Filthy Foreign Exchange(49)

“Of course,” Kingston agrees. “I assure you, sir, there was no brawl of any sort.”

“Mm-hmm.” My dad hums his doubt, but lets it go.

The rest of dinner continues in an uncomfortable silence, aside from a few funny comments from Sammy. And by the time I rise to help my mother clear the table, I still haven’t met Kingston’s eyes once.

~~~~~

The next few weeks go by without any incident worth attention—in fact, if it weren’t for Sebastian’s absence, I’d think things were completely back to normal. I fall back into my usual routine of school, homework, and practice, occasionally trading short pleasantries with the foreign exchange student who now…feels foreign.

He must be making plenty of new friends and finding things to do, though, because he’s never home until minutes before dinner during the week, or curfew on the weekends. He carries out the few chores my father assigns him, and thanks my mother for every meal. I’ve even seen him emerge from the pavilion with Sammy a few times. But other than that, one can almost convince themselves he’s not even here.

And yet, on the rare occasion our gazes have locked and lingered a little too long to belong to the strangers we’re acting like, I think I see the same dazed confusion in his eyes that I feel. That odd, almost-instant comfort and familiarity we once enjoyed is still there—still electric—and I know that if I initiated a conversation or even asked a favor of him, it’d be granted immediately, and without resistance.

But I also know, deep down, that’s the exact cause of the now-gaping hole between us: resistance. His eyes tell me he knows the same, and that maybe—just maybe—he, too, misses the camaraderie we shared not so long ago. It’s a shame we seemed to have ruined that, because I really do miss him.

I miss the quickly blooming friendship that felt effortless. I miss the way we were when no one was looking: a fun duel of flirty wit. I miss our texts. I even miss the touch of his lips on mine—our sole kiss that caused this great divide. And I especially, to the point of actual physical pain in my chest, miss my shower notes.

And then, one night, fate throws us back together.

“Echo…don’t be scared, Love. It’s me. It’s Kingston. I’ve got you.”

My eyes open, and I slowly come out from under the fog of sleep.

“What’s happening?” I ask heavily.

“Shh,” he whispers as he holds my body in his strong arms, which create a sturdy cradle that makes me feel safe. “Let’s not wake your parents.”

He walks from the landing at the top of the stairs toward my room, and I’m suddenly cognitive as the pieces start falling into place.

“Your black eye,” I murmur as he shuts my door quietly with his foot.

“We can chat tomorrow.” He lays me down in my bed, then pulls the covers up to my chin. “Go back to sleep. I’ll sit here until you do.”

“No.” I pop up, unwilling to let this go. “I want to talk—for a minute, at least. Please.”

He sighs, scrubbing the back of his neck. “Did you forget to drink your tea tonight?”

“What?” I squeak. How does he know that?

“Shall I sneak down and make you some?”

“No—and now I really want to talk. And yes, I forgot. I’ve just been…out of sorts, I guess.”

“The feeling is mutual.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m so sorry. Please believe me when I tell you that nothing I’ve done has been to upset you.”

I nod. “I know that. It is what it is. I get it.” I hate it, but I get it. “How’d you know about my tea?”

He laughs, soft and hollow. “I know lots of things about you, Echo.”

“I blacked your eye, didn’t I?”

“You did.” He takes my hand, massaging my palm with his thumb. “But the fault is mine. I didn’t know it was ill-advised to try and wake a sleepwalker, at the time.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He touches a finger to my mouth and smiles.

“Not necessary. Like I said, my fault. And tonight…well, I had no choice but to wake you, all the while watching for your right hook. I couldn’t have you taking a tumble down the stairs.”

“How…how long have you known?”

“Since my second night here.”

My lips part. I’m stunned he’s never mentioned it. I sigh, ready to apologize again, when he explains further.

“Most nights, you walk straight to my room, which leads me to believe Sebastian must have known.” He tilts his head in question.

“Yes, but our parents don’t.” My eyes zap onto his, begging him to keep the secret. “They’d never let me perform again, high in the air, if they thought there was something wrong with me. And my dad…” I swallow a sob. “He’d ask questions, which I’d answer honestly, and then he’d blame himself.”

“Why, because it’s his job to take care of you? I can see that. He’s a very protective father.”

“He is, but—”

I can’t pull my gaze from his and begin to chew my lip, hesitant to unbury the past.

He squeezes my hand. “Tell me.”

I don’t ask him to swear not to mention it, or judge. I already know he won’t do either. And, miraculously, I don’t feel like I’m betraying my father by confiding in Kingston. I simply feel like I’m again—finally—sharing thoughts with my friend.