by Julie Cross
Cole looks down at his lap and then sighs.
“What?” I say, my pulse quickening. He’s keeping something from me. I bet Tanley and Claire saw me blowing up like a balloon and told everyone. Cole shakes his head, so I press him harder. “What, Cole? Seriously?”
“Nothing.” He sighs again and then rests his head against the back of the chair, finally making eye contact with me. “She likes you.”
“Who?”
“Haley,” he says finally.
This answer is so unexpected, I burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? No way.”
He shrugs and goes back to watching the TV.
It takes a couple of minutes for me to process that thought of Cole’s and come down from my laughing high. “What makes you think she likes me?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles. “Just stuff.”
“Stuff that’s probably all in your head.” I pull myself up to my feet again and tap his shoulder with the remote control. “Watch your show and yell for me if there’s a really hot girl auditioning. I’m gonna get some food. You want anything?”
“Nope, I’m good.”
After stuffing myself full of smoked ribs and rice, I head for the shower to scrub the hospital and medicine smell off of me. Cole’s theory about Haley liking me is still stuck in my head the second I step under the hot water. Something about it is bugging me, like there’s a reason I know it can’t be true, but it’s lost in a hazy memory of the day’s drama.
I’m turning the knobs, shutting the water off, when I’m hit with a recap of my exit from the hospital. Braden had hugged her, I think. And he called her some weird nickname…Rhinestone. What the hell? Maybe that was a Benadryl-induced dream. God, I hope I’m not having dreams about Haley. Or Haley and my twenty-six-year-old brother.
Haley’s sunny expression comes back to me—a look she had while we sat in that booth together at O’Connor’s. Then I get a flash of that smile fading, of her looking completely crushed. By my words. What had I said to her?
“She’s pretty good at killing people with her bare hands.”
Shit.
Her intensely focused face—the one she wore while speeding through town toward the hospital—comes back to me, too.
Man, that girl can drive a stick shift like a pro.
Guilt twists in my stomach along with the big meal I just consumed. Jamie Isaacs is probably going to kill me after he finds out what I said to Haley. And he’ll probably end our extra practice sessions.
But it isn’t Jamie’s warnings or even fear of his fists that has me hurrying to get dressed and grabbing my keys. It’s Haley. I hurt her. And as much as I’d like to forget it and move on, I can’t.
I shoot Jamie a quick text.
ME: what’s Haley’s address?
JAMIE: OK, well that’s one way to handle things…
ME: she left something at my house. I’m going to drop it off.
JAMIE: why don’t u ask her?
ME: fine. Don’t tell me.
JAMIE: it’s on Prairie LN, don’t know the number. White house, blue shutters, 3rd from corner
ME: thanks
I slide my shoes on and then toss Cole’s into his lap. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
He stands, but then glances wistfully at the TV. “Save this for me, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” I work hard not to laugh. In fact, I take a second to study the ballroom dancers currently auditioning. Mary Murphy is yelping like she’s about to put them on the hot-tamale train—yes, I know the show basics. I point a finger at the dude wearing number 276. “Look at his shoulders—bad technique. And he’s got no chemistry with his partner. He’s looking at the judges way more than her.”
“Yeah,” Cole agrees. “I think he’ll get cut in Vegas. The girl will probably make top twenty.”
The girl is blond, leggy, and perfectly toned. She reminds me a little of—
I shake the thought from my head, not allowing its completion. Jesus Christ, no.
The air outside is both warm and cool, with a nice breeze from the lake. I’m beginning to feel normal again. The hives and swelling are mostly gone. But my stomach twists with nerves. What am I going to do exactly? Apologize? She might get pissed and slam a door in my face, tell all her friends I’m horrible, and join Kayla in calling out “nerd alert” next time we’re in the same place.
I spot the dogs over by the barn and whistle for Vixen. She’s brushing my thigh with her nose seconds later. “Hey, girl. Want to go for a ride?”
Cole stares at me, faking shock. “You’re letting a dog in your precious car? Are you sure you’re fit to drive?”
I open the back door for Vixen and toss a blanket over the leather seat. “I’m training her to save me if I’m dying of an allergic reaction.”
“Seriously?” Cole says.
I shrug. No, not seriously, but she’s my dog, she’s gonna flip her shit if I’m passed out, not breathing, so maybe she’d pull a Lassie and run for help. I could tell Cole the truth, that Vixen is backup for me, a way to keep Haley from slamming doors, but for some reason I don’t want him to know I’m going to her place. Besides, she might not even be home. She’s probably at a party or practicing cheers.
After dropping Cole off, I get even more nervous heading toward Haley’s house. I park across the street, under a tree, and sit there for several minutes giving myself a pep talk. Her front door opens and closes a few times, one of her parents emerging each time to put items on the driveway—suitcases and bags. Maybe they’re going on vacation? But Haley wouldn’t be able to miss summer school and still get full credit, so she must not be leaving.
Her dad squints into the dark, looking in my direction. Now I have no choice but to get out of the car. That or look like a stalker. Vixen and I head up the driveway, and both Stevenson parents greet us.
My face heats up before anyone even utters a word. “Is Haley home?”
Through the front windows, I can clearly see the TV playing the same show that Cole was just watching at my house. Haley’s blond ponytail is moving up and down from the couch.
Her mom looks me over and then glances into the windows. “Um…yeah, she’s here.”
“I’ll get her,” Mr. Stevenson says, eyeing the dog.
He’s allergic. Damn, I forgot. I back up a few steps until we’re on the sidewalk again, and then I glance at Vixen. “Sit, girl.”
She plops down in her spot, keeping her distance. I take another look at the items on the driveway. “Are you guys headed somewhere?”
Haley’s mom is still studying me. Maybe she remembers me from grade school. She was my music teacher. “Mr. Stevenson and I are going on a bird-watching expedition.” She waits for me to respond, and when I don’t, she adds, “It’s our twentieth anniversary in July.”
I don’t really know what to say to her. The girls I talk to—and do other things with—don’t have parents hanging around. Ever. “Haley and I are in Civics together.”
“She mentioned that.”
“We’re partners for the Constitution project.” God, this is unbearable. Maybe I should call it a night?
Finally, Haley steps through the front door. Her hair is wet, and she’s wearing pajama shorts and a tank top. Several feelings—too many to even process—sweep over me, and it takes every bit of focus I have to keep my face cool and calm. What the hell is going on here?
Whatever it is, it needs to go away. Like now.
Chapter Sixteen
–Haley–
The sight of Fletcher, normal-looking with his usual messy hair and sexy glasses, has my stomach doing flip-flops, but I plaster on my poker face the second my parents leave us alone on the sidewalk.
I fold my arms over my chest, smashing the urge to sit on the ground with Vixen. Fletch needs to know that pushy and selfish me bugging him constantly isn’t a good enough reason to treat me like shit. Or anyone for that matter. I refuse to enable these defense mechanisms of his. So, all I say is, “You se
em better.”
“Yeah.” He looks down at the dog. She’s wagging her tail now but staying seated on my sidewalk. He takes a deep breath, and when he looks up at me again, I’m fighting the urge to step closer, to breathe the same air. “Haley…thanks for what you did today.”
“You’re welcome.” I stare back at him, forcing my expression to stay neutral. “Did you need anything else? If not, I should go back to studying—”
“I’m sorry,” he says, so fast the words smash together. “I didn’t mean what I said about—”
“About me killing you?” I finish for him. He cringes. “Fine. Apology accepted.”
I turn to leave, but Fletch reaches out a hand, stopping before actually touching me. “Wait…” His gaze darts toward my house and then back to my face. “Can we—I mean—do you want to go for a walk?”
I’m about to say no, but Vixen gives me those sweet doggy eyes and her little wet nose turns up toward me. I sigh. “Fine, let’s walk.”
I’m barefoot but don’t feel like going inside for shoes. I give Vixen a good twenty seconds of petting before I lead us down the sidewalk, past the O’Connor’s house, and toward the park in my neighborhood.
“I really am sorry,” Fletcher repeats. “It was an accident and…well, I should have never said any of that to you.”
I count to five before responding, not wanting to give an impulse-driven answer. “Okay, thanks for telling me.”
Both of us are silent, walking the remainder of the block. Our feet touch the edge of the playground, and Fletch says, “So, we’re cool?”
I kick at a chunk of mud in the grass with my toe. “No, we’re not cool.”
Fletch tenses beside me. “We’re not?”
“No.” I head over to the swings, picking the one on the end to sit down on. I’m exhausted. It really has been a long day for me. Fletch hesitates, but eventually he follows and sits on the swing beside me.
“I apologized, and you accepted it,” he says. “So why can’t we go back to the way things were?”
Here is another reason dating in high school scares me. Not with Tate, it wasn’t like this with him, but if I found someone new, I could get sucked down the rabbit hole of forgiveness, even when it’s undeserved.
I twist my swing to face Fletch, my toes digging into the sand below. “You know Kayla, right?”
“The girl devoted to saving the world by giving off nerd alerts,” Fletch says, rolling his eyes.
My face flushes. I hate that I was part of that conversation. Still, that has nothing to do with him being an asshole to me at the hospital. “Kayla’s been my best friend since preschool. But I don’t hang out with her much anymore—Jamie’s temporarily taking her place—because her boyfriend has done some stuff that I don’t think he should be forgiven for, and until she agrees with me and does something, I can’t be around her like we used to be.”
But I was clear with her about my feelings; even today, I reiterated them when we talked about her and Stewart taking things further. It’s a gray area. He’s a gray area. But I think he pushes her too hard and doesn’t respect her nearly enough. Love is blinding. That’s what I’ve learned from all this. And how can that not scare the shit out of someone?
“You mean Stewart?” Fletch’s face wrinkles in confusion. “What does that have to do with me?”
“I just mean that if you want to continue to be friends with me or whatever…” I stop there, hoping not to give him wrong ideas. “You can’t treat me like crap. I might forgive you, but I’m going to keep my distance.”
Fletcher leans away from me. He’s stunned. I’ve stunned him. I’m half expecting him to get up and leave, but instead, he faces forward again and sits in silence, gliding the swing back and forth.
After a couple of minutes, he speaks again. “This bird expedition…what’s that about?”
I contemplate calling him out on the subject change, but I decide to go with it. There’s no harm in answering this question. “My parents are into spotting rare birds in the wild. The trip is a group tour. They’ve wanted to do it for years and probably waited for me to be old enough to stay home alone.”
“Where are your parents going on this tour?”
The sand feels amazing on my worn-out feet. I continue pulling them through it. “They fly to Portland in the morning, and the group of twenty-or-so couples meets tomorrow night. I think they head south from Portland, through California…they mentioned something about the Redwood Forest. They’ll eventually end in upstate New York.”
“This must be a long expedition.”
I nod, even though he’s not looking at me. “They’ll be gone a month. They’re skipping the week in New York, though, ’cause my dad plays in Roger Cremwell’s band and they booked the Summer Fest.”
“Right,” Fletch says. “Didn’t they perform at the ball?”
“You didn’t go?”
He shakes his head and silence falls over us again until Fletch takes another deep breath. “Hypothetically speaking…if I wanted to, you know, fix this thing with us, what would I need to do?”
I smile down at my feet. He’s kind of adorable. He’s not Kyle Stewart. I smooth out the grin and lift my head. “Well, I think you’d need to behave in a manner that shows you’re thinking about my feelings and being considerate.”
He looks at me like I’ve told him to mutate into a different species. “Like how?”
“Relationships—” I start, and then shake my head. “Friendships are built on trust.”
His nose wrinkles. “Trust?”
I nod. “Like trusting me enough to tell me you’re allergic to my cookies.”
Fletch snorts out a laugh and then tosses me an apologetic look. “Sorry. I can’t help it.”
“Like telling me you’re allergic to the baked goods I’ve offered you,” I correct, but I’m smiling, too.
“I’m allergic to your cookies, Haley,” Fletch says. He manages to hold a straight face for exactly five seconds before cracking up.
“God, you’re such a guy.” I roll my eyes. “But think about it…if you had been honest with me, maybe all the drama today wouldn’t have happened.”
His grin fades, and he nods. “You’re right. It’s just that I’ve had some bad experiences with telling people these things, and well, it’s easier to…”
“Protect yourself?”
He shrugs but doesn’t agree outright. Maybe it makes him seem too vulnerable.
“You aren’t worried that I’m gonna like, poison you on purpose, are you?”
He pokes his toe into the sand and stares down at it. “It’s happened before.”
At first, I assume he means earlier today when I accidentally poisoned him, but the way his face darkens, I quickly realize this is something that goes way back.
“Really?” I say, and he nods. Okay, well this explains a little more about Fletcher Scott. I replay that day in Civics when I waved the granola bar at him, how he’d raced out of the room. I give him a few seconds to explain the details, and when he doesn’t, I have no choice but to let it go. Obviously, he doesn’t want to rehash that memory tonight. I wonder if my mom knows anything about this…
No, Haley. That would be untrustworthy.
Unable to sit any longer, I hop up, and Vixen bolts up, too, then stands in front of us, panting like she’s asking for permission to run around. Fletcher gives her a little nod, and she does exactly that—circles the playground happily.
I turn to face Fletcher, who is still sitting in his swing. “Okay, so would you like a shot at redemption right now?”
His eyebrows lift, his face weary. “Right now?”
“Yep, right now.” I twist my fingers together, my stomach fluttering for no apparent reason. “Tell me again what you’re allergic to.”
His face grows even wearier. “Tree nuts, peanuts, and shellfish are the kill-me-quick ones.”
I nod, urging him to continue. I did some googling this evening. I have a slightly better gr
asp on food allergies now.
“Dairy can be really bad, too. It just depends. Usually it’s more hives than obstructed airways.” He draws in a breath and then blows it out quickly. “Eggs and wheat are different than the others. I can eat them and not die, but I’ll end up puking…”
Even in the dark, the flush of his cheeks is clearly visible. He’s embarrassed to talk about this. But why?
“Why did Jamie say that you have asthma?” I ask, remembering Jamie’s poor imitation of an asthma attack.
“I do have asthma. It’s part of the reaction, or it might be exercise induced. I think it’s a little of both. Things I’m allergic to float around, and my airway constricts as a defense. When I’m working out, I’m breathing more, so…”
“You bring in more bad stuff,” I finish for him. “That makes sense. But your doctors let you play hockey?”
“They don’t love the idea,” Fletch admits. “But lots of people with asthma participate in high-level athletics, even Olympians.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true. But isn’t there some kind of cure or better treatment than EpiPens and ER trips?”
“We’ve tried everything out there to make some of the allergies go away.” He stands up and busies himself twisting his swing into a knot. “Years ago, my mom and I even spent a few months in Minneapolis at this experimental clinic.”
“Experimental clinic?” I dig a hole in the sand with my feet, making myself even shorter. “Like a drug trial or something?”
“Not a drug trial,” he says, still twirling his swing. “They gave me tiny amounts of peanut protein every day to get my body to build up a resistance. It worked for some people. Maybe a little for me, too, but I wasn’t cured. Obviously.”
I run through his offensive food list in my head again. “So, what do you eat?”
Fletch laughs. “You want an inventory of everything I’ve ever eaten?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be a smart-ass. What did you have for dinner tonight?”