Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(97)

When I glance inside, I see Andrew’s back to me; he’s sitting on a long lunch-table bench with about a dozen six and seven-year-old girls gathered around him—all of them coloring. His hair is messy, tousled in varied directions, and he’s wearing his black, long-sleeved shirt with gray jeans, the laces from his Converse shoes dangling off to the sides, waiting to trip him.

He looks like an innocent little boy in a man’s body as his arm shakes from side to side with his coloring, his head leaning and his other hand twisting the paper in a slow circle so he can fill up something with the bright blue in his hand.

There’s a tiny girl sitting next to him, her legs folded up as she sits sideways and watches him color. “Use pink next,” she says, her voice high and precious. Her ponytails flop next to her face as she turns her head toward me and grins. She’s missing two of her teeth on the top, but she’s smiling like a supermodel. I hold a hand up and bunch my fingers in a wave. She waves back, then taps Andrew on the shoulder, scooting up on her heels to reach his ear. When she’s done whispering, Andrew flips his body around quickly, his eyes wide on me.

“Sorry…Trent…he told me you were here,” I say. His shocked look fades into a happy one, and he holds his crayon out for the young girl next to him to take.

“Kaitlyn, you mind finishing?” he asks. She pouts at first, but he brings both of his hands together in a begging motion and she finally sighs and begins coloring.

It takes him a few seconds to untangle his long legs from the bench that’s clearly too small for him, then he looks over at the group of coloring girls until he reaches me.

“Just like you to have all the girls hovering around you,” I tease.

He laughs, looking down and pushing his hands in his pockets, twisting one foot nervously as he nods in agreement, his eyes finally meeting mine. He squints the left one closed slightly, his right lip curling up—he’s adorable. He’s always been adorable.

“The boys all sleep in, so I don’t get to play the boy things until the bell almost rings. They’re lazy, I guess. The girls all get here right when I open up,” he shrugs.

“I don’t think they’re lazy,” I smile. “I think the girls just really like you.”

He sucks in his bottom lip and nods to one side.

“Maybe,” he grins. His gaze shifts from my eyes to the bruise on my right cheek, and I bring my hand up, sweeping hair back in the way to hide it. Andrew reaches to me slowly though, pausing to make sure it’s okay that he approaches me. He’s being cautious. He moves my hair back out of the way when I nod that it’s okay, then leans his head to the side to look at my face, running the backs of his knuckles down my cheek slowly. It burns along my tender skin.

“It’s not a very deep bruise,” he says, tracing the skin one more time with his thumb. “I think it will start to fade quickly. It already looks better than it did.”

His eyes come back to mine, and I notice the deep cut and stitches on his chin. This time it’s my turn to assess the damage, and I run my finger along the rough edge of the threading then flit my eyes to his.

“You have another fight?” I ask, my gut twisting at the memory of what Graham said, that he plans on fighting Andrew. I wonder if that’s true.

Andrew’s brow lowers and he purses his lips.

“What?” I ask, worried that he may have done something else, that he might have hunted down Graham early this morning.

“Lindsey…” he starts, and I pinch my brow. “I…I told her the truth. And maybe I wasn’t quite as…sensitive in my delivery as I should be?”

His face is bunched, not even hiding his shame, and my stomach sinks a little.

“So you did…tell her,” I say. He said he would, and I had a feeling he would follow through. But that means Lindsey is probably angry with me.

“It’s going to be okay, Emma. I promise,” he says, cupping the side of my face with one hand. I stand there stiff, and I can see the hurt in his eyes as his hand slides away. “I told her it was all my fault, and I swear to god, I will make it right between you two.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll…I’ll talk to her,” I say, looking down.

“Yeah...maybe not quite yet though?” he says, and when I look up, he’s squinting one eye again. I exhale a deep breath and let my shoulders slump. “She wants you to move out.”

I can’t help the whimper that escapes me, and I bring my hands to cover my mouth. I stare at him, waiting for the part where he says he’s kidding. But all I see is sympathy. He wears it well, and at least I have that—Andrew looking at me like he cares. Like he’s deeply affected by my unhappiness.

“Emma…I’m sorry,” Andrew says, shaking his head. He reaches for me, but pulls back again, instead putting his hands in his pockets. I hate that he’s still so unsure with me. His touch—it would be so healing right now. But I understand his caution—it’s out of respect. He’s worried about what I’ve been through. “I’ll fix this,” he says, looking down at his feet. He repeats it again, this time more for himself.

I stare down along with him, not sure what to do now. I look at my hands, the way his shirt falls over my palms, and as upset as I am that I’ve lost Lindsey, my heart lurches that I have Andrew.