Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(109)

I glance up at her, and she’s still rigid, her mouth a firm line as she blinks and eventually looks down at her own drink. She pulls it to her lips, sipping slowly, and I can see there’s part of her that wants to bend, but I also see the shattered trust and hurt, too.

“I know I’m a broken record, but I swear Lindsey—this entire thing—it’s on me. And you were Emma’s only priority. All she wanted was for you to be happy,” I say.

“Then she should have told me the truth. The truth would have made me happy. Knowing my best friend trusted me enough to tell me everything…that’s what would have made me happy,” she says, her voice soft and distant.

“I get that. And I think if Emma could go back, she would. But she couldn’t decide then what would hurt you less. And I didn’t make it easy. I’m just asking for you to be open to the idea of forgiving her. She needs you, Linds. And I think maybe you miss her too,” I say.

Her eyes meet mine for a few seconds before she pulls her wrist up, checking the time again, and tugging her purse close to her body. She takes a large final sip of her drink, plunking it on the table in front of me and dusting the corners of her mouth with a napkin she quickly folds and stuffs inside the empty cup.

“Thanks for the coffee, Andrew,” she says, her mouth tight. “It’s been…well, I’d say it’s been real, but it never was…was it?”

“I’m sorry, Lindsey,” I shrug. She nods once, then slides a pair of sunglasses on her face, turning, leaving, and never looking back.

With my failed attempt with Lindsey behind me, I jog into campus, making sure to make an appearance at my classes for the day. I’ve marked the dates for tests on my calendar, and I never miss those, but it seems I’ve missed a quiz or two in calculus. I’m still getting an A, but it’s by the skin of my teeth, so I make a tentative promise to myself that I’ll show for the rest of my classes this semester. Scholarships are like gold for me, and I have to piece them together—B’s don’t really help the cause.

I check my phone obsessively, waiting to hear from Emma, and by the time I’m in my last class for the day, I break, sliding my phone into my lap so I can send her a message. I glance at the photo I sent her first, and the purple around her eye sends a shock through my core, and my fists form on instinct.

I look up, checking the status of where we’re at in my Neighborhood and Urban Poverty class, my last undergrad sociology credit, and a class I took in high school. Turns out they make you take a lot of shit again when you check out of honors college to do a stint in juvie.

Feeling confident that I know where the lesson is, I lean one arm over the small desktop in front of me to make it look like I’m listening, then glance down to type my text.

How are you today?

A few minutes pass, torturous seconds that feel like an hour before she writes back.

I’m good. I just bought my ticket for this hockey game tonight. Don’t tell anyone, but I know one of the players.

I grin like a fool over the fact that Emma’s coming to watch me, but then I think about the long walk she has from the rink back to my apartment—alone—and in a millisecond I’ve zipped up my bag and sprinted from the back door of the lecture hall.

It takes me about five minutes to catch up to where she is, and I see her standing at the stoplight on the busy corner, looking at her phone, waiting for me to write back.

You shouldn’t text and walk that close to the road. You could get hit by a car.

I cross my arms and wait for her to read, and she immediately starts looking for me, her eyes finally finding me and her smile lighting up my world. She takes a few steps away from the curb then types me one more note.

Stalker.

I grin again and write back.

That’s not what you called me last night.

I can see her blush from here. Rather than tease her any longer, I push my phone in my back pocket and jog over to where she’s waiting, not giving her time to say another word as I pull her into me and kiss her so hard that it feels like I’m branding her with my affection.

“Wow,” she says, stumbling back on her feet. “Do all ticketholders get one of those?”

I shrug and nod yes. “Trent makes out with the old ladies. I get the hot ones,” I smile. She giggles before punching me lightly in the gut.

“You better not be giving those kisses out for free,” she says.

“Not anymore, Em. Not anymore,” I say, no laughter now.

I sling my arm around her shoulder and pull her into me tightly as we step into the intersection. We make idle chat at first, me asking her about her day, her mine. But I can tell there’s something bigger on her mind, and part of me is worried it’s me.

“Hey,” I say, stopping our walk so she can face me as I lightly run my thumb over her chin. “What’s buggin’ you?”

She looks down, a faint laugh through a frown, then shrugs as she looks back up at me.

“Lindsey wasn’t in class today. I know you said it would just take time, but I was kind of hoping I’d at least see her, ya know?” Her mouth twists into disappointment. I wish I had good news for her, a curtain I could pull back and her life would be perfect on the other side, just waiting for her to step right through. But I don’t, and I hate that I can’t cure her anxiety.

“She’ll come back. I know it,” I say, squeezing her close so I can kiss her head. It’s not a lie. I saw it in Lindsey’s eyes, and if I have to keep stalking her just to remind her of what she’s missing, I will.