CeeCee brings my attention back to my idiot friends as she says, “I think you two have had enough party. I’m taking Brandon home. Hails, do me a favor and take Caiden home, too, would you?”
It’s not a question; it’s a polite demand. Brandon and Caiden must have ridden here together. She tugs on Brandon’s burly arm, but it isn’t enough to deter Brandon from pointing a deliberate finger into Caiden’s chest as he says, “Get your shit together, man,” before following CeeCee.
Caiden wipes at his lip, his eyes angry, but there isn’t a fight there anymore. It’s almost like he agrees.
I take a couple strides toward him. “Let’s get you home.”
He doesn’t argue; he just follows me silently out of the party, far from the glow of the bonfire until we reach my rental car.
He climbs in, and so do I. It takes five minutes of heavy silence as we follow the dirt path to the main road before he says, “Sorry.”
I jerk my head toward him for a quick glance and then back at the road. “It’s fine. What were you and Brandon fighting about, Caid? It’s not like you guys to be at each other like that—”
“—You. We were arguing about you.”
The response stuns me, and I try to focus on the tiny white lines on the road rather than allow myself to ask more questions in regard to that.
“Did you have a lot to drink?” I ask, changing tack.
“I didn’t get into a fight with him because I’m drunk, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I’m not, but I choose not to speak anymore. I’m too scared of the truth. Caiden’s frustration with me is building as much as mine is with him. The only difference is that when the frustration builds with me, I’m the one that wants to be more closed off, but with Caiden, he becomes more expressive with his words, as if he can’t contain them. It was always those elements that balanced us. That push and pull that kept us level, him pushing me to talk when I needed it, and him learning when words aren’t needed.
It doesn’t take me long to pull into his long, winding driveway, seeing as he lives less than a mile from my house. The trees that line his driveway are more overgrown than I remember, but it’s also hard to pick out the details in the darkness.
As we get closer, I can see that the porch lights are on, illuminating the front of the old rustic house: dark wood, one story, like a hidden haven in the woods, and once a haven for my mind.
“How are your parents?” I ask as we wind down the path.
“Fine. In Florida, doing what they do best by ignoring the world.”
Caiden’s parents retired to Florida right after we graduated high school. His family was always so different than mine. Growing up in my household, we were forced to mingle with each other and talk, but Caiden’s family were the eat in silence types. His parents forced him to grow up too fast, and mine were always willing to feed into my imagination. He’s the yin to my yang, really.
We’re also both the only child. We understand what it means to need someone to be your best friend and your playmate.
In a way, it was almost inevitable how we both ended up so tied to each other. Since the age of six, I’ve never known a life without him.
It’s also no wonder how it’s become impossible for me to find someone to fill that void.
I slow onto his gravel driveway to the garage, remembering how his parents were always nice to me, but it was nothing to how my parents, or most importantly, my mom, treated Caiden. He was like one of our own household.
Caiden’s parents always talked about wanting to leave PineCrest to be near the beach and live out their lives in the sun. Even then, Caiden never wanted to leave. I should have seen that as a sign.
When his parents left, they gave Caiden the house, nearly everything in it, and retired to Florida, leaving him to live his life.
No one had any doubt that he’d manage just fine, especially me. He had a steady job, and we were both attending classes at the junior college an hour away. Life was good. Life was simple.
Not anymore.
I pull the parking brake, turn the car off, and decide I better see Caiden inside. If I’m this rattled by the evening, then he might be, too.
“Let me walk you to your door. You okay?”
“How romantic of you to offer, Hailey.”
I shoot him a scowl, but he’s smiling.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I quip.
I open my door, walk around the front, and watch him stumble more unsteadily out of my car than I’d expected. Yep, probably a good idea I make sure he gets inside safe.
I can still care, can’t I?
I fight the urge to touch him or help him. Instead, I lead the way up the few steps to his porch.
“Caiden, where are your keys?” I ask.
I notice he’s stopped at the top step, leaning against the post, which puts him closer to me than I realize when I swivel around to face him.
“Did you kiss him?” he asks back, slicing the mood, his voice low and solemn.
He’s looming over me, eyes pleading and hot, his body languid from his drinking.
“Caiden, stop. Just gimme your keys.”
“You did, didn’t you?”
I shake my head, trying to hide the burning guilt singeing every corner of my being as I stick my hand out, palm up while we stand on the porch that has haunted my dreams. We’re nearly nose to nose as I look up into his bottomless forest-green eyes.
I want to tell him that it doesn’t matter because he’s ruined everything. That even if I did get a kiss from the jock in high school, and even though his kiss was warm and inviting, I felt nothing, absolutely nothing, and it’s all his fault.
“Keys, please.”
His jaw sets sternly as he takes a step back, pushing his pelvis forward, eyes dopey but pissed off again. “They’re in my pocket, Hails. Help a drunk guy out, would you?”