“No, they’re fine,” I attempt to reassure him, but I can feel his worry increasing. “The path I took was just flattened dirt.”
“Okay … I’ll carry you to the car. Then we can talk a bit more about this in private.” He starts to reach for me, but then he hesitates. “That is, if that’s okay with you?”
I step toward him. “Yeah, it is.”
I’ve never actually been carried by a guy before. Well, not that I remember. I imagine that, when Kingsley saved me that night, he had to carry me out of the water and to the shore. This is different, though. I’m not dying. I’m alive. I’m breathing.
Before I can freak out too much—which FYI, out of all the things to freak out about, that’s what my mind chooses?—he slips an arm behind me and picks me up, putting his other arm underneath my legs. Then he starts down the road, heading past the line of cars and farther away from the glow of the fire and farther into the darkness. And for the first time since I woke up at the lake, I feel safe, like I’m wrapped up in some sort of protective bubble where nothing can touch me or hurt me.
“Sorry about this,” he mumbles, his boots scuffing against the dirt.
“What’re you sorry about?”
“I don’t know.” He lifts a shoulder. “For the entire situation. That you were sleepwalking. That you ended up here. That I had to carry you.”
Always so hard on himself.
And that’s partly my fault.
“The first two things aren’t your fault. And as for the last”—mustering up every ounce of courage I have, I place my hand on his cheek—“I like that you’re carrying me. In fact, it’s been the only good thing about tonight.” I trace my fingers along his cheek, down to his lips.
Those lips that saved mine.
Those lifesaving lips.
I still can’t get over it.
That he saved me.
And that he was going to die with me if we didn’t get out of that lake.
A breath shudders from those lips and dances across my fingertips. I expect him to say something, but he doesn’t, remaining quiet until we reach his car. Then he shifts me into one arm so he can get the door open.
After he gently sets me down on the passenger seat, he closes the door and rounds the front of the car. He doesn’t get in right away, though, stopping beside the driver’s side door. There, he digs out his phone and glances at the screen, staring at it for a moment before pocketing it then climbing into the driver’s seat.
Once he has the door shut, he leans back in the seat and grips the wheel. “I just got a text from Foster. He’s looking for you, and he knows you’re here.”
“I know.” I rotate in the seat to face him. “Eli, one of Foster’s friends, saw me when I got here. He said a bunch of shit about him having to report to Foster that I was here, that Foster always has his friends tell him if they spot me at parties.” I expect Kingsley to react, but he doesn’t. Suspicion stirs inside me. I don’t like that it does. “Did you know he did that?”
He lowers his hands from the steering wheel. “I wasn’t positive. But I’m not surprised with how protective he is of you.”
“Protective?” I mutter bitterly. “That’s not what that is. That’s controlling. That’s …” I shake my head, irritated. “He always accused you of being the stalker, but really, he is. Tonight, I overheard him say that I’m his, like I’m not even a person.”
He fiddles with the keychain dangling from the ignition. “Can I tell you something? It’s something that has to do with that secret I told you about.”
I nod. “Of course. You can tell me anything, and I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“I know. And I want you to know you can tell me anything, too.” He means what he says, too. I wonder how he can so easily believe me? If he just does or if he can feel that connection, too. “And I want to hear more about what happened with this sleepwalking thing, but I need to tell you this first.” He glances out the windshield, his gaze sweeping the crowd and the fire in the distance. “Is it okay if we leave here, though? I don’t like that my brother could show up at any moment.”
I nod, reaching for the seatbelt. “What about Porter? Don’t you need to get him?”
“He’s actually not here,” he says as he starts the engine.
“Really?” I lift a brow and smile for the first time since … well, in a while. “Aren’t you two like joined at the hip or something?”
“No.” He flips on the headlights and a sliver of light slips into the cab, just enough that I can see the slightest smile on his face. “We’re more like attached at the pinkie.”
My smile widens, but then it falters as I spot Foster striding up the road toward Kingsley’s car.
“If you want to avoid Foster, you might want to take off now,” I say, pointing at Foster.
Kingsley glances that way and mutters a string of curses. Then he throws the shifter in reverse and backs out of the space, driving off the road to turn the car around in the space of field beside it.
I twist around in the seat and peer out the window as Kingsley backs down the road. Foster is no longer walking, but he’s watching the car drive away. I can’t see his face, but I can envision how mad he probably looks. Weird, because I used to not be able to do that—picture him mad.
Moments from pulling away, Kingsley receives a text.
He digs his phone out of his pocket, reads the message, and then shakes his head. “God, my brother is so annoying,” he mutters then glances at me. “Sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” I ask. But then it dawns on me. “Wait—are you apologizing for insulting Foster?”
“Yeah, I just …” He shrugs, setting his phone on the console. “I honestly don’t know why I did it. It’s just kind of a habit to think you’ll defend him.”
“Well, consider the habit broken,” I promise. “Forever.”
He drives farther away from the party. “Okay.” He pauses. “He wants to know if you’re with me.”
“That’s why he keeps messaging you?”
“Yep.”
“What does the message say exactly?”
He hands me the phone. “You can read it if you want to?”
I’m a little surprised he’s letting me, but I’m glad. It means he trusts me, a little bit anyway. And that’s what I want. What I need if I’m going to be able to ask him about his past, about that day he died, so I can learn more about this connection between us.
I take the phone from him and read through the messages.
Foster: Where the fuck are you? I know your dumbass is at this party, so text me back. We need to talk.
Foster: Is Harlynn with you? If so, there’s going to be consequences, so be prepared to pay, you piece of shit. You know you shouldn’t be with her. She’s too good for you. You’re toxic. A waste of space.
Foster: I can see you driving away. You better not be with her.
A foul taste burns in my mouth.
Foster may have been controlling with me, but it was in a different way from how he tries to control Kingsley.
The way he is with Kingsley … it’s mentally abusive. With me … well, I’m not really sure what it is yet. It never felt like abuse when I was with Foster, but now that I’m breaking free of him, I’m not sure that it wasn’t. It was just more subtle than what he does to Kingsley. Like always making sure I doubted myself enough that I sought his opinion for everything. Like making me feel bad when I did stuff he didn’t deem worthy of him, like the time I pierced my lip. How he always expected me to be there for him, and when I wasn’t, he made me feel bad about it. Yet, he didn’t always have to be there for me.