TWENTY-SEVEN
Jordyn’s car is in front of my house when I get home. She’s sitting on the front step. No doubt here to rip into me about, what? Take your pick. How I made her the focus of the evil cheerleaders and Brett? How I kicked the shit out of Brett like a total psychopath?
I finally get out of my car. As I get closer, I see that she’s crying. “You okay?” I ask. Stupid fucking feelings.
“Honestly?” She won’t meet my eyes. I get the sense that she’s scared of me. Shit, I’d be scared of me too. “I don’t know.”
I keep my distance.
“You didn’t have to . . . You . . . It totally freaked me out to see you—”
“What? Turn into my dad?”
“Shit. No, Tyler. That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“Of course not!” She stands. Now she’s looking at me. I can tell she wants to say something more.
She spots the icepack tied around my hand and takes a step toward me. Then another. And then she lifts my hand and kisses the tops of my fingers.
I fumble with my keys in my left hand, but she takes them from me and lets me into my house. Then she leads me to the kitchen and removes the icepack. She doesn’t flinch when I reach out to wipe her tears, but she still only looks at my hand as she unwraps the bandage the school nurse attempted.
“Oh my god, your finger.” She very lightly brushes the most swollen part of my hand. It feels like a truck is slowly rolling over it. “We should go to the emergency room.”
I nod. But when she starts to lead me to the front door, I stop. “I can’t,” I say. “I can’t afford it. I’ll just . . .” I’ll just what? I’ll try to put it back into place myself?
“My mom and Henry will take care of it when they hear what you did for me. Not that I’m encouraging that. What you did. Just . . . shut up. Let’s go.” She looks me in the eyes. Her intensity scares me into submission, so I allow her to drive me to the ER.
Amazingly, I’m in and out in under two hours—X-ray, splint, and all. By some small miracle, nothing was broken. My first two fingers were pretty badly jammed, and the third finger was dislocated. The dislocated finger didn’t even hurt that much compared to the pain when they popped the damn thing back in. Luckily they’ve prescribed a few days’ worth of some serious painkillers. Jordyn makes me take them the second the bottle is in hand.
So I’m feeling pretty good when we pull up to my house. Also, a little loose-lipped.
“Dad’s gonna beat the shit outta me for this. I’m just gonna have to go back to that nice doctor lady again later.”
“What?” She looks alarmed. “Are you being serious, Tyler?”
“Abso-fucking-luteley,” I say, struggling with the car door handle and my new splint.
“Tyler, you have to tell someone.” She’s clearly frustrated.
“I told you. He’ll just get worse. Plus, you saw me back there. I can take care of myself.”
She watches me, wanting to say something else. About how scared she was—is—of me? About how she’s worried I’ll kill my dad? But then her expression goes all stubborn and she says, “Well, then I’m staying until he gets here. I’ll explain what happened. He can’t blame you after he hears the truth.”
This completely sobers me up. I turn to her. “You can’t stay. I can’t get you involved. It’ll be fine. I’ll avoid him. It’s not even that bad. I’m just high from the codeine.”
She leans across to open my door. “I’m staying. Let him try to touch one hair on your head without me calling the cops. Come on. You need sleep.” She suddenly appears on my side of the car and takes my good hand, leading me into the house. She’s still got my keys.
Captain’s greeting is somewhat subdued, as if he knows something’s wrong. I lean down to pet him. Jordyn gets down and gives him a proper scratch. She’s thanked with lots of kisses on her chin.
“Hey, now, don’t get frisky with her, Captain. I might lose my shit again.”
“Not funny,” Jordyn says. “Where’s your room?”
I lead her down the stairs and point to the door. “I need you to open it for me. It’s the second key from the car key.”
“You lock your room?”
“He’d trash it if I didn’t.”
She puts her hand on my face and I can’t stop myself from leaning into it. I close my eyes.
When I open them, she’s still looking at me. I lean down to kiss her, half expecting her to pull away, but she kisses me back. It’s slow and tentative, like we’re both making sure of the other.
When we pull apart, she studies my face. I drop my eyes to the doorknob.
“Are you okay, Tyler?” she asks quietly, unlocking the door. “Like, you know? At Thanksgiving . . .”