The Inmate (28)

When we get into Shane’s bedroom and he closes the door behind us, my anxiety ramps up another notch. His bedroom is a typical teenage guy's bedroom. He’s got a twin-sized bed with a splintered wooden bed frame, and a striped black and white blanket is strewn across the mattress with no attempt made to make the bed. There’s a pile of dirty clothing pushed into one corner of the room, which I suspect was his attempt to “clean” for me. A couple of posters of bands are tacked up on the peeling paint of his walls, and the top of his dresser is lined with a bunch of gold trophies that briefly glow when lightning fills the room.

Shane reaches out to turn on the light, but a second later, the bulb flickers and goes out. He swears under his breath. “Power must’ve gone out.”

“Oh.” I squeeze my sweaty palms together. I’ve been alone with Shane before in his bedroom, but it was always with his mother in the next room or about to come home any minute. We’ve never been alone quite this way before. “Should we…?”

“It’s fine.” I can just barely make out the rise and fall of Shane’s broad shoulders. “Everyone is going to bed, anyway. The power will probably come back in the morning.”

“Yeah.” I tug at the chain of my snowflake necklace. “That’s true.”

Shane reaches out for my hand again. He pulls me over to his bed, but he doesn’t push me to lie down. I perch on the edge of the bed and he sits beside me. He reaches out and gently runs his finger along the curve of my jaw.

“I lope you, Brooke,” he says.

I shiver slightly, nervous but also incredibly turned on. “I lope you too.”

A smile plays on his lips. “Good.”

“I, uh…” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, Shane. I’m just super nervous because… well, you know, I’ve never…”

“Yeah,” he says. “Me either.”

I look at him in absolute astonishment. Is he really telling me that he…?

“You’ve never had sex before?” I blurt out.

“No…” He frowns. “I haven’t.”

“But you…” I am utterly confused. Shane has dated other girls before. Maybe he hasn’t been with anyone for very long, but he’s gone out with a lot of girls who aren’t exactly picky, if you know what I mean. And Shane is hot. His best friend Brandon—according to Chelsea—has slept with at least five or six girls in the time the two of them were dating.

“I don’t know.” His face is suddenly filled with uncertainty. “I didn’t want some stupid one-night stand. I want to be with someone I actually like. Is that so crazy?”

“No.” I squeeze his knee. I’m still nervous, but I feel a lot better after his confession. This is scary, but we’re going to figure it out together. “Not crazy at all.”

He squeezes my hand in his. “I love you, Brooke.”

It takes me a moment to realize what he’s said. He hasn’t told me he “lopes” me like he usually does. He said he loves me. He loves me.

“I love you too,” I breathe.

He leans in toward me. “And I’m going to show you how much.”

And he does.





Chapter 18


PRESENT DAY




Before I leave for the day, I check on Shane in the infirmary.

The infirmary is relatively empty today. There were two patients there as of this morning, but they were both well enough to go back to their cells by the afternoon, so right now, Shane is the only occupant of one of the six beds. The other hospital beds lined up against the wall all sit empty.

There’s a nurse who comes in the evening, but she hasn’t shown up for her shift yet, so the only person around is a guard I vaguely recognize, who sits outside the door, reading a thick paperback novel. The guard nods at me when I walk inside but then goes right back to his book. I look at the title—Moby Dick.

The lights are lowered in the infirmary, and since the sun has gone down, the room is dim. From the doorway, I can just barely make out Shane lying on the second bed from the end of the row. When I get closer, I can see all the features of his handsome face—in the dim light, he looks so damn much like the old Shane. The guy I fell in love with all those years ago.

His eyes are closed, and for a moment, a flutter of fear goes through my chest. I haven’t checked on him for over two hours—what if he has a hematoma growing in his brain and lost consciousness while he’s been lying here? He seemed neurologically stable when I left him, but a lot can happen in two hours. And since I was the last practitioner who saw him, it would all be on my shoulders. After all, it was my decision to watch him instead of sending him out for a scan of his head. If he died, it would be on me.

I take quick strides over to his bed. He doesn’t stir when I’m standing over him. “Shane,” I say.

Did his eyelids flutter? I can’t tell. Oh God, please let him just be sleeping and not unconscious.

“Shane,” I say again, and this time I shake his shoulder.

My knees almost buckle with relief when his eyelids crack open. He’s okay. “Oh,” he says. “Hey, Brooke.”

He’s awake and he recognizes me. “Hey,” I say. “I… I was afraid you were unconscious or something.”