I can’t even look at her, and the deeper concerns plaguing my stomach are undeniable. Kingston Hawthorne is a very bad influence, and the gravity of what that entails is smacking me dead in the face. If he can lie that easily to my parents, he could do it to anyone—including me.
I watch the floor the entire walk to my room, and quietly shut my door. I manage to change into pajamas without crying, guilt and heavy thoughts weighing down every movement.
I’m about to head in to brush my teeth when a knock sounds from the other side of the bathroom door.
“Echo,” he whispers, “can I come in?”
“Just step back and I’ll open it. I need in there anyway.”
I pause for him to move away, then enter. I don’t look at him, or in the mirror.
“Echo,” he says, low and solemn, before stepping close. I can feel his front, a breath from my back. “You didn’t lie—not one time. I did. So stop carrying any burden, which I know is what you’re doing right now. I don’t want you to think me a liar. But Echo, I did it for you. I simply couldn’t let our night end with you in trouble. I wouldn’t have it tarnished.”
I say nothing, mulling over his words as I give my teeth a thorough cleaning. I’m glad the concern eating at me seems to have crossed his mind, too, considering he’s telling me he doesn’t exactly feel blasé about lying.
After I rinse, I finally look at him…and I don’t see a liar. I see a beautiful man, inside and out, who showed me the best night I’ve ever had before promptly falling on his sword to spare me. I see a tried-and-true friend who has my back.
“Thank you.” I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tightly, my cheek pressing against his bare chest. It’s warm to the touch, and smells deliciously of pure male and hard work. It’s hypnotizing, but I’m not surprised by that anymore. “I owe you one.”
“Actually,” he replies, rubbing my back and allowing his lips to rest upon my hair, “you owe me two.”
I lean back, craning my neck to see his face. “Two?”
“Dances,” he clarifies with a wink. “You owe me two. One for the bet you lost—”
“And one for covering for me,” I realize, finishing the sentence for him. “You’re right. I mean…it’s only fair. Two it is.”
He slides a finger under my chin and tilts my face upward, bending his head so his next words bathe my lips in warmth. “You owe me nothing for the tire story, except maybe a ride to my truck in the morning.” He smiles. “No, Love. The second dance I speak of is prom.”
He must see the confusion on my face or the girlish hope in my eyes—or both—because he answers my unasked question. “Yes, I’m still escorting you.”
“You don’t have to do that. I lost, fair and square.”
“I know that. As do you.” He runs his thumb along my bottom lip, a smooth smile on his own. “You and I also both know I want to take you. And I don’t think you’re opposed to the idea…are you?”
I blush fiercely and shake my head, quickly and subtly. And with that, I realize everything I thought was bothering me tonight—losing, breaking curfew, lying, possible junkyard-dog attacks—wasn’t it at all.
The true root of my unhappiness was the thought that Kingston wouldn’t be taking me to my one and only prom. I didn’t know how much I wanted it until I thought I’d lost it, which seems to be a lesson I’m learning repeatedly when it comes to him.
I place my new understanding on the “It is what it is” shelf inside the deepest part of me, promising myself I won’t examine it further.
“It was never not going to happen,” he says through the gentlest kiss he places on my forehead. “And now that I see you’ve stopped worrying needlessly, sleep well.”
“Night, Kingston.”
“Good night, Love.”
And sleep well, I do.
Chapter 14
When I arrive at my truck after school the next day, there’s my perfectly good original tire, back on in place of the spare.
I start cackling like a crazy woman, right in the middle of the parking lot, for many reasons. I can’t help it as I think back to last night: our “great caper” of junkyard heists and sinister plotting. I’ve never done anything even close to reckless in my life…and it feels good, now that most of my guilt’s been absolved.
I’m also tickled at picturing Kingston searching the ditch for my hidden tire, then putting it back on…here. I don’t know when or how he managed it, but I’d bet money on the fact that plenty of my fellow female students had noticed—and enjoyed the show. Kingston Hawthorne, exerting physical energy, possibly sweating, maybe even taking off his shirt…
Yeah, he’d drawn an audience. Guaranteed.
After taking a thumbs-up selfie squatted down next to my tire and shooting it his way, I head home, where I wait for him. I want to thank him in person—especially now that my text has gone unanswered. I’d hate for him to think I’m ungrateful.
But after two hours pass with still no sign of Kingston, I decide to head to the pavilion. Time to start working on a brand-new routine: the one I owe him.