He comes back over to me and leans on the side of my Escape. “She’s relentless.” He laughs. “I swear, nothing I say will get through to her.”
“Have you tried being honest?”
“Yes,” he says in a playful tone. “She won’t listen.”
“Do you want me to beat her up?”
He chuckles and grabs my hand playfully, swinging it between us. “Yeah, could you? I’d like to see that.”
“I bet you would,” I say, letting go of his hand.
Pushing him away is going to be harder than I thought.
32
The wind whistles through the empty Pat City parking lot. The cold air carries memories of similar nights my sister and I shared, drinking hot chocolate. I get the sudden urge to see her again and for the first time ever, I want someone there with me. I want to share this with only one person.
“Are you doing anything right now?” I ask.
His eyebrows lift as he wraps his arms around my waist. “Why? Do you want to be doing something?”
I remove his arms from around me. “Probably not what you’re thinking.”
He feigns disappointment.
“I want to show you something.”
He eyes me beneath the rim of his dirty cap. “I’m all yours, Ellery Stevens.”
I feel a blush creep up into my cheeks. I love how that sounds a little too much. “Do you think my car will be okay here? I don’t think we should leave yours, since it’s a Escalade, and yeah. That sucker’d be gone in five minutes around here.”
“We can drop off your car, then we can go. I don’t trust this neighborhood with your car either.”
I start to open my door when a question pops into my head. “Why do you work at Kmart when your parents have money?”
He takes off his cap and scrunches his hair. “Dad wanted me to have a good work ethic, and I’ve always wanted to be a cop. So this seemed the logical job choice.”
“That actually makes sense. I didn’t know you wanted to be a cop.”
He leans in and kisses me quickly on the cheek. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
That seems to be a popular line for people around me.
I slip into my car and take off, grinning like I’ve been body-snatched by a lovesick girl. I keep glancing in the rearview mirror at his silhouette the rest of the trip.
Who the hell am I? Happy Ellery?
When we arrive at my house, I hop out of my car and get into his, feeling the familiar leather hug his seat gives me, and adjust the seat belt.
“Where are we going again?” he asks.
I flick the door handle back and forth. I’m sure I’m driving him crazy. “Mason Drive.”
He glances over at me. “Kirstyn’s? I highly doubt that.”
“The cemetery.”
“Oh,” he says with a surprised tone. “Okay.”
Gripping the wheel tight, he rings his hands around it as we make our way down Mason Drive, passing by the medium-sized houses with long driveways and Halloween signs in their yard telling the world to Watch out! Ghost Crossing. Colored leaves are scattered on the grass, filling holes and coating cars.
He parks the car outside the cemetery and we make our way inside. Crickets chirp a rhythm, and it echoes in my head like they’ve transformed into locusts. I resist the urge to cover my ears. Behind a canopy of trees, several headstones are bathed in blue-tinged moonlight. I cup my palms to my mouth and blow hot air into them before grabbing Colter’s equally frozen hand. I lead him down the dirt path, our shoes crunching on the frozen leaves and branches. The trees rustle in the wind and I’m reminded of the last time Jackson had to rescue me. I’m determined not to have that happen again.
I feel him pull me back, so I stop and turn.
“Can we stop for a sec,” he says, softly.
He’s staring at another headstone. It reads, Here lies Ryan Sawyer, beloved son, brother, and friend. Rock On!
I hadn’t considered that his brother might be buried here. I’m such an insensitive asshole. I squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about him being here, too.”
He shakes his head a little and grabs my hand tighter, weaving our fingers together. “It’s been too long since I was last here.” He pulls me closer to him, squeezing us together, tighter.
I feel so safe in his arms.
“I’m so sorry. God. I wasn’t even thinking. You must hate me.”
“I could never hate you,” he says quietly.
“What’s with the Rock On?”
He chuckles a little. “He loved to play the guitar. He was in a band. He always wanted to be big, not for the fame or anything, he just wanted to share his songs. It’s kind of weird and morbid, but he knew what he wanted on his headstone since we were kids. I think he might have been joking when he said it, but we put it on there anyway.” A lost expression passes over his face. “You never think someone you’re with every day is just going to disappear. I didn’t see. If I had, maybe I could’ve—”