Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2) (24 page)

I breathe in hard, holding my words while our waitress delivers our breakfasts. When she leaves, I let myself move beyond that silent barrier that’s been making everything this morning so difficult, that wall that’s been keeping us both from saying things.

“I never got your letters. Not once. I didn’t know, Andrew. I didn’t know. If I had known…”

He shakes his head, turning his attention to his pancakes, pouring syrup, cutting vigorously, stuffing a bite in his mouth. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” he shrugs.

How can he say that? It would have mattered. I wondered about him, worried about him, wanted to see his face for so long. I wanted his hand in mine when I was scared. I wanted him there—in the hospital when they cut me open.

Feeling brave, I reach over to his side of the table and put my hand on his, stopping him from lifting another bite.

“It would have,” I say, staring at him, begging him to look back at me. He keeps his eyes trained on his plate in front of him, his muscles flexed and his arm still beneath the weight of my hand. I don’t know why he’s so against believing me.

“I drove by your house,” he says, his lips paused open. His eyes finally move up to meet mine. “At the start of our junior year. You were getting ready for some dance, your parents were taking pictures. You were wearing this really nice dress. You had a date—some guy who looked like the kind of guy you
should
be going to a dance with. I’m just a fuck up.”

“Don’t say that,” I swallow.

Our eyes remain on one another.

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because…” I start, not knowing how to explain everything Andrew has been in my life. He vanished, but the mark he left was a forever kind. His sacrifice for me so big, he has no idea how enormous. And now that I know what he went through…

“How many times did you write to me?” I ask instead.

He shakes his head and goes back to his breakfast, shrugging once.

“How many?” I repeat. My voice is more forceful the second time, and maybe a bit desperate.

His lips purse and he puts down his fork, pulling his napkin from the table to wipe his lips. “I don’t know. Twenty maybe. Maybe more.”

I gasp, pushing my plate away, holding my napkin to my mouth to hide my reaction from him.

He sighs, closing his eyes for a second, then he slides from the booth, stepping around to my side where he moves in next to me. My breathing stops with the feel of his body next to mine. And then his arm reaches around me, and everything strong inside collapses as I give in and lean into him to cry.

“I didn’t know,” I say again. It’s all I have to give. I didn’t know. He must hate me.

Andrew doesn’t respond, but the feel of his hand as it cups my shoulder then slides up to reach into my hair, his fingers on the side of my head, threading my hair and sliding it from my instant-tear-strewn face, is enough.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper once more.

The waitress comes after a few minutes, and Andrew reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and sliding a twenty on the table. His arm never leaves its hold around me.

“We’re good. Keep the change,” he says.

She walks away, and he remains in the spot next to me, his breathing slow and regular, his hand tender against me.

“Come on. Let me get you home,” he finally says, his head leaning against mine as he speaks. I nod slowly. When his arm leaves from my body, the air rushes around me. The feel left behind can only be described as sickness.

I feel sick.

Andrew stands at the end of our table, waiting while I slide from the booth to follow behind him.

“Thanks for the breakfast,” I say.

He laughs lightly.

“You didn’t eat a thing. And you didn’t even get to enjoy your fatty-ass coffee,” he says. When I glance up at him, his crooked smile is waiting for me. “I think I owe you one.”

I smirk back, but start to feel the sting of tears again. Andrew steps in to halt them.

“Come on,” he says, running his hand down my arm until he finds my fingers, grasping them tightly. He squeezes just to let me know he’s not letting go, then walks with me next to him, guiding me through the restaurant and back to his car, where he walks to my side to open the door.

“Thought maybe this was one of those times I should open the door for you,” he says. My breath stutters from my body, almost feeling painful. I slide into my seat and let him close the door for me. I watch him rush around to his side, then wait while he starts the engine, buckles his belt and pulls away from the restaurant.

I’m lost in a world of
what-ifs
and other questions for most of the ride home, and I hardly realize how far we’ve travelled when Andrew wakes me from my trance.

“Who told you I was in Iowa?” he asks nervously. He’s worried about upsetting me more. All this time—these years he must have thought the worst of me—and he’s worried about how
I
feel now.

“My mom. She said my dad asked your family…” I drift off at the memory. I was in a hospital bed, terrified, wanting everything that ever made me feel secure to be in that room with me as doctors cracked open my chest. The realization of it all weighs on my shoulders, my head feels heavy and my body feels numb. “They lied…my parents…they lied.”

I glance at Andrew, and his hands flex as they grip the steering wheel, his jaw tightening as he swallows. He looks to me, but only briefly before turning back to the road.

“Are your parents still there? In that house? I…haven’t driven by since the last time I saw you.” His eyes rake over me once again, and I wonder what he must have seen. I remember that day—it was homecoming our junior year. My mother had bought me a pink dress that showed my bare shoulders, but covered my chest completely. I had been worried about people seeing my scar. It was the most expensive dress I’d ever owned, but she didn’t care about the price tag. She wanted me to experience something normal and not have to worry about what people saw. I found out about her cancer the day after the dance.

“My dad lives in Woodstock still. He put the house up for sale…after my mom died. But it’s not an easy sale. He’s still there,” I say.

Andrew sinks deep into his seat, his hands running down the wheel to rest at the bottom. He glances out his side window and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

“There’s no way you could have,” I say.

The bridge between us is so small and fragile. I hate to say anything more for fear that it will wash it all away. For so long, he was gone. And then he was only a wound—something that left me feeling hopeless. Maybe something I also tried to forget. I didn’t mean to. I think I just
had
to forget him, or at least hide him from my heart. It wasn’t right—and my heart, it knew he was there all along anyhow. The guilt over what he’d done for me, it was always tempting me, begging me to feel. All it took was seeing him to bring it back to life. And now that I know…
now that I know!
Right now, thanks to our words, secrets finding the surface—Andrew feels close; I can’t lose him, even what little of him I have.

I’ll take what little I have, whatever he’ll give.

We pull up in front of my building, and my shoulders sag from the weight of everything else I wish I had the courage to say. I want more time—more mornings like this one. I want to travel back five years ago and fix things. I want to have known the truth then, to have gotten to decide for myself. And I want Lindsey not to be tangled in with our story. She is, and because she is, I’m slightly paralyzed. But my heart…it’s still reeling after his words. And at the very least, there are some things he deserves to know…things he deserves to hear.

“Thank you for the ride,” I say, grabbing my purse, clutching it to my chest.
Be brave, Emma. Be brave.
My heart is pounding underneath my grip. I close my eyes tightly, willing myself to get one thing out—to be raw and honest just once. “And thank you for what you did for me, Andrew—that night, for taking my place. You saved my life. You’ll never know, and I’m so sorry that I didn’t know, and I’m so angry right now that I can’t even think clearly. But…just…you were always my angel. Just please know that. There hasn’t been a night that’s passed that I haven’t wished for you to show up at my window just so I could tell you that,” I say, my words falling out fast, my lips quivering, my hands shaking, my body sweating and flushed.

Somewhere in the middle of everything, I start to cry. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and I blow air out through my lips, trying to regain my center, my world tilting just from the way he looks sitting there. I want him to look at me. I want him to tell me it’s okay, that what he went through wasn’t so bad. But he can’t, because
that
would be a lie. Nothing is okay. None of what happened is all right—and Andrew is ruined because of it…because of me! My selfishness ruined him. My broken heart broke his—and I have to live with that.

“I just need you to know that one thing,” I speak, my voice strained as I try to hold the meltdown that is seconds away at bay. “And I’m sorry if I didn’t say it well or if I sound crazy right now. I think maybe I might be a little.” I laugh and cry at the same time, my eyes falling closed. I’m losing it—cracking up. “I can’t even look at you, I’m so embarrassed and scared, but…okay. Yeah. Just…you.” I pause, breathing in deeply, looking down into my own hands that are clinging to each other. “Andrew, everything would have been different. I swear.”

I glance up at him once before I pull the door handle and push the door open. His eyes are intent on his knuckles, and his grip in front of him is tight, his hands wringing on the leather of his steering wheel. He nods once slowly, but doesn’t turn to face me.

I don’t know if this is still him testing me, to see how far I’ll go, how many speeches I’ll make. I don’t have anything left, though. This was all I had. And the fact that it might not be enough, that Andrew will still hate me, resent me—it feels so unbelievably unfair. Yet when I think of what he went through, it doesn’t seem my punishment is harsh enough.

My feet are shaky on the ground as I step from his car, and I walk around the back because I can’t bare the thought of him seeing me pass in front of him. I’m afraid I might fall. My face feels red, and the only thing I can think about is how I’m going to get the courage to ask my father why he lied to me, why Mom lied. My legs are tingling with energy, and I feel like I do when I dream—when my limbs want to run, but somehow they just can’t.

One foot in front of the next, I watch the ground before me, not realizing that Andrew hasn’t pulled away. I don’t look back, and I don’t see him coming, but his hand soon glides up my back, startling me. I gasp as I turn quickly, dropping my purse at my feet, my phone sliding from it, my lipstick rolling down the walkway into the dead grass, my medicine rolling next to it. I move on instinct to pick everything up, but Andrew’s hands find my face quickly, his thumbs on my cheeks, his palms cupping my face. Soon his forehead is on mine, and he’s breathing hard.

“Andrew,” I whisper, my hands clutching the sides of his shirt. My eyes flutter closed as our heads rest together. He licks his lips once, grimacing from pain, his bruises still apparent and his wounds still fresh. His mouth opens in a hard breath.

“It was always you,” he says, his body shuddering as he rocks us side to side, his thumbs tracing my cheeks softly until one finds my lips. I let out a sharp breath at his touch, as the pad of his thumb slides over my bottom lip. Surely he can feel it shaking. My entire body is pulsing, the sound of my heartbeat loud in my ears, filling my head, drowning all reason. “It was worth it…for you.”

His head tilts up just enough that his lips graze mine, our touch almost a tickle as his bottom lip passes over mine, his breath slow against me as his forehead rests heavy. “Emma,” he breathes, his whisper against my mouth. “So long…I wanted…I waited.”

My eyes flutter open then drift closed again, something awakening in me from his touch. My body rushes with heat as he steps in closer to me, his hold on me firmer, his breathing more steady.

Years begin to dissolve, and my heartbeat feels strong and steady.

Then music begins to play at my feet. It’s Lindsey’s ringtone—alarms sounding off, calling off mistakes, stopping accidents. This is my chance to stop hurting people, to
not
make things worse. I step back and Andrew’s grip tightens, his body feeling panicked. We both look down and see her name.

I kneel down, and Andrew steps back a pace, his hands falling to his sides, his eyes wide.

I hold my ringing phone in my hand, then look up at him, his sad eyes saying everything that’s in mine.

“Hey,” I answer the phone, never breaking my gaze at Andrew, who keeps his eyes on mine as well.

“Hey, I’m at the library. I need to finish up a research project, but I’m starving. Wanted to see if you wanted to grab lunch before our lab?” Lindsey’s voice is in one world, and I’m in another. Those worlds are so far apart, and one will destroy the other if I let them collide.

“Sure,” I say. My eyes stay on Andrew’s, my hands wishing they could touch him again, but my head knows they can’t. The dull ache starts to creep in slowly. “I’ll meet you at the library in half an hour.”

Lindsey and I say goodbye, and I push my phone into my purse quickly, no longer able to look up and see Andrew’s face. I reach for my lipstick, but before I can grab the rest of my things, he kneels down and takes my pills into his hands. My initial instinct is to grab them back, but my fingers recoil before I do. A few seconds pass, and I know he’s reading the long name, wondering what it’s for. Eventually he passes the bottle to me, and I stuff it into my purse before zipping it closed.

“Thanks,” I say without looking at him. I won’t give any hint that that bottle is anything significant, even though when I finally stand and meet his stare, I know the question is just perched on his lips. He doesn’t ask it though.

This is one secret I’m not ready to share today. There are too many things, and Andrew’s heart has been broken enough without having to add the weight of my story—of what he missed while he was busy being tortured at Lake Crest—to his heavy load of things to bear.