All the Little Lights(34)

“What?”

“Speaking in questions. The way your tone goes up. It’s weird.”

“Since when did you stop liking weird?”

“Since my life became its definition.”

“You want me to watch my tone?” He nodded once. “Done.”

Elliott looked like he’d spent his time away living in a gym. His neck was thick, his jaw square, and the curves of his shoulders and arms defined and solid. He moved with more confidence, gazed into my eyes for too long, and smiled with the kind of charm that came with arrogance. I liked him the way he was before: gangly and awkward, soft-spoken and quietly defiant. He was humble then. Now I was looking at a boy who knew he was attractive and certain that single trait would earn him forgiveness.

My smile faded, and I faced forward. “We’re different now, Elliott. I don’t need you anymore.”

He looked down, frowning but not yet defeated. “Looks like you don’t need anyone. I noticed Minka and Owen walk by, and you didn’t even look at them.”

“So?”

“Catherine . . . I left all my friends, my football team, my mom . . . I came back.”

“I noticed.”

“For you.”

“Stop it.”

He sighed. “You can’t stay mad at me forever.”

I stood, tossing the drink at him. He caught it against his chest, but the lid popped off, and red liquid splashed his white shirt and face.

I spat out an involuntary laugh. Elliott’s eyes were closed, his mouth open, but after the initial shock, he grinned. “Okay. I deserved that.”

It wasn’t funny anymore. “You deserve a soda in the face? My dad died, Elliott. They carried out his body on a gurney while I watched, in front of the whole neighborhood. My mom mentally checked out. You were supposed to be my friend, and you just . . . left me standing there.”

“I didn’t want to.”

Tears burned my eyes. “You’re a coward.”

He stood, a head and a half taller than me. I knew he was staring at the top of my head, but I wouldn’t look at him.

“My mom came to get me. I tried to explain. She saw the ambulance and police car and freaked out. She forced me to go with her. I was fifteen at the time, Catherine, c’mon.”

I craned my neck, narrowing my eyes at him. “And since then?”

“I wanted to call, but you don’t have a phone, and then mine got taken away. I was angry about the way they made me leave. I snuck a couple of phone calls to my aunt to check on you, but she refused to go to your house. She said things had changed, that your mom wouldn’t speak to her anyway. I was caught halfway to Oak Creek a week after I got my car, and my dad put a forty-five-mile-per-hour governor on it. I tried to drive here anyway, and they took my car away. I tried talking all my friends into driving me here. I tried everything to get back to you, Catherine, I swear to God.”

“That means nothing to me. There is no god,” I grumbled.

He touched his finger to my chin and gently lifted it until my gaze met his. “The second my parents told me they were getting a divorce, I asked to come live with my aunt until it was settled. I told them I didn’t want to spend my senior year in the middle of their war, but we all knew the real reason. I needed to get back to you.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why were they so hell-bent on keeping you away from me?”

“The day I left, Aunt Leigh called my mom. It came up that we were spending a lot of time together. My mom had a hard time here. She hates Oak Creek, and she didn’t want me to have a reason to stay. She was hoping I’d forget about you.”

“But you’re here. I guess she gave up?”

“She doesn’t care about anything anymore, Catherine. Not even herself.”

I felt my resolve wavering, and I pressed my cheek against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, heat radiating through his thin gray T-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to leave you here like that. I didn’t want to leave you at all.” When I didn’t respond, he tried to guide me toward the door. “Let’s go inside.”

I pushed away from him, shaking my head. “You can’t.”

“Go in? Why?”

“You have to leave.”

“Catherine . . .”

I closed my eyes. “Just because I was angry at the way you left me doesn’t mean I’ve missed you. I haven’t. At all.”

“Why not? Because of the dozens of friends you have hanging around?”

I glared up at him. “Leave me alone.”

“Look around. You’re already alone.”

Elliott turned on his heel, shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts, and walked down the steps and through the gate to the street. He didn’t turn right toward his aunt’s. I wasn’t sure where he was going, and I tried not to care.

My eyes filled with tears, and I sat on the swing, once again pushing back and listening to the chains squeak against the hook from where they hung.

The swing sank lower, and I involuntarily leaned against Althea, who’d sat down next to me. I hadn’t even heard her come outside.

“You done run that poor boy off.”

“Good.”