Oh, no. Not going to happen. After what he said at the party, I’m too confused. As always when it comes to him, I’m too weak.
“Actually, I’m really tired.” To prove it, I fake a yawn so wide my jaw cracks. “And I have to watch Taylor in the morning, so I’d better get to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow. Or next week. Or, you know, never.”
With only the faint glow from inside the car and the moon and stars overhead, it’s hard to see him clearly, but I swear there’s a glint in his eyes. Like instead of refusing him, I’ve issued some sort of challenge.
One he’s more than glad to accept.
He straightens and even drops the hand to my right. A clear sign he’s letting me go. Granting me this minor victory.
“Don’t run,” he murmurs, because as I’ve noted, he knows me way, way too well. “If you do,” he continues in that same soft tone, “I’ll come after you.”
It’s another promise, a vow, like the one he’d made earlier.
I’m going to do whatever it takes to get you back.
Or maybe it’s his own version of a challenge.
Whatever it is, it leaves me uneasy, my face hot, my knees trembling, while he turns and walks away.
I want to believe he’s bluffing. But just the slight possibility of it, of him knocking on my door and possibly waking Devyn and Taylor all so he and I can have a late-night chat, keeps me glued to my spot.
I shut the car door, then lean against it as I watch Sam and Whitney go up the steps to her porch, his hand lightly touching the small of her back. Laughing at something Sam says, Whitney unlocks the door. She turns, leans against it and smiles up at him.
A lump forms in my throat. I swallow but it remains, hard and constricting. They’re all smiles and laughs and easy postures, neither in a hurry to leave the other’s company. I try to read their lips but it’s too dark and they’re too far away and I have no idea how to do it anyway. Whitney’s probably thanking Sam for the ride, which will prompt Sam to thank her in return for thanking him. Or else they’re bidding each other a good night, a restful, happy-dreams-only sleep and for tomorrow a cheery wake-up call and good hair day.
Just say goodbye already so we can all move on with our lives.
Sam leans in closer, nods at something Whitney says, and I realize I have both palms flat against the door behind me.
Realize my vision has taken on a definite green tint.
Which is stupid. I’m not jealous. I wanted Sam and Whitney to hit it off. I just hadn’t realized they’d do it like freaking gangbusters.
No surprise. They have so much in common. Though we haven’t even started our senior year in high school, they’re both already thinking of the future. On the way home, they talked nonstop about the lists they’d made of colleges they want to apply to. Lists they’d both broken into three tiers: Dream Schools, Doable Schools and Safe Schools.
It was like they were made for each other.
Even their plans for the future match up. Sam wants to follow in his parents’ footsteps and become a doctor, possibly a surgeon. Whitney is going to study elementary education at whatever fabulous, hard-to-get-into, far-away-from-here, expensive college she attends.
Of course her dream is to educate the children of the world. Teaching is, after all, the noblest of professions.
I mean, not quite as noble as performing life-saving surgery, but pretty darn close.
And me? My greatest wish, my secret dream is to one day own a bakery, where I can sell my homemade cookies, cakes and donuts to the masses.
Just doing my part to add to America’s growing obesity and diabetes rates!
One of these things is definitely not like the others.
I don’t get why Sam wanted so badly to be my friend when we were kids. Why he’s doing this now, acting like he wants me back in his life. He’s the one who walked away.
Now he doesn’t want to let me go?
It’s messed up. And not fair.
Whitney finally goes inside, shutting the door behind her, and I push away from the car, debating whether or not to dart across the street.
I’ll come after you.
Wonder if that’s what I want. To see if he really would chase me.
But Sam is heading my way, as if he had no doubt I’d be here, right where he left me, waiting with bated breath until he returned.
But when he gets closer, I see his shoulders are tense, his expression wary. Nervous.
I’m not the only one out of sorts. Not the only one confused. I might not even be the only one who’s scared.
And instead of finding comfort in that fact, it makes everything that much worse.
“You waited,” he says when he reaches me.
I shrug. “You asked me to.”
It’s the wrong thing to say because it’s not just me stating the obvious, it’s not just the truth. It’s the real reason I waited. The reason I went to the party.
Because I’m too curious about what he has to say.
Because I’m an idiot who can’t tell him no.
He knows it, too. His mouth kicks up in a shy, adorable grin and my scalp tingles, my stomach tumbling in the very best way.
Stupid handsome boys and their stupid adorable grins. They make a girl forget why she’s not supposed to get all tingly and tumbly. They make a girl forget why she’s supposed to be smart and stay as far away from them as possible.
“Thank you for waiting,” he whispers, then he steps closer and my breath locks in my chest. I don’t move, not even when he’s so close I can feel his body heat, can smell the lingering scent of campfire smoke clinging to his clothes. Not even when he lifts his hand, his fingers trembling, and lightly touches my cheek. “I missed you. Christ, Hadley, I missed you so much.”
I freeze, my body wanting to lean into his touch. My heart leaping at his words.
Oh, this was such a mistake. Going to the party, waiting for him now. I need to go before he says something else I don’t want to hear. Something that will make the resolve I’ve built up over the past eleven months weaken even further.
I have to go before he does or says something that will push me into admitting how much I missed him, too.
But I can’t give him those words, that truth. He already has too much of what’s mine. He knows too much about me, knows me, better than anyone. My likes and dislikes. My hopes and dreams. My doubts and fears.
He knows. And he walked away.
He doesn’t get to have my secrets, too.
I turn and walk away, make it halfway across the empty street before he catches up to me. We’ve done this a hundred times, maybe even a thousand, walked side by side in the dark toward my trailer, the porch light guiding us. But it’s different now. New. We’re quiet when before we were always talking and joking and making plans for the next day. There’s a space between us, a physical distance I do my best to maintain so there’s no brushing of arms. Things between us have changed. I need to remember that. I need to accept it.
But it’s hard to remember when the air is warm and thick with the scent of an oncoming rainstorm, reminding me of so many other summer nights with Sam. It’s even harder to accept when there are so many other things that are the same. The way he walks, the steady sound of his breathing. How he follows me up the sidewalk and then the steps, big and protective behind me. How he leans his shoulder against the side of the trailer, hands in his pockets, watching over me while I dig out my key.