“For you to learn how to drive.”
My body jerked forward, my head almost hitting the dashboard. “Easy on the brakes. No need to stomp on them.” We were in the school parking lot. It was the only place I could think of that was big enough and wouldn’t have a lot of obstacles.
Dax eased off the brakes and the car rolled forward. He pushed on them again, and once again my body jerked forward. This time the seatbelt tightened and I let out a grunt.
“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry.” I’d never seen him more out of his element or unsure of himself. Dax was always a presence. A confident presence.
“It’s okay. It takes a little while to get used to how sensitive the brake pedal can be.”
“I suck at this. I’m going to ruin your car.”
“You’re not going to ruin my car.” I wasn’t sure if he understood what I said, though, since I was laughing so hard.
He shot me a look. “Is this going to be one of your laughing fits?”
I pointed back at the wheel. “Just drive. You’ll get used to it.”
“Driving or you laughing at me?”
“Both.”
He inched forward again, his face a mixture of concentration and nerves. A surge of warm affection eased through me. I felt like I knew Dax pretty well, but I still wanted to know more about him.
“Where were you born?”
“Kaysville.”
“How old were you when your dad left?”
“Four. Too young to really remember him much.”
“And is that when your mom started . . .” I didn’t want to finish the sentence.
He did for me. “Doing drugs?”
“Yes.”
“No. That was later, when her mother died.”
“And when did CPS get involved?”
He rubbed his thumb over his left wrist. “When I was thirteen.”
“You’re seventeen now?”
“Yes.”
“Was she a good mom before all this?”
“She was the best mom she knew how to be.”
“I guess that’s all any of us can do.” I reached over and squeezed his knee.
“Are you trying to mess me up? Like in the Frisbee throw?”
I smiled, remembering our library competition. “Is it working?”
“We’ve already established you’re a distraction.”
I laid my hand back in my lap. My cheeks hurt from smiling. Dax circled the lot twice, getting steadier with each lap.
“How’s the group home?” I asked.
“Have you ever felt trapped?”
I gave a single laugh. “Yes. I have anxiety.”
“Right.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“Stop apologizing.”
I stopped. “When I feel trapped, anxious, I think about the times I’m the happiest.”
He dared take his eyes off the dark lot in front of him to level his gaze on me. The intensity in them took my breath away. Then he was focused again out the window. I almost apologized, thinking I had hit a nerve with that suggestion. But I held my tongue.
Dax’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel and I looked out the windshield. Another car pulled into the parking lot at least fifty yards away. He slammed on the brakes, throwing me forward.
“Seriously, Dax. You’re going to kill me.”
“Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to say?”
I laughed as I watched the car in front of us do a U-turn and exit the lot again. I laughed a lot around him, I realized. He made me happy. My insides felt like they were glowing, like I wanted to live in this moment forever. I played with the hot pink bracelet still firmly attached to my wrist and I took a deep breath and spit out, “You’ve definitely been added to the archive the last couple of weeks.”
“What archive?” he asked.
“The happy memories one. The one I’ll draw from in my dark times,” I said quietly.
A smile stole away his hard expression before he wiped it off and pretended I hadn’t seen it. But I had. And it got added to the bank.
“Happy memories can’t get you through everything.” He seemed to be talking from experience. He stopped the car and put it in Park, then turned toward me. “Did I leave my book at the park yesterday?”
“Yes. I have it. I forgot. I’ll bring it to school on Monday.”
“Okay.”
I leaned my head on the seat, staring at him. His eyes held mine. They were intense. I’d never felt so exposed before. Like he was looking into me.
“What?” he asked.
“Thanks for coming tonight. I needed it.”
“Sure.” He ran a single finger along the line of my jaw and I shivered.
“You’re always cold,” he said.
My eyes stared into his. “I’m not cold.”
He was close. Too close. But I didn’t back away. In fact, maybe I had been the one to close the distance between us. I stopped myself from leaning in any closer. I breathed in his breath. Then it was him moving forward, his lips seconds from meeting mine.