Puddle Jumping(31)

Harper was on the cell with her mom, so he and I were chatting, listening as the music from the dance bled through every crack in the building. It was so loud. So damn loud.

And maybe that was why I wasn’t paying attention to my phone in my little clutch.

Or maybe it was how loud the wind was in my ears and that’s why I didn’t hear anyone calling my name from the street.

Why I didn’t hear footsteps.

Perhaps it was why I didn’t give any thought to how close I was to Blake or how his hands were rubbing my arms up and down in an attempt to warm me as we waited for his date to get off the phone.

Nope.

I didn’t hear any of that.

But I did see Colton’s fist before it collided with Blake’s jaw.

In retrospect, I should have known that Colton seeing me with another guy would set him off. But I hadn’t heard Sheila call. I didn’t know Colton had changed clothes at work and his intern friend Keith was walking him to meet me. I didn’t know any of that. All I knew was I was at my prom with my limited amount of friends, waiting for my boyfriend who appeared out of nowhere to defend me for no reason whatsoever.

The fallout was quick, with Colton jumping on Blake and throwing him to the ground, while Blake tried to push him off, shouting profanities and me yelling for them both to stop and trying to explain Colton was different . . . something I never wanted to say before in my entire life, but Blake had no idea and I hadn’t said anything to him about my boyfriend.

Plus, I didn’t even know if he was going to show!

They rolled around on the concrete until Blake got the dominant position, pinning Colton beneath him and folding his arms against his chest while my boyfriend struggled and yelled out words that I’d never heard him use before.

With as embarrassed as I should have been . . . with as angry as it should have made me . . . as much as I know I should have yelled at him and walked away from it all . . . I couldn’t

He was my Colton.

The pressure on his chest seemed to give him the squeeze he needed to focus and calm down while I got on my knees, cold concrete and even colder wind chilling me to the bone, to speak into his ear. I explained as factually as I could that Blake was Harper’s date and he had lent me his jacket because I was cold.

I wanted to say, ‘because you weren’t here’.

‘Because I couldn’t have your coat’.

‘Because you may not have offered it to me . . .’

Instead, I placed my hand firmly on his forehead and whispered for him to look at my face and listen to me.

Blake got carefully off him, stepping back and rubbing his jaw a little. And Harper just looked on like she was partially impressed and partially terrified.

When Colton finally pulled himself to his feet, his suit rumpled and dirty . . . my corsage crushed and falling apart on the ground . . . my dress stained from the sidewalk . . . he had an appropriate look of remorse on his face.

“We walked.” He pointed to someone standing off to the side of the scene.

“I brought him over from the museum to make sure he got here.” The stranger took a moment before extending his hand to mine. “I’m Keith. I take it you must be Lilly?”

I only nodded.

He looked me over from head to toe and gave a small smile. “I can see why he’d fight for you.”

That was the first time I lost patience with our relationship. Not because Colton was who he was . . . is who he is . . . but because it occurred to me if anyone on the outside was looking in and didn’t know about us, it looked like Colton was just a bad boyfriend. All of the gentle and sweet things between us were in private. The screw-ups were public. And, maybe I was worn out from being the understanding one, but it really felt like we’d been together long enough to be able to sit down and have a talk about how his actions that night made me feel.

I silently took us to our hotel room, not even bothering to say anything to any of the rest of our friends. Harper knew where we were going and she could relay the message if it needed to be repeated. Colton was quiet, too, and just followed me into the room. No questions asked. It was that type of trust in him that made my heart hurt so badly.

I knew I needed a moment to gather myself, so I went into the bathroom to change into some pajamas, not remembering I had packed yet another stupid little nightie thing instead of regular shorts and a t-shirt. It hardly seemed appropriate, so I opted for the underwear I had packed for the following day and an undershirt, pulling my stupid hair down and practically screaming at the irritating amounts of bobby pins used to keep it in place. My overly hair-sprayed locks went up into a sloppy poof on top of my head and I washed my face of all of the useless make-up I didn’t need to face the guy I loved.

When I walked out of the bathroom, he was sitting on the bed. Shoes off. Jacket discarded. Staring at the wall.

He took a deep breath and continued to focus there. “Lilly. Sometimes I don’t think I have the capacity to be what you need in a significant other.”

“Okay. Well, I feel that way about me sometimes.” I was being honest as I crawled across the comforter to sit next to him and stare at the same spot he was.

He shifted on the bed and touched my leg with his fingertips, roaming gently across my kneecap. “I certainly don’t feel that way about you. You’ve always been patient.”

I nodded. “Yeah. But it’s hard.”