Summer I Found You (6 page)

My chest sinks. “And you know they’re talking about you.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh yeah. I know that one.” All my diabetes stuff gave me a good lesson on the whole hushed conversation thing.

“So, that’s what it’s been like.” His hand clutches the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

“Gotcha.” Wait. Starting really soon I’m going to need out of the house. Jen’s busy, Shelton’s occupied with someone else, and Mom’s accusing me of moping. “Hey. I just realized something here.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re not awful to hang out with,” I say as the excitement starts to build. He is cute. And Jen’s okay with us being together. And it’s not like I’m looking for a new boyfriend, but still…

“Thanks.” The corner of his mouth twitches in the beginnings of a smile.

“No, sorry.” I really have to get better about thinking first. “I mean. This is safe, right? And keeps them off our back? Like we could get together sometimes to hang out?”

“I don’t know…” Only his tone says he does know and the answer is no.

I feel a little prick of rejection, even though it was just an idea.

“You can take me home. I’m not far. I’m sorry for asking you to come.” This was really stupid. The excitement of my idea just inverted itself into my chest. And not in a good way.

“You asking for a ride isn’t a big deal, Kate. I’m just…” His eyes dart around a bit as he lets out a breath. “Planning anything right now is…hard. I’m not sure what’s next for me, and I’ve never had that before.”

I slump in my seat. “Join the club.”

We ride in silence for a bit but it turns from the awkward kind to the okay kind pretty fast. I’m not sure what’s different but maybe it’s that he’s not gripping the steering wheel as hard as he was.

“I’m gonna drive for a bit. I’m sure if you go home you’ll be answering questions you don’t want to answer. Wanna join me?”

His voice is unreadable. I’m not sure if he’s just being nice, or if he’s annoyed with me and is trying to cover. Right now I’m self-centered enough to not care. Hanging with Aidan in his uncle’s car feels like the safest place for me right now—even though I feel like a bit of a moron around him again.

We get coffees—well he gets a coffee, I get steamed milk. Nothing added. He doesn’t comment. I feel relief. We drive. It’s quiet. I relax into the seat. We don’t speak. I don’t mind. He doesn’t seem to. Better than me saying something stupid.

I feel bad for him because he can’t even drink his coffee while driving. Each time we pause at a stop sign, he reaches for it, takes a sip and then starts driving again. It makes me wonder how long it takes him to do even simple things like getting a bowl of cereal. Giving myself shots suck, but maybe there are worse things.

For the first time that I can remember I just relax into the silence of being with someone who I think likes it as much as I do. But he is
really
quiet.

M
Y APARTMENT DOOR CLOSES
behind me as I head to Foster and Beth’s house for dinner.

I’m probably an ass for telling Kate I didn’t really want to hang out. But the whole thing seems weird because her family will want to know about me, and Foster will probably give me some lecture about her, and it seems like we’d just be adding to confusion in our lives that’s already here.

Getting involved with a girl on any level just isn’t a good idea for me right now. There’s nothing going on between us and Kate’s already confusing the hell out of me.

But she is a cool girl. With really nice legs.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Jen says into her phone as I trudge up the stairs to the main floor.

Aunt Beth said something about roast tonight, so I’m definitely eating with the family. And I shouldn’t listen, but I do. No one can do urgency like a teen girl, and I’m curious.

“It’s not my fault that I happen to still be dating the best friend of your ex-boyfriend.”

Oh. Now my guess is that she’s talking to Kate. Kate didn’t say anything about why she needed to leave school early. Maybe it’s something I should’ve asked. Or maybe it’s good that I didn’t.

“Why can’t I call him your ex? One—it’s been weeks. Two—he’s walking Tamara to class. Every day.” At least Jen’s voice quiets down for the last line.

“Well. I just…I don’t want you to be mad at me, okay? Next time it happens, I’ll eat lunch with you instead of my boyfriend. Come sleep over this weekend.”

There’s another pause, and I stand in the stairway, knowing she can’t see me yet. And also knowing she’ll probably take off into her room when she can.

“Maybe next weekend then. Oh. No. That’s the party. Look. Let’s just make some time, okay?”

Another pause.

“Oh, come on. I can’t skip. And anyway, Aidan rescued you in the end, right? He picked you up…Yeah, well, you’re quiet too. He’s depressed. I’d be depressed if I was him.”

Right.

I really don’t want to sit down with the family. Not anymore.

“I think I should call Aidan,” Aunt Beth says. “I made this just for him. I know it’s my sister’s best meal. He’s got to miss it.”

“He knows, Beth. He’ll come if he wants to come,” Uncle Foster says.

Guilt branches out in my chest, and I know I’ll be sticking around.

“Talkin’ about me?” I ask as I jump up the stairs, pushing away all the weight that was starting to settle on my shoulders. I know I haven’t spoken much. I also know they probably all think I’m depressed. Maybe I am.

“There you are!” Aunt Beth smiles her wide smile.

Jen runs for her room, phone pressed to her ear. I wish there was an easy way for me to listen to the rest of her conversation, but there really isn’t. And I shouldn’t care anyway.

Now I don’t know if I
want
to try and apologize to Kate, because that’ll really confuse things with me not really wanting to spend time with her, or if I
should
apologize and take her up on her offer because part of me
does
want to spend time with her.

I’m being ridiculous.

At least dinner smells good. I’ll think about that for a while instead. But I can’t, because I’m not sure if I hurt Kate’s feelings or not.

Jen steps into the dining room, and definitely doesn’t look at me. Right. Kate.

I slide my phone from my pocket and send Kate a text (not the easiest thing to do one-handed) before sitting down.

Wanna hang out Fri?

In two seconds I have a reply.

Prft timing. My sis comes to town that day, and I’ll need out

I grin as I slide my phone back in my pocket, which means I probably want to hang out with her a lot more than I want to let myself think.

Uncle Foster cocks a brow, just slightly. Just enough that I know he knows I was texting a girl. Or suspects. I’m going to have to be more careful because I really don’t need anything else hanging between all of us.

I get up more rested than I’ve felt in a month. No dreams, just good, hard sleep. Maybe I’ll run today. It used to be my favorite part of physical training. I could time myself on the two miles to see where I’d fall on my PT test. I’ve always aced it. Always.

Uncle Foster bought me a pair of running shoes that don’t tie, they have this weird pull string, and I’m suddenly glad. I felt like a moron when I first got them, but I don’t know how to tie my shoes with only one hand. Not yet, anyway. I tighten them as best I can, and head out the door.

I’m going to have to hit the timer on my watch with my teeth as I take off running. I should be used to all this little stuff by now. Pants with one hand, buttons with one hand…I haven’t worn a button-up shirt yet because I don’t think I could handle the frustration. Even my elastic waist pants take longer with one hand. Everything is long, and slow.

I jump into a run at the end of the driveway, and this I can do. It feels a little lop-sided with only one arm pumping, but not terrible, not too different. The push in my legs is the same, so I
push
.

My lungs burn. My legs burn. I’ve run what feels like ten miles, twenty miles, but am actually still under my two-mile test. I mapped it. Just in case. It’s been too long since I’ve run. The sidewalk begins to work uphill and I push harder, lungs scream. Legs ache. I push. My time is still good. I’m okay. When my place comes into view again, I really run hard. Fast like the wind. This is pain I control. This is something I know.

I nearly collapse at the end of the driveway, but my time’s really good for not running in months. A few seconds over twelve minutes. Two six-minute miles. All I needed for the Army was to stay under fourteen. Easy.

Now sit-ups. Two minutes. I jog up the stairs of my apartment and use my teeth again for the timer. My feet slide under the bottom of the couch and I start. Up, up, up, up, up.

I forget to count and it doesn’t matter, because I don’t pause. My shoulder stub starts to ache with exertion, which pisses me off because it’s not supposed to. It’s a stump. It just sits. Something that does me no good shouldn’t get to hurt.

“Shit.” I stop when the timer goes off.

The throbbing spreads into my side, across my chest, up my neck and into my head. The damn thing shouldn’t hurt. It’s gone, done. I should be numb. All of me should be.

Whatever. It’s not like I could do my push-up part of the PT test anyway.

I strip down in the bathroom—again, everything takes longer. Each movement sends another wave of pain through me. It takes all my self-control not to hit my good fist through the wall or the door or the mirror above the sink.

I imagine what it would look like—shards of glass flying around the room, and then remember that I’d have to clean it up. The hot water rinses away the sweat, but it doesn’t rinse away anything I care about. Time for some painkillers and a nap.

I wash a pill down with water I suck out of the faucet. I’ve hardly used any of the stuff they gave me. I hate feeling high, but today I’ll take it.

How did I go from a good, easy day, to pain over too many things for me to deal with? My body begins to relax into the weight and my head swims. For a guy who’s always kept himself pretty clean, this stuff really messes with me and I let my eyes close.

It’s dark. Again. Why does everything shitty have to happen in the dark? Bodies push against me. My friends? My enemies? There’s a blast and everything around me disappears, sending a ripping pain through my body. I’m in pieces. I’m yelling, asking someone to help me, and I’m somehow still moving, even though I know I’ve been torn apart. I have to get everyone else out of there. I start to pull on them, but I keep ripping apart as I do it. I can’t help. The pain is searing, and the frustration and fear force me to scream.

“Aidan?” A hand on my arm. “
Aidan?
”

My head rolls to the side. “Uncle Foster?” He doesn’t usually come in here.

“Hey. I’m really sorry for barging in. Your aunt saw you come back from your run, and she called a few times and you didn’t answer. She was worried. And you were talking in your sleep.”

“What was she worried about? That I went and killed myself in your apartment?” I ask. My brain is still all fuzzy, and my body’s trying to recover from being blown apart in the dark.

There’s enough silence to know that’s exactly what she was worried about.

My gut clenches a little—maybe in guilt, maybe because I don’t want anyone to think that’s where I’m at.

“Look, Foster, I’d be lying if I said my life right now was what I want. And I guess I’ve been moody or whatever, but I’m smart enough to know that my Sergeant would kick my ass if he knew he saved my life only for me to take it later, okay?”

“You two were close.”

Those four simple words hurt worse than anything I’ve felt in weeks. I can feel the beginnings of my body wanting to shake. Wanting to let go. But I don’t. I don’t have to. I don’t want to. I rest my hand over my eyes, pushing my fingers into the outside corners.

“You want me to bring you dinner?” he asks. His hand still rests on my arm.

I open my mouth to answer, but I’m smart enough not to say anything. If I try to speak, I might lose it.

“There’s a pizza on its way. I’ll bring you up some, okay?”

I nod.

“Tonight might be a sleeping pill night, Aidan.”

It might be. Though, I’ve slept all day, seems sort of silly to waste more hours tonight.

As soon as Uncle Foster steps out, I sit up and the room spins. Nope. Not taking a sleeping pill tonight. The stupid painkiller is enough drugs for me. It’s just not enough to dull the ache in my chest.

Two in the morning, and I’m nowhere near sleep. Every time my eyes close, I feel the concussion of the bomb. Feel Pilot shove against me. See my own arm, or the bits left of it in the infrared, but Pilot…there was almost nothing of him left. Almost nothing to stuff in a bag and send home. Honestly I don’t know if he sensed it, and pushed me, or if the boom from that thing shoved him against me. It doesn’t matter either way, because I know he would’ve pushed me out of the way if he could. That’s what counts. And I should’ve been able to do the same.

I want to drive, but don’t want Foster to worry. I write a note and lay it on their porch. I still have the keys to Foster’s Explorer so I climb in and drive.

As I head north, part of me wishes I wasn’t alone. It sucks because I don’t want to talk, don’t want to discuss meaningless things, don’t want to discuss meaning
ful
things. Just company. Just a person.

Now that I’m close, I know where I’m going. At least it’ll be too early in the morning, and I won’t have to feel guilty for not stopping in. Four in the morning, and I’m weaving through the neighborhood.

I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve come up here three times, and never had the guts to knock. To go in. Tonight—or this morning or whatever—will be no different. It’s safe to pause outside the house, so I do. This is when I see that soft, blue flicker of a TV. It tells me that she’s probably as awake as I am. And probably over the same guy.

This was not a good idea.

I hit the gas and tear out of the neighborhood to head south. Back down the highway. Back toward the apartment that’s turned into my bat cave. The place I stay, rest, and yeah, maybe hide. Beats the shit out of how I feel.