A Thousand Boy Kisses(32)

Rune’s love. His touch and his kisses.

But this wasn’t our reality. Someone banged at the laundry room door, and reality came crashing back, like a storm-whipped wave dropping on to a rain-lashed beach.

“Rune? Are you in there?” a female voice called, a voice I recognized as Avery’s.

Rune’s eyes flew open as Avery’s knocking grew louder. He immediately drew back, watching me. Lifting my hand, I wiped at my tears. “Please … just let me go.”

I tried to sound confident. I wanted to say more. But I had nothing left within me. No strength to keep up this pretense.

I was hurt.

It was written on my face for all to see.

Placing my hand on Rune’s hard chest, I pushed him away, needing to get out. He let me move him from my path, only to grip my hand in his just before I reached the door. I closed my eyes, trying to gather the strength to turn to him again. When I did, more tears fell.

Rune was staring at our joined hands, his long dark-blond lashes almost black with restrained tears.

“Rune,” I whispered. His eyes snapped up at the sound of my voice. “Please,” I begged, as Avery knocked again.

He held on tighter.

“Rune?” Avery called, louder. “I know you’re in there.”

I took a step closer to Rune. He watched my every move with a deep intensity. As I reached his chest, I looked up, allowing his hand to keep its hold on mine. I met his eyes, recognizing the confusion on his face, and lifted up onto my tiptoes.

I brought my free hand to his mouth and ran the pads of my fingers over his full bottom lip. I smiled with sadness, remembering how they felt pressed against mine. I traced his defined cupid’s bow, letting the tears fall as I said, “It killed me when I cut you off, Rune. It killed me not knowing what you were doing on the other side of the Atlantic.” I inhaled shakily. “But nothing has ever hurt me like seeing you kiss that girl.”

Rune paled, his cheeks becoming ashen. I shook my head. “I have no right to be jealous. This is all my fault. Everything, I know that. Yet I’m so jealous, so hurt, that I feel like I could die from this pain.” I lowered my hand from his mouth. Looking up at him, begging with my eyes, I added, “So, please … please let me go. I can’t be here, not right now.”

Rune didn’t move. I could see the shock on his face. Using this to my advantage, I pulled my hand from his and immediately unlocked the door. Without looking back or taking time to pause, I burst through, pushing past Avery who was waiting, angrily, in the hallway.

And I ran. I ran past Ruby and Jorie, past Deacon and Judson, who had all gathered in the hallway to watch the unfolding drama. I ran through the many students drunk on their feet. I ran until I burst out the door into the cool night air. And then I ran again. I simply ran as fast as I could, as far away from Rune as I could manage.

“Rune!” I heard a high-pitched voice shrill in the distance, followed by a male voice, which added, “Where’re you going, man? Rune!” But I didn’t let it deter me. Taking a sharp right, I saw the entrance to the park. It was dark, and the park wasn’t well-lit, but it was the shortcut home.

Right now I’d give anything to be home.

The gate was open. I let my feet lead the way over the dark tree-lined path, carrying me deeper into the center of the park.

My breathing was labored. My feet hurt as the soles pounded the hard asphalt through my ballet flats. I turned left, heading for the blossom grove, when I heard footsteps behind me.

Suddenly frightened, I turned my head. Rune was sprinting after me. My heart raced faster, but this time it had nothing to do with exertion, and everything to do with that look of determination on Rune’s face. Rapidly, Rune was gaining on me.

I ran for a few more yards, then I realized it was no use. As I entered the blossom grove, a place I knew so well—a place he knew so well—I slowed to a walk, finally bringing myself to a complete stop.

A moment later, I heard Rune enter the grove of empty trees. I heard his hard breath hammering the cool air.

I felt him move behind me.

Slowly, I spun on my heel and faced Rune. Both hands were in his hair, gripping the strands. His blue eyes were haunted, tortured. The air around us crackled with tension as we stared at one another, in silence, chests heaving, cheeks flushed.

Then Rune’s gaze dropped to my lips and he inched forward. He took two steps and bit out a single, harsh question: “Why?”

He ground his teeth together as he waited for my answer. I dropped my gaze, tears filling my eyes. I shook my head, and begged, “Please … don’t…”

Rune ran his hand down his face. That stubborn expression I knew so well spread across his features. “No! God, Poppy. Why? Why did you do it?”

I was momentarily distracted by the thickness of his accent, a raspier husk in his already low, graveled voice. As a child, over the years here his Norwegian accent had diminished some. But now, his English was overlain by a heavy Nordic edge. It reminded me of the day we met outside his house, aged five.

But as I saw his face redden with anger, I was quickly reminded that right now that didn’t matter. We weren’t five anymore. Nothing was innocent. Too much had happened.

And I still couldn’t tell him.

“Poppy,” he insisted, his voice rising in volume, as he stepped even closer. “Why the hell did you do it? Why did you never call me back? Why did you all move? Where the hell have you been? What the hell happened?”