Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(35)

Here he sacrificed so much, and I’m giving him cookies.

He holds the tip of his tongue between his teeth as his mouth slides into that familiar smile, the one I was so smitten with as a teenager. It dimples his cheeks exactly as it always did, but those cheeks are now covered in stubble, and maybe a small scar on the right side. I bet there’s a story that goes along with it. I bet there are a lot of scars and stories we both have to share.

“I love cookies,” he says finally, his lips closing into a tight smile. His amber eyes burn through me, into me, and for that brief second, it’s like I can see his him. “I bet I’ll really love your cookies, Emma,” he smirks, his eyes haze, and I notice a difference in his tone and demeanor. He gives me a look that is meant just for me, and he slips it in right when Lindsey isn’t watching.

Andrew Harper has no intention of sharing secrets with me ever again.

I swallow hard enough that I fear the couple sitting at the next table can hear it. I’m showing my nerves, and it makes Andrew chuckle a little. He sets the cookie tin down on the table, then steps closer to Lindsey, tucking her hair behind one ear and kissing her lightly on the cheek.

I hate it.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I just saw your text,” he says, giving her all of his attention, along with the gentle smile that still shows up in my memories. He pulls his knitted hat from his head, sliding his other hand through his hair. It’s longer, but the same. He’s still wearing black gauges, but even those somehow look older—harder. “We weren’t supposed to practice today, but this weekend is gonna be tough, so we worked out this afternoon. Set me behind a little, but I thought I’d still be on time.”

“Oh, it’s okay. Emma came to keep me company,” she says, turning the attention back to me. I can’t look at either of them. I don’t know why he’s pretending we don’t know each other, yet I’m oddly grateful for it.

“Oh…uhm…yeah,” I smile and chew at the inside of my mouth, my face heating up and my legs starting to feel weak. I put my hand flat on the tabletop, knowing it won’t do much to keep me from passing out, but maybe it will at least stabilize me long enough for the feeling to pass.

“She was afraid you were going to stand me up,” Lindsey blushes.

Andrew chuckles, and I look at my fingers, how they’re touching the tabletop, my knuckles turning white. His voice—it’s deeper.

“Oh, I always show up when I make a promise to someone. It’s kind of a thing with me,” he says. That statement—that was for me, and when I glance at him quickly, I feel the burn of it.

“Well, I’ll let you two have your night. I’ve got a couch waiting for me,” I say, pulling my purse close around my body and tucking the soiled ends of my sleeve into my hand.

“Thanks, Em,” Lindsey calls out as I leave. I wave to the side without turning, but I know they’re both watching me leave.

I focus my attention on my feet, my steps, and the stains on my shirt all the way back up to our apartment, and when I get through the door, I rush to the bathroom and throw up.

I slide down to the floor with my back against the wall and tug the towel from the shower bar into my lap, shaking it out to cover my body so I can curl up into the corner. The tears come from a place I never thought I’d see again. All these years, I’ve always thought of Andrew, but not since those first few months did I cry for him.

I’m not even sure why I’m crying, but every time I convince myself to stop, my breath catches and my lip quivers and I can’t hold it together.

He was gone.

Gone!

And now he’s here.

After an hour, I manage to calm myself enough to move into my room, to my bed, where I pull my covers up to my chin so I can throw my ruined shirt on the floor. When I squeeze my eyes shut, Andrew is all I see. Sometimes, it’s the young version, the innocent one. Other times, it’s tonight—the smile, the hard line, his eyes.

My entire body is throbbing with the beat of my heart, and my chest hurts so much I start to count along with every thump.

“Emmmmm? Are you in your room?” Lindsey calls from the doorway. All I can do is leave my arm over my face, blocking my view of anything, while I lie here in bed and pray she’s come home alone.

Please have hated him. Please, god. Please, please, please.

“There you are,” she says, opening my door completely, but thankfully leaving my light off. “Are you sick?”

“Migraine,” I answer. My head hurts like it does when I get them, but this…it’s way worse than a migraine. My migraines go away eventually. I fear this is just beginning.

“Oh, damn. You haven’t had one of those for a long time. I’m sorry, Em. You need me to get you anything?”

Lindsey is the kindest, sweetest girl I’ve ever known. She’s a true friend, and I’m so lucky that I found her. She’s been my rock through pre-med, through mountains of academic stress, through life’s growing pains—through my mother’s death. And all I can think of is how much I resent her for spending the night getting to know him.

“No, I’m okay. Just a little tired. It hit me as soon as I got home,” I say, my voice breaking with a cry. I clear my throat to mask it.

“Here, let me get you a washcloth at least,” she says, stepping out of my room and into our bathroom. I breathe heavy, trying to clear out everything else while she’s gone, and I manage to smile at her when she steps back into my room.