Slammed(34)

I’m hoping to find the same sense of relief when I look through Will’s backyard, but they aren’t here. I make my way around the side of his house and see Will standing in the driveway, staring inside his car. When he sees me running toward him, his finger goes up to his mouth, instructing me to be quiet. I peer into the backseat where Kel and Caulder are both crouched in the floorboard, their fingers and hands clamped together in the shape of guns; they're both passed out.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“They would make horrible guards,” he whispers.

“Yeah, they sure would.”



We both stand there, staring at our little brothers. Will's arm goes around me and he gives my shoulders a quick squeeze. His hug doesn't linger at all though, so I know it's nothing more than a gesture expressing relief that our brothers are safe.

"Hey, before you wake them up, I've got something of yours inside." He walks toward his house so I follow him inside and into the kitchen.

My heart is still pounding against my chest, although I can't distinguish if it's the aftermath of the search for our brothers, or if it's just being in Will's presence.

He pulls something out of his satchel and hands it to me. "Your keys" he says as he drops them into my hand.

"Oh, thanks," I say, somewhat disappointed. I don’t know what I expected him to have but I was fantasizing that maybe it was his resignation letter.

"It's running fine now. You should be able to drive it home tomorrow." He makes his way to his couch and sits.

"What? You fixed it?" I say.

"Well, I didn't fix it. I know a guy who was able to put an alternator on it this afternoon."

His comparison in the parking lot comes back to mind. Somehow I doubt he would have an alternator put on any other student's vehicle.

"Will, you didn't have to do that," I say as I sit beside him on the couch. "Thanks though. I'll pay you back."

"Don't worry about it. You guys have helped me a lot with Caulder lately, it's the least I can do."

And yet again, I'm at a loss for what to say next. It feels like that first day I was standing in his kitchen, contemplating my next move after he helped me with my bandage. I know I should get up and leave, but I like being here next to him. Even if I am finding myself in his debt again. I finally find the confidence to speak again.

"So, can we finish our conversation from earlier?"

He adjusts himself in the couch and props his feet on the coffee table in front of us. "That depends," he says. "Did you come up with a solution?"

"Well, no," I reply, just as a possible solution comes to mind. I lean my head against the back of the couch and meekly suggest my idea.

"Suppose these feelings we have just get more… complex." I pause for a moment. I'm not sure how he's going to take this new suggestion of mine, so I tread lightly.

"I wouldn't be opposed to the idea of getting a G.E.D."

"That's ridiculous," he says, eyeing me sharply. "Don't even think like that. There's no way you’re quitting school, Lake."

I'm Lake again.

"It was just an idea," I say.

"Well, it was a dumb one.”



We both think silently, neither of us coming up with any other solutions. My head is still resting against the back of the couch as I watch him. His arms are crossed behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. His jaw is clenched tight and he's absentmindedly popping his knuckles.

He's no longer wearing the clothes he wears as a teacher. Instead, he has a plain white fitted t-shirt on and grey jogging pants that are almost identical to the ones I'm wearing. For the first time tonight, I notice his hair is wet. I haven't been this close to him in weeks; I was beginning to forget what he smells like. I inhale as I take in the scent of his aftershave. It smells like the air in Texas right before it starts to rain. If thunder had a smell, I imagine Will would smell just like it.

There's a small dab of shaving cream right below his left ear. My hand instinctively moves up to his neck as I wipe it away. He flinches and turns toward me and I defensively hold up my finger as if to prove my reason for touching him. He pulls my hand toward him as he rubs my finger across his shirt, wiping off the excess shaving cream.

Our hands come to rest on his chest as we continue to look at each other in silence. My palm is flat against his heart and I can feel it rapidly beating against my hand. I know this exchange between us is wrong, but it feels incredibly right.