Wrecking Ball (manxboy)

Chapter 2

Okay, I have a confession to make. When I saw that this story got 23 votes, my first reaction was 'woah....' my second 'OMG NO, STRESS' but really, thank you so much for all that commented, voted, read or added this to their library. It really means a lot to me. I'm so sorry but I'm still horrible at using wattpad, so I haven't managed to thank you all personally for the votes and everything.

Oh yeah, I know its evil of me, but I'll only be updating one chapter every two weeks, so I'm sorry if there's anyone who wants fast updates. ><

And the truth is, romance wouldn't be the only main point of this story and being an amateur writer here, it would be much appreciated if you would drop a comment after reading!

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Jerron opened his mouth and was about to speak – a statement or a question, he didn’t know – when the door of the nightclub opened once more. The group he had seen dancing just moments before exited the club, laughing loudly.

At their voices, the strange boy suddenly stopped struggling and gripped his arm. Wincing, Jerron looked back down at him to see him trying to hide behind him.

“Hey, where’s the kid from before?”

“Must have run off.” A laugh. “Why would he hang out here after earlier?”

The grip tightened and the boy shivered. From the cold or fear, Jerron didn’t know.

“How can he run off when he’s probably sore as hell?”

Jerron stilled, staring at the boy whose hand was still firm in his grasp. Teenagers these days are just... He clicked his tongue distastefully. Making sure the group didn’t hear him, he then spoke, “hey, can you walk?”

The boy glanced up helplessly at him, eyes wide with fear and shock. He gave a rigid shake in reply, unsure of what Jerron meant.

With a sigh, the older man leaned down, placing a hand behind his knees and another on his back before lifting him bridal style. He could feel the boy freeze with shock before small hands gripped the front of his shirt to support himself.

Making sure he balanced the small frame well enough, Jerron started walking out of the alleyway, towards the group. The boy turned his head into the shirt, heart pounding and body tense. A few teenagers turned their heads at Jerron’s approach and widened their eyes at the small frame he carried. Nudging each other, the noisy group suddenly fell silent and stared at the two. Jerron nodded his head politely at them as he passed them.

“Wait…” A blonde-haired teenager spoke, a hand stretching out.

Jerron stopped and lifted an eyebrow, ignoring the painful grip the boy had on his shirt. “Yes?”

The teenager met the older man’s mildly curious gaze, at the expensive suit he wore and then at the dirty brown-clothed boy he carried. “Ah… no…”

Jerron nodded his head once more before picking up his steps and walked out of the alleyway under the shocked stares of the group. He could faintly hear the murmurs erupting from the group as he walked.

When they are finally out of the alleyway and into the city, the grip the boy had on his shirt loosened. “Thank you,” he said shortly, almost begrudgingly.

Jerron looked down in surprise. “Is this the right way to treat someone who just saved you?”

The boy turned his head away. “I didn’t ask you to.”