“We’re at a kids’ dance, for Christ’s sake,” I say.
I hold Colter away from Phillip. Both have bloody faces and are wiping them.
One of the older chaperones is walking our way with a stern look on her bony face.
Colter’s still fuming, trying to get me to move. I push my hands on his chest, pull down his chin and look him in the eyes. “He’s right. I’m totally fucked up. So stop defending me.”
I turn to Phillip; he’s wiping his bloody nose, glaring at Colter. “You may be an asshole, but you’re right about me. Do you want a fucking medal?”
Phillip gives me one last glare, then stomps off with Kirstyn at his side. The chaperone stops them. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she’s staring at his face. She shakes her head and glances over at us.
Colter bends over, holding his stomach, so I lean down to his line of sight. “We need to get out of here.”
He wipes his bloody nose, but doesn’t say anything.
I grab his hand and pull him to his car. He’s sluggish and resists me the whole way. I take his keys from his pocket and get in the front seat after opening the passenger door for him.
“We have to sing. We have to go back,” he says.
“Are you kidding me? Look at you. Besides, the frigid bitch in there doesn’t look happy.”
“You have the duet with Janie.”
“It just became a solo, now shut up.”
He’s silent the rest of the drive to my house. My mom’s at work and the house is eerily dark. He shoves the car door open and storms out. He stops in front of the door as if realizing for the first time we’re at my house.
He turns and looks at me. “Why are we here?”
“You’re hurt. I need to clean you up.”
He glares at me. “Why’d you say that?”
I search my brain but can’t find anything. “Say what?”
“That you’re fucked up. That Phillip was right. Why’d you say that?”
“Because I am.”
45
Colter grits his teeth but says nothing. I drag him indoors and we make our way to the bathroom. I point to the toilet. He reluctantly sits and his expression is one I’ve never seen. He’s angry. Really angry. At me. I grab some ointment from the cabinet and grab a washcloth from the drawer next to the door. I raise his chin and look at his face. It’s bruised and bloody, and he has a huge cut on his cheek from something.
“Does Phillip ever trim his nails? Shit, that’s deep.”
Colter just glares at me, his eyes full of sadness and worry and more anger. I try not to look at him. I dampen the washcloth and start wiping at the cut to clean it off.
He hisses in pain.
“Sorry. I’m almost done.” I lean over and apply some of the ointment, spreading it against the cut, and finish wiping away the rest of the blood. His nose and eye are bruised and the cut is deep, but he’s okay. “My hero,” I say, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ve never had anyone do anything like that for me,” I say, kissing him on the nose. “Thank you.” I kiss him on the lips, but he doesn’t return the kiss.
I open my eyes and he’s glaring at me again. “He called you a bitch and you don’t even care. I’m the only one who cares. And I care too much.”
He jerks up out of the seat and starts pacing like he did yesterday at school. “I still see it in your eyes.”
I look away from him.
He turns abruptly toward me. “You said you were going to try.” He laughs angrily. “I’m such an idiot. I believed you.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing. I can’t lie to him anymore.
He closes his eyes so tight even tears can’t escape. Anguish is painted all over his body, in his posture, his face. “I can’t lose you like I lost him. I can’t.” He opens his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, making the gelled pieces stick up. “I have to believe you came to me for a reason. That somehow, because of what happened to Ryan, you were sent to me. And I’m failing, and I don’t know what to do. What can I do?”
I grab his face, center my focus on him, and say the one thing I know that will make him feel better, that will end his rant. “I love you.” As I say the words, I believe them. I feel them. It’s me saying them, not Happy Ellery.
He gets a surprised look on his face, and then I’m buried again in the depths of him. I kiss him first, then he kisses me back, hard, desperate. He moves me out of the bathroom and into my room. He backs me up against the bed, and I’m lost; I’m not thinking of anything but him and his body touching mine. He’s tentative with me. But I coax him onto the bed. He lies on top of me and his body feels warm and safe, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not scared. I know what I want.
It’s him.
He moves from my lips to my neck, trailing kisses down my skin, leaving me shuddering in the wake they create. He stops and looks at me.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”