“I’m not!”
“I knew what I was doing!” he grunted, trying to secure her wrists once more.
“You don’t know what the hell you’re doing!” she screeched.
“REGAN!” he bellowed, inches from her face. “I’ve been beaten up enough!” He tried to stifle the laughter.
“Apparently not!” she countered.
He threw his arms around her hard, flattening her body to his, trapping her in a death grip. He rolled over, pinning her in the snow, watching the anger ebb and flow in her eyes.
“You’re so pretty,” he said softly, smiling down at her.
“Get off of me,” she snapped, panting hard.
“I love you.”
“I don’t care.”
He leaned in and kissed her mouth. She bit him. He reared back in shock, tonguing his bottom lip and tasting the metallic bite of fresh blood. He set his jaw and leaned in once more, kissing her harder. She twisted underneath him, grunting into his mouth.
“I love you,” he mumbled, hoping the words would fall into the deep, warm tissues of her heart and sprout forgiveness. He wanted her forgiveness; he just didn’t know how to ask.
“You hurt my feelings!” she cried, and he pulled away to see the tears pool in her eyes.
“I know,” he said. “I’m a guy, Regan. I don’t know how to be mature about everything.”
“I’m not asking you to!” she replied. “I’m asking you to be kind to me!”
“I will be,” he assured her.
She wiped her eyes with the backs of her gloved hands.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you away,” he said.
“I’m sorry I don’t know what you need, okay? But you could have just told me. You could have said, ‘Regan, stop hovering’ or ‘Regan, stop asking me to share my feelings.’ I wouldn’t have been offended. But you never explained anything to me. You just hid away . . . with her.”
She burst out crying.
“Regan,” he said soothingly, cupping her face and wiping her fresh tears.
“I’m sorry I’m such a girl about everything,” she cried bitterly. “But guess what? I’m a fucking girl!”
He chuckled. “I’m glad for it.”
“And I don’t like to see you in pain! I’d do anything to make you happy. Anything at all.”
He believed her.
She hiccupped and fell silent.
“I’m glad you came to find me,” he said after a moment.
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s true! I didn’t want to be alone up here after all.”
She eyed him warily.
“I’m telling you the truth,” he said.
“Really?”
“Really. I do love you, Regan. And I am sorry for the way I’ve treated you. I . . . I wanna make it up to you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. I thought I could take you on a date.”
Pause.
“I’ll have to look at my parents’ schedule to see about borrowing the car,” she said.
“No no, I’m driving,” he said.
“Huh?”
He grinned. “It’s running.”
She smiled. “Your Camaro is running?”
“Yep. Finally. Only took me a million years,” he said.
“That’s so cool!” she squealed.
“Still needs a paint job, and some stuff in the interior needs to be fixed, but it runs, and that’s all that matters.”
“Let’s drive away in it!” she said, eyes wide with adventure.
“Where to?”
“The beach! Oh, I love the beach! And I never get to go.”
“The beach it is,” he said, and leaned in once more to kiss her.
This time she didn’t fight. She let him kiss her long and slow until she felt the sharp sting of melted snow pool in her ears.
Closing time.
***
“JESUS CHRIST!” Regan screamed, staring at the ghost in the window.
“What is it?!” her mother cried, shooting through the door into her bedroom. She recognized Casey’s face at once.
Casey stood out in the freezing temperatures, face nearly glued to Regan’s window, trails of tears practically frozen to her pale face.
“What in God’s name . . .” Mrs. Walters threw up the sash. “Casey Holbrook, what the hell are you doing out here?! You’ll freeze to death. Get in here. Now!”
Casey paused.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Mrs. Walters muttered, yanking on Casey’s coat and pulling her in head first. She dropped to the floor like a block of ice. Hell, she was a block of ice—blue hands, blue face. Regan even thought her hair had turned blue.
Mrs. Walters tore the quilt off Regan’s bed and wrapped Casey. She hugged her close.
“Honey, why?” she asked.
“I . . . I w-wanted to t-talk to R-Regan,” she stuttered, teeth chattering so hard that Regan was afraid she’d wear them down to stubs in a matter of seconds.
“Baby, there’s a front door,” Mrs. Walters said.
“It’s late,” Casey replied.
“I don’t care if it’s three in the morning! You don’t stand outside in the middle of winter for God knows how long!” She waited.
“Thirty minutes, maybe?” Casey offered.
“Oh my God!” Mrs. Walters cried. “Regan, go put on some hot water.”
“Mom, we don’t live at the North Pole,” Regan said. “It’s not the biggest deal ever.”
Mrs. Walters narrowed her eyes and leveled her voice: “Go put the water on.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Regan mumbled, and headed for the kitchen.