Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(79)
It’s hard to hold on to that promise to myself though when he’s right here. I don’t know what the scent is that he wears, but it’s hypnotic, and it messes with my good sense. I’m convinced that’s what makes me weak. It can’t be my heart—I can’t defeat it if that’s the case.
“Okay, contestants, time to strap yourself to your partners,” the guy orders through the microphone. Andrew chuckles from somewhere deep in his chest. I glance up and see Lindsey watching us from the other side of the main mall. She’s waving and smiling.
Andrew bends down, his hand running down my jeans along my calf as he wraps the Velcro strap around both of our legs. The heat from his body rushes through me instantly followed by more of his scent, and I feel my stomach drop in a free fall. I shut my eyes and breathe out slowly, just trying to survive this, to make the right decision.
“Please…please stop,” I breathe, my eyes closing as I slump back into my chair.
His hands freeze against me as his head falls forward.
“I haven’t slept with her,” he says, his hands moving again to fasten our strap. He remains leaning forward when he’s done, not ready to look me in the eye. That’s probably for the best because my eyes are wide—I was so sure they’d been intimate. Those thoughts, they’re the ones that tortured me. To find out that they haven’t been as intimate as I’d imagined…
“You have to know, Emma. If I’d only known you were in the dark…if you’d only known where I was. Things…they would have gone so differently. I won’t even say could have, because damn Emma…I know they would have. I’m going to talk to Lindsey. I’ll tell her everything. Just don’t go to that dinner. Please.”
His voice is broken. His spirit…broken. The sound of him is desperate, and I can’t say it isn’t anything different from the feelings within my own heart. But my best friend is staring at me, the smile on her face enormous. And it isn’t even the fact that she thinks Andrew is her one, or that she has deep feelings for him. It’s that she trusts this story we’ve given her, and if she finds out I was part of the lie, she will never smile at me like that again. And that smile—it’s the one that kept my heart beating after I buried my mom.
“If you tell Lindsey the truth, I will never forgive you,” I say, my chest burning as the words leave my mouth. How can the heart want two things that are so very far apart?
“Let’s go, racers,” the announcer calls.
Everyone stands but Andrew and me. I feel his stare burning the side of my face, but I keep my eyes fixed on my friend. I smile at her and raise my hand slowly, my fingers curling. She can’t know anything is wrong.
“You have no idea how important she’s been to me, Andrew. Do not betray me,” I say, feeling his breath shudder from his body. His head slings forward and his hand comes to cup the back of his neck as he nods slowly. My lips hang open, the words right there, waiting to come out. I want to tell him never mind. I want to tell him it will be okay and Lindsey will understand. I want to tell him I’m wrong, that he wouldn’t be betraying me at all. But I can’t. Our time was a few short weeks when we were sixteen. That time—it’s gone. And I have to let him go. He needs to let go too.
“Come on, let’s go win a goddamned gift card,” he says, placing his arm around my shoulder as we stand, our bodies tethered together, his fingers gentle along my shoulder.
We walk in sync to the starting line, and before the man blows the whistle to begin, Andrew’s fingers curl just enough to scratch against the fabric of my sweatshirt until his hand clutches the material into his fist before finally letting go.
He let go.
And I’ve never hurt more.
Chapter 15
Emma, Age 19
The truth is I was waiting for the phone call. I’d been waiting for nearly three years. From the moment both of my parents sat me down and told me Mom had pancreatic cancer, I’d been waiting for this call.
She hadn’t been well for months. Her body just couldn’t fight anymore. The rounds of chemo, the trials, the naturopathy—the prayers; eventually, cancer wins. All we can ask for is comfort and time.
My mother got three years. I should take comfort in that. My father should, too. And maybe one day we will. But for now, I want to be angry with the world.
“Em? You have to eat something,” Lindsey says from the other side of my bedroom door. I’ve lived with her for a year. I’ve known her for only a little more. The way she’s held me up since my dad called three weeks ago with the news that my mother died feels like more years should have been shared between us. She never signed up for this, and I’ve kept most of it to myself. Until…until the phone call that opened up my heart, split my body in two and took away that feeling of safety that comes along with knowing both of your parents are alive and well.
“I did,” I lie, my throat sore and dry. I can’t cry any more—but my mouth hangs open, wanting to. I want to all of the time.
“Em, I have been out there on that sofa all day. I’m binge-watching hot superhero movies. I’m on my fourth one, and you haven’t left this room. I would have known. I’m four feet away from the refrigerator. I would have seen you eat,” she says.