“Is that how she got the scars?” I ask softly.
He nods. “It was a vintage car, so the windows weren’t made of safety glass. The windshield sliced Sofia up when it shattered, and she was trapped inside.” Marco jumps out of the chair and paces, as if it’s physically painful for him to stay still.
“What about your dad? Was he all right?”
He slumps against the whiteboard behind him. “The asshole walked away with a few bruises. Actually, he ran away.” Marco takes a deep breath. “He left her, Frankie. And the cops didn’t know Sofia was in the car. Her head didn’t reach the top of the seat, and by the time the cops caught up to the car, my dad was already running.”
Without thinking, I’m out of my chair and across the room. I pull him against me and wrap my arms around him. His heart pounds against my cheek.
“The car flipped, and it was crushed. She couldn’t get out.” Marco buries his face in my neck and leans against me, his breathing ragged. The weight he’s carrying bears down on me, heavier than my own.
“Did the police figure out she was in the car?”
“No. Deacon lived up the street from where they crashed. His dad used to beat the crap out of him, and they got into it that night. Deacon was walking it off, and he saw the accident. He had to climb through what was left of the windshield to get her out.”
The scars on Deacon’s neck and arms—the ones that look like someone slashed him with a knife.
“I wasn’t there,” he says softly. “I should’ve been there.”
“It’s not your fault. Sofia is okay. More than okay. She’s smart and funny and beautiful. She’s fine.”
Marco pulls back and looks at me. “You think she’s beautiful?”
“Don’t you?”
“Of course I do. But not everyone sees past her scars. What happens when some guy won’t go out with her because of them?”
“Sofia can handle it. Sometimes scars make people stronger.”
Before I realize what he’s doing, Marco presses his lips against mine.
My mouth tingles, and the sensation travels all the way down to my toes. The Night Train must have dulled my senses the first time we kissed, because as incredible as that kiss was—this one sets every nerve in my body on fire. My hands move to his chest, and his heart pounds beneath them.
Marco responds by drawing me closer. His tongue finds mine, exploring and teasing. He tugs on my lip with his teeth, and I fall apart.
Our bodies melt like they belong together.
Like we belong together.
But I can’t belong to anyone again.
I pull back and turn to lean against the whiteboard next to him, breathless. “This isn’t a good idea … whatever we’re doing.” Making out?
Kissing Marco feels like more.
He pivots in front of me and cages me against the whiteboard with his arms. “Why does it feel like you’re always running away from me?”
Because I am.
If I was braver, I’d tell him the truth—that I’m scared to feel anything or need anyone.
He runs his hand along my cheek, and I close my eyes. I’m feeling too much again, and all I want to feel is nothing. “I can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
Because if I let myself feel one thing, I’ll feel everything. Because if my walls come down, the dam inside me will break, and I’ll drown. Because I can’t risk losing someone else I care about.
I stare at the ground, hiding behind the long waves falling over my shoulder.
Marco tucks my hair behind my ears and raises my chin. “I don’t want to stay away from you, Frankie. I’m not even sure I can. But I’ll try if that’s what you want.”
The thought of not seeing Marco—of not touching him—rips at the seams holding me together. I suck in a trembling breath. “It’s not.”
He pulls me against his chest and kisses his way up my neck until he reaches my ear. “What are you so afraid of?”
“Everything,” I whisper.
“Me too.”
CHAPTER 24
THE SAME SKY
I don’t want to stay away from you, Frankie. I’m not even sure I can.
I replayed my conversation with Marco over and over last night instead of sleeping, and those are the words that make me smile into my pillow. With his arms wrapped around me and his breath against my skin, he seemed so vulnerable.
Burrowing deeper under the covers, I close my eyes and remember kissing him. Our hands aren’t the only parts of our bodies that fit perfectly. When we kissed, it felt like we were made for each other.
My cell phone rings, and it takes a few seconds to untangle myself from the covers. It’s probably Lex. “Hello?”
“Frankie?” I hear Marco’s voice at the other end of the line, and I sit up with a jerk. He asked for my number last night, but I didn’t think he would call. Not right away, on Saturday morning, while I’m daydreaming about him.
A rush of warmth spreads through me.
“If it’s too early, I can call back later.”
“Don’t call back,” I blurt out. “I mean, it’s not too early.”
“You sound like you just woke up.”
And he sounds amazing.
“How can you tell?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.