“It’s nothing.” He leans against the wall beside me and coughs. “The band on now is using a smoke machine and my lungs didn’t like it. But I’m fine.”
“Did you take some medicine?”
He nods. “That’s what I was just doing. I keep it in my guitar case.”
This makes me smile. “Very badass.”
“I know, right?” He tries taking a breath, and his face visibly relaxes when he discovers he can. “So what did you think of our set?”
The color is returning to his face, along with the high of success, and I remember how all those girls looked at him while he was up there onstage. And how instead of feeling protective or slightly amused, like Aubrey would have, like I should have, I felt a little annoyed.
What the hell does that even mean?
“It was great,” I say, staring down at my shoes. The left one has a scuff from when that girl trampled me. “You were great.”
“Yeah?” He shifts closer as if he’s trying to hear me better, even though it’s not as loud over here and he can obviously hear me fine.
“Yeah.”
All night I’ve avoided human contact, but for some reason, standing this close to Ethan doesn’t bother me at all. I look up, meeting his eyes, but I don’t get the chance to say anything more, because at precisely that moment, a fistfight erupts in front of the bathrooms.
It must have started in the men’s room, but now it’s spilled out into the hallway, where there’s a tiny bit more room to maneuver. A dark-haired guy has a grip on a blond guy’s shirt, and he’s using his free hand to pound on his face. The sound is dull and sickening. Blood spurts out of the blond guy’s nose, and the pain clearly enrages him, because he charges the other guy and knocks him to the floor. A girl screams. It’s total mayhem.
“Shit,” Ethan says when the guys roll toward us, fists flying. “Come on, let’s move.”
He takes my hand and attempts to pull me away, but I’m rooted to the spot. Frozen. There’s blood all over the floor, blood staining the blond guy’s shirt, blood on the other guy’s knuckles. I can’t tear my eyes away. I can’t move.
Blood, oozing onto the pavement, soaking into the fabric of her skirt—
Ethan squeezes my hand, trying to snap me out it. When that doesn’t work, he lets go and steps in front of me instead, facing me with his arms on either side of my head, locking me in. For a moment I’m distracted, wondering why he’s positioned himself like he’s guarding me from a bullet. But then I hear the two guys scuffle past, still grappling like they’re in a wrestling ring and not on a dirty community center floor. One of their flailing limbs bumps into Ethan, and I instinctively grab the front of his T-shirt, pulling him closer. We watch as the two guys tumble out into the main area, where they’re almost immediately intercepted by three big guys and a security officer.
And as quickly as it began, it’s over. The spectators who’d gathered to watch the fight rush out to catch the rest of the action, leaving the hallway virtually empty. All that’s left is an extremely irritated man who’s grumbling about the mess on the floor, and Ethan and me.
As the shock of the last several minutes wears off, I’m suddenly aware that we’re still standing very, very close together. And that I haven’t let go of his shirt. And that the horror I felt from seeing the blood is gradually being replaced by a different kind of fear.
“You okay?” Ethan asks. His cheek is inches from mine, and I can feel his breath on the side of my neck.
“I think so.” My fingers loosen on his shirt, but I still don’t let go.
He pulls back to look at me, and I feel something shift. He doesn’t need to explain how he’s feeling—I already know. Just like I know the quickening of his breath isn’t because of his protesting lungs. It’s because of what he’s about to do, and because he knows, just by the way I tighten my hold on him, that I’m going to let him.
Even so, I’m surprised when he actually does it.
His lips are hesitant at first, testing, as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind and flee. But I keep as still as I’ve ever been, so still he probably feels like he’s kissing a mannequin. He lowers one hand from the wall and cups the back of my head, bracing me as his mouth becomes less gentle. And for a moment I get lost, a dormant part of my body waking up and taking over, making me forget where I am and who I am and even who I’m with.
But when he stops kissing me and pulls back, either to take a breath or check in with me, I catch a glimpse of his eyes, dark and familiar, and the reality of what I’m doing hits me with a jolt. It should feel weird, kissing my dead best friend’s little brother in a creepy, bloodstained hallway. And it does, a little. Probably because it is weird.
I know this, just as I know that kissing him is bound to complicate things even more, but I still don’t move or say a word. Ethan doesn’t say anything either. He just stares at me, helpless and maybe a little guilty, his hand sliding down to rest on my neck. A shiver runs through me.
“Sorry,” he says, finally. His arms drop back to his sides. “I just—you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you.”
The thing is I think I do know, even though I’ve never admitted it to myself until right this second. Maybe I’ve always known.
A deafening screech of feedback filters into the hallway, reminding us there’s still a concert going on just a few feet away. I unclench my fingers from Ethan’s shirt and he steps back, his eyes still fixed on mine.
“We should probably get back out there before we end up missing the whole thing,” he says, offering me his hand.
I look at it and feel a rush of affection for him so intense, it literally hurts. But there are other feelings now too, layered in between. Exhilaration. Hesitation. Desire. All the things I felt when he kissed me.
I take his hand and together we slip back into the crowd.
twenty
Sophomore Year
THE DAY AFTER PAIGE’S PARTY, AUBREY SHOWED up unannounced at my door with her arms loaded down with baking supplies.
“The auction, remember?” she said when I gave her a blank look.
Right. Our school was having a pie auction the next day to raise money for a local children’s charity, and Aubrey had signed us up to make lemon meringue. I’d completely forgotten we’d made plans to bake at my house today.
My stomach tightened as we hauled everything into the kitchen. I was counting on not hanging out with her again until after I spoke to Justin. Or until after he told her himself. I didn’t want to talk about it now, when my brain was still muddled about what happened in the garage and what it might mean. I’d been feeling sick ever since, wondering if Ethan had said anything or if Justin had said anything or if Aubrey had somehow figured it out on her own. But she was acting the same around me as she always did.