Obviously it was, because his skin is like ice. The temperature is actually pretty mild for December, but the wind adds a damp chilliness that settles into your bones.
“I’m nice and warm now,” Ethan says, pressing his freezing nose to my cheek.
I squirm and glance behind me. We’re a safe distance from my house, but still, we have lots of neighbors. Nosy ones. Gripping the sides of his jacket, I drag him back behind the tree, out of sight.
“Why didn’t you come to my door?” I ask him.
He grins and slips his hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “Because I’m scared of your father.”
Okay. I’ll give him that. My father is sort of terrifying, especially when he’s mad.
After warming up for a while behind the tree, we decide to walk to Juniper Park. On the way, we pass several decorated houses, reminding me how close it is to Christmas and New Year’s. And Aubrey’s birthday.
“Do you still want to be a cop?” Ethan asks as we cross the street.
I shrug. Mrs. Dover brought the topic up again yesterday, when she called me in to discuss why I haven’t yet applied to any colleges. I didn’t have an answer for her, and I don’t have one for Ethan. Things are different now; that na?vely confident fifteen-year-old no longer exists. Police officers risk their lives to protect people, and I can’t even work up the nerve to drive a car.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I answer.
Thankfully, he doesn’t push. A few minutes later we arrive at the park, which—due to the late hour and increasingly frigid weather—we have all to ourselves. Hand in hand, we walk along the gravel path that cuts through the grass, pausing when we reach the stone fountain. We sit on the edge, facing the deserted playground area in the distance.
“Remember when you walked across the monkey bars?” Ethan says.
“Of course.”
“I thought you were going to fall and break your neck.” He lifts a hand and brushes it against my fortunately undamaged neck, making me shiver. “You were so fierce back then. Fierce and fearless. I loved that about you.”
I feel a prickle of hurt and look away, not wanting him to see it on my face. Since those traits no longer exist in me, what’s left for him to love? Shame and anguish? Not exactly attractive qualities. “I was more reckless than fearless,” I tell him, making my tone light to cover up the sting. “Not to mention a show-off.”
He grins and hooks an arm around my waist, tugging me toward him. “Yeah, but you were a cute show-off. I couldn’t even think straight when I was watching you up there, and not just because I was afraid you were going to fall. You had on those little white shorts that showed off your legs and all I could think about was how sexy you looked. And how much I wanted to do this.”
He tips my face up and kisses me, extinguishing my hurt and igniting a much different feeling. The kind I’m still not entirely used to experiencing around Ethan. Sometimes, when I think about what we’re doing, about how it’s him I’m kissing and touching and wanting, I feel like I’m breaching some sort of ethical code.
Ethan, however, has no such qualms. His hand slides under my coat, inching toward the hem of my shirt. I can feel the iciness of his fingers even through my clothes, so I yank his hand out and hold it firmly in mine.
“Don’t even think about touching me with your ice cube hands,” I scold him. “You might be bigger than me now, but I can still take you in a fight. I used to be very good at kicking your ass.”
“I know. I thought that was hot too.”
“Sure you did.”
“No, really.” He leans back a bit and sticks his other hand under the back of my coat, where I can’t easily block him. When his cold fingers meet my bare skin, I shriek and try to jerk away, but he grips me even tighter and presses his entire palm against my lower back.
“Ethan,” I gasp, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I revert to my old playful self for a moment and push him.
Neither of us is prepared for what happens next. The force of my shove knocks him off balance and he slips off the edge of the fountain, landing on his knees on the hard pavement below. He laughs and gets right back up, so I know he’s not hurt. But knowing this doesn’t stop the wave of panic that hits me when I realize what I did.
Just like the day in the truck with Dad and Tobias when we drove down Fulham Road, my breathing shallows as the memories flood in, pulling me under.
Garbage reeking under the sun.
A small, still foot, nails painted blue.
Crimson blood on the asphalt, spreading, soaking . . .
So much blood.
“Dara. Dara. Look at me.”
Ethan’s voice breaks through, and suddenly I’m back on the fountain again, arms wrapped tightly over my abdomen and fingers curled into fists. I focus on Ethan’s face, which is pale and anxious. Seeing him so worried makes me worried, and it takes a few seconds to regulate my breathing again.
“I’m okay,” he says, taking hold of my wrists and prying my arms away from my body. He lifts my right hand and presses it flat to his chest, right over his heart. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.”
Tears spill over my lids and I nod, unable to speak. His heart thumps steadily against my palm, rhythmic and alive, but all it does is remind me of how fragile bodies are. How quickly and easily the life inside them can cease and fade away.
“I’m sorry, I can’t—” I drop my hand from his chest and stand up, prepared to walk away and leave him there, alone but safe, on the lip of the fountain. But he’s in front of me before I can even take one step.
“Please don’t be sorry,” he says, gripping my shoulders. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Honestly, I kind of liked it when you pushed me. You were like the old Dara again for a second. It was nice.”
“But I’m not the old Dara anymore, Ethan.” I take a step back, out of his reach. “I’ll never be her again.”
He lowers his hands and stuffs them into the pockets of his jacket. “I know that.”
“No. I don’t think you do.” Another tear escapes and I swipe at it angrily. “I’m sorry I can’t be fierce and fearless and whatever else you loved about me back then, but that girl is gone. Forever. Don’t you get it? I’m different now.”
“And you think I’m not?” he says, his mood darkening in a flash like it did the other day in the hallway at school. “She was your best friend but she was my family. Losing her changed me too, you know. I’m not that innocent little kid anymore. I stopped being a kid the day my sister was crushed to death by a fucking truck.”
The words hit me like darts, making me flinch. I knew he felt these things, but hearing him say them, feeling the potency of his anger while he says them, is a different experience altogether. It also confirms the suspicions I’ve had ever since my conversation with Noelle in chemistry a few days ago. Ethan is still mad at me. And even if he isn’t completely conscious of it, he does blame me, at least on some level.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble after a few moments of heavy silence. “Do you want me to go?”