as well."

"Wait. Am I the only person that actually knows about this?"

"You, Jason, and Gabe are the only ones."

"Really? Not even Rachel?"

He let out a roar of laughter. "Rachel will have a field day if she finds out the Reed's fortune died off with my parents."

"Did they seriously leave you with nothing?" If they were well off when they were alive, why didn't he inherit any of the money? They couldn't have spent it all, could they?

"They left some, but I won't be able to touch it until I graduate high school."

"Then how are you attending, Woodway?"

"I have a scholarship for football, but I need to maintain my grade point average in order to keep it."

I smiled, knowing exactly who arranged that. It was the principal. He probably heard Thomas' situation and decided to offer him a full scholarship. With all the donations the school received annually, affording that was a walk in the park.

"That's great. I'm glad—" My eyes widened when I saw the clock on the desk next to Thomas. It was almost five. Shit. "Oh God. I need to go."

The second I tried to run, I was jerked backwards. It was then that I realized I was trapped. I cranked my neck around and saw Thomas' hand gripping my wrist.

"Thomas, what—" I shut my mouth when I saw his eyes cast down in a mournful gaze.

He looked up, his eyes pleading. "Don't go."

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Shout out to starrox47 for being the first person to guess that Thomas was poor! Most of you guessed it too, but she was the first one, so good job :)

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