Calmly, Carefully, Completely(32)

“I think Reagan did enough damage,” Dad warns. “Stop torturing the boy.” He glares at me, too. I want to hide my face in shame.

Suddenly, I notice the way that Pete is holding his left wrist in his hand. My gaze shoots up to meet his, and I don’t see anything but curiosity. He should be fuming mad. He has every right to be. “Is your arm hurt?” I ask quietly.

The corners of Pete’s lips tilt in a small smile. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Dad gripes. “It might be broken.”

“Oh shit,” I breathe.

“Reagan,” Mom warns.

“Oh shit,” Link parrots.

Shit again. Now Link’s repeating me.

“Oh shit,” Link says again.

I bury my face in my hands. My parents are going to kill me when they get me alone.

“Reagan, I want you to take the truck into town and take Pete to Urgent Care,” Dad says.

I lift my head. He can’t be serious.

“Oh shit,” Link chimes in. Mom grits her teeth.

Dad motions for me to get up and tosses the keys to his truck at my head so that I have to catch them. “Dad,” I complain.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t particularly want to be in an enclosed space with you any more than you want to be in one with me,” Pete says. He gingerly touches his eye, his face scrunching up.

I deserve that. I really do. I heave a sigh. “Let’s go.”

Pete follows me to Dad’s truck, and then he opens the driver’s-side door for me to climb in. “Thanks,” I grumble. He goes around the truck and gets in the passenger side. “Are you sure you’re injured?”

“My heart’s broken,” he says.

My head jerks up. “What?”

His voice drops down low. “It absolutely kills me that you think I would try to hurt you.” He turns to face me directly. “I remember the way you looked that night. I would never, ever do anything to hurt you like that.”

I start the truck. It’s easier to avoid this conversation if I have something to occupy my hands and a reason not to look at him.

“Never mind.” Pete grunts, turning away from me. He faces the window and lays his temple against it. He cradles his wrist in his hand and doesn’t even look my way.





Pete



I don’t know what to say to her. I have no idea how to address this. I know my wrist hurts, but I also know it’s not broken. Her dad was insistent that she take me to Urgent Care, so I let him send us off. She’s been sitting there in the driver’s seat as we go down the road saying nothing for about ten minutes. Every now and then, she opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, and then she slams it shut.

Suddenly, she jerks the truck to the right, sliding into a turn-out spot and then slams on the breaks. I brace myself with my hands and instantly regret it when pain steals up my wrist. “Shit,” I mutter.

She heaves a sigh and drops her face into her hands. After a moment, she looks up, her green eyes meeting mine. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

That hurt like a mother f*cker, and I’m irritated enough to want her to suffer for a minute. “For which part?” I gripe. I pull my wrist closer to my body and cradle it.

“All of it,” she says. She takes a deep breath and tears well up in her eyes. She blinks them back furiously. All of my anger melts at the sight of her tears.

“I’m fine,” I grumble. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Okay, that was crass and a little demeaning, but I’m still a little sore.