“June, nobody can know,” he hums, and the words come out as if they’re covered in razors, cutting him from the inside.
“Is it Ava? So you can still sleep with her?”
“No, June. Fuck Ava,” he growls, stepping back, shaking his head and finally meeting my stare.
“Exactly,” I laugh out.
His glare dims, and his jaw tightens.
“I ended things with Ava. Completely.”
“Mmm.” I nod, feeling the last vestiges of my tears cut down my hot cheeks. “That what you held on to the condom for?”
His head falls to the side as he exhales, his mouth a frustrated line and a sag to his shoulders.
“I didn’t even know that was in there, June.” He swallows and looks to the side, to the tiles on the back wall that are scrawled with insults about girls from now and long ago, and proclamations of love for boys who will probably never know some girl loved them.
I’m being unfair.
I’m overreacting.
We had one kiss, and maybe it doesn’t mean anything.
He’s keeping me a secret.
So many secrets.
“Your dad is having an affair,” I blurt out. I cup my mouth quickly, wishing I could swallow the words before their sound meets his ears.
His eyes flare.
I wait for him to counter my accusation, to explain it away or deny it. He does none of it, though. All he does . . . is leave.
Chapter Fifteen
That’s not how I wanted any of this to happen. I never wanted to hurt Lucas with the things I came to know, but that’s exactly what I did. I hurt him. And that hurt us.
There’s no more keeping a lid on things when Abby picks me up. I held myself together through the rest of my shift and then fell apart in her car to the point she had to pull over and just stare at me. We’ve been squatting in this sketchy abandoned convenience store parking lot for the last hour while I blubber through the whole story over and over again. No matter how many times I tell it, the end is always the same.
“Are you sure you saw what you saw?” She’s asked me this once already. I wish my answer was different. I could even argue that I didn’t get a good look at Mr. Fuller’s face pulling out of the D’Angelo garage, but the truck was undeniably his.
“It was him, Abs. And I just ruined Lucas’s life.” I feel sick because I told him the truth out of spite. Because I was jealous.
“Well then, you should talk,” she says, turning to put her seat belt back on and shift her car into drive. I do the same, fumbling with the buckle because my hands are jittery all of a sudden.
“What, like . . . now?” I say.
“No, I was thinking maybe you could wait another two years, then show up at his dorm at MIT or Tennessee or wherever the fuck he ends up going.” She’s gotten too good at sarcasm.
“That’s not fair,” I protest.
“Look, I’m driving you home. If you decide to go inside and hide in your room until school on Monday, that’s on you. But if you want to see a change, well . . . to quote the inspirational sign in our principal’s office—‘you must be the change you want to see.’” She’s proud of that speech. She lifts her detox juice drink from her center console and puckers her lips on the straw as she sucks up the last few drops.
“One day, you’ll need my advice, and I’ll be right about something you won’t want to do. It’s going to feel really good.” I slump in the passenger seat and cross my arms, pouting out the window.
“Probably not, but okay,” my friend says. I try to hold in the laugh, but I end up spitting it out despite myself. Damn her, so self-assured.
The closer we get to my house, the tighter my chest becomes, my lungs squeezed by the invisible elephant rocking into me. By the time we’re a block away, I realize that even avoiding Lucas won’t get rid of the massive anxiety knot caught in my throat and making me sick. The only thing that can get you to the other side of the circle of fire is walking through the flames.
Abby pulls into my driveway, stopping near the end. I figure she does it so I have to walk the extra distance and really consider my options, but when I look up, I see that’s not why at all.
Lucas is sitting in the bed of his truck with the tailgate down, his back resting against the cab, ankles crossed. He’s wearing a cut-off pair of sweats, the ones he usually wears when he goes out for a run, and the same black hoodie he had on earlier. His hair is tousled and sweaty and his cheeks are red from the cool air. He runs when he needs to think. He’s been doing that since junior high. I could never keep up.
“I guess that makes my decision easier,” I groan, lowering myself in my friend’s seat just a little.
Her lights shine on him, but he doesn’t bother to shade his eyes. He draws one knee up and pulls a water bottle into his hand, twists the cap off, and gulps most of it down.
“He doesn’t really look like he wants to talk,” I say. More excuses.
My friend turns her head and I feel her heated stare on my face seconds before I let my head fall to the side to meet the reckoning of her gaze.
“I know,” I say, unhooking my seat belt to let the strap slide up and over my shoulder.
“It’s not like things between you can get any worse.” Damn her for being so on point tonight.
I nod and get out of the car, untucking my Eight Lanes shirt from my skinny jeans as I drag my zipper jacket along the ground at my side. I feel as if I’m in trouble. My heart drums to the rhythm of a death metal band, and to kick things up a notch, my friend beeps her horn as she pulls out of my driveway.
“Shit!” I jump and clutch my chest, glaring at her as she drives away, and hoping like hell Lucas is laughing at me when I turn back around.
He’s not.
“What’s up, Maybe Mabee?” He uses the nickname Tory has for me on purpose. I guess he gets jealous over things, too.
“I’m sorry.” I ran through a dozen different methods for getting into this conversation with him during my trip home. Now that I’m staring into his sad eyes, the light completely dim behind them, I decide direct is best.
He nods. “Okay. Thanks,” he says, drawing the bottle to his lips and tipping his head back to drink it dry. He screws the cap on and throws the empty plastic container into the middle of his driveway. I shuffle over in its direction to pick it up.
“Let my dad pick it up. Maybe I’ll throw the rest of his shit out here too.”
I stop where I stand and evaluate his face, the lethargy of his limbs and the crushed spirit emanating from behind his eyes. I’ve been that disappointed in someone before, too. Ignoring his wish, I pick up the bottle and walk it over to the recycling bin my mom put near the curb this morning.
His eyes meet mine when I turn around again, and as tempting as making a break for my house is right now, it’s less of an option than it was a few minutes ago.
“Can I climb in there with you?”
His eyes remain blank at my question, but when I lean into my steps, attempting to move toward him, he stiffens.
“Can’t.” His back teeth clamp down hard. “This”—he pauses, pointing at me and then himself—“does not happen in front of people.”