by Lena Maye
Because I’m not sure how to walk out of this kitchen on my own.
But I need to learn how to do it. Because fuck the world. I’m a titan. I can do anything. Titan Jean.
I take a long breath, closing my eyes for a second.
Which is a mistake because bad-pickup-line guy seems to take it as an invitation. His lips invade mine. The mint-and-beer taste in his mouth is overwhelming, curling my stomach. My eyes fly open, and his hand presses against the back of my head, pulling me to him.
I stumble back in too-high shoes, hitting the counter. He follows me, still trying to kiss me even though I’m pushing against him.
Something catches deep within me—not a breath or a thought, more like a feeling that’s been trapped in the bottom of my heart and is trying to claw its way out.
There’s no comfort of omija tea and cloves. No too-intelligent looks. This isn’t right. I don’t want this.
I want Kepler.
For fuck’s sake. Of all the stupid things, ridiculous things that I’ve wanted, this one tops the freaking list.
I twist away from invading lips.
“Told you she was in here.” A voice I’d almost forgotten. “Looks like Devon got here first.”
The guy—Devon, I guess—still grips the back of my head, keeping me an inch away from him. I have to squirm to get away from him.
Ty stands by the sliding door. Kepler next to him—completely still, except for the flash in those gray eyes.
Ty grins. My consequence.
“Kepler—” I start, but he’s already taking long strides towards me, and I don’t know what to say next.
Kepler’s hand whips out and grabs the leather jacket, yanking Devon forward.
“You’ve got one second to remove your hand from her.” Kepler stares Devon down with this sharp look, like his bones have turned to razors that will slice through his skin. My breath escapes all at once.
Devon squares his shoulders. This is not going to be good.
“What are you doing?” I reach for Kepler’s arm, but he jerks it away from me.
“You don’t get to touch her,” Kepler says. Like I’m a possession. But his words don’t make me burn like I usually would. I reach for his hand—I want him to take me away from here. He’s always trying to save me. Maybe I should let him.
But just as my fingers brush his forearm, Devon launches forward. Both of them crash into the cabinets on the far side of the kitchen.
I’m knocked off my feet and crash hard to the wood floor, pain shooting up my back to my neck. Devon slams his fist down against Kepler’s nose. There’s blood and shouts, and none of it makes any fucking sense.
They aren’t taking huge swings at each other like in the movies. They're locked close together with Kepler backed up against the cabinets. Devon hits him square on the jaw. Kepler shoves him back.
Oh, God. Kepler’s going to be hurt. And it’s going to be my fault.
I scramble up and try to force between them. Kepler shouldn’t be the one backed up against the wall taking these punches.
It should be me.
Devon’s fists should be pummeling me. Bloodying me.
I’m the one who deserves it.
I grab onto Devon’s arm, but he shoves me backward. I’m no match for his force on my teetering shoes. But I step between them again. Devon’s closed fist slams into my shoulder. I cry out. Devon’s eyes flash, and he staggers back—away from me and Kepler.
Beyond him, Cassie stands in the doorway, her eyes huge.
Mackie crosses the kitchen and reaches for Devon—there’s something between them. I see it in the way they stand close together. The way Mackie’s hand lays on Devon’s shoulder. Like close friends or… brothers. The same hair. The same schoolboy dimple.
That’s why Devon forced a kiss when he did. Why Mackie basically pushed me into the empty house. It wasn’t just Ty’s consequence. It was Mackie’s too. Like all my bad deeds are winding back. And not just to hurt me—but to hurt Kepler.
I turn to find Kepler sagging against the wall, his breathing ragged. He’s already got a bruise forming under one eye. His lip drips blood down his chin. Devon doesn’t look much better.
“Are you okay?” Cassie pulls me into a hug. I hold on to her, but I’m trembling so hard my muscles ache. I’m about ten thousand miles from okay.
Kepler shoves his hands into his pockets, his usual stone gaze settling on his features. If it wasn’t for the red track of blood down his chin making drips onto his gray t-shirt, he would look like he does on any other day. He strides through the sliding door and into the backyard.
I stare after him. “I—I need to go.”
“I’ll come with you.” Cassie’s words are quick.
“No.” It comes out sharper than I’d meant, and Cassie’s lips stretch into a line. I’m not ruining Cassie’s night any more than I already have. Besides, I have no idea what to tell her about Mackie and Devon. I need to talk to Kepler.
“I’m fine.” I give her hand a squeeze. “I’ll talk to you later.”
I hobble to the sliding door and around the corner of the house after Kepler, pushing off my shoes as soon as I reach the tall, sharp-bladed grass. Kepler’s not here—only the too-soothing brush of pine needles over me and the faint sounds of voices behind me.
I dig my aching toes into the cold grass. I wanted it to be me.
I was supposed to be the one with my back to the wall. I was supposed to be the one suffering the blows of a guy’s fists. I wanted it.
I’m so messed up.
The night is cool and clear. One of those mountain nights where everything is sharp and the air tastes like evergreens and earth. But I can’t find the comfort in it.
I find Kepler standing in the front yard—on the edge of the grass close to the sidewalk. A curl of smoke rises above his head.
He turns and watches me as I walk to him. “Now it’s you following me.”
“Bo-go-pa.” Crap. Now he’s got me speaking Korean. Thank fuck he doesn’t know what it means.
His eyes search mine. “Say that again.”
“No.” I clutch the straps of my heels, but I can’t stop shaking. I’ve never seen him do anything like that—ever. Kepler fights with words, not fists. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“You want me to stand by while some guy forces himself on you?” He digs his hand into his pocket. He fiddles with something—a lighter?
I shake my head. “He wasn’t forcing himself. Not really.”
“So you wanted to kiss him?”
“No.” I let out a breath, trying to sort through my thoughts. I clutch my shoes in lindy-hopping fingers. “I was thinking of… you.”
Shit, did I just say that? I need to say something else. Anything.
“And how annoying you are,” I tag on quickly. “A terrible kisser. How much I didn’t want to see you.” I bite my lip, staring up at him. The wind is a chill, cool breath that slides around my bare legs and arms.
His eyes narrow. “You were thinking about me?” Of course he would ignore all the rest.
“No,” I snap.
He pulls out the lighter and takes a long, slow drag on his blunt. His shoulders release with his exhale. “Are you teasing me, Lo?”
“No.” My lips rise into a smile.
“You’re so clearly lying.” Another quick drag as he eyes me.
For once, I’m glad for the way he solves me. “If you were so sure of my answer, then why did you ask?”
“I’m never sure of your answer, even when it’s as simple as ‘no.’” A step closer. Soap and clove and weed. A lot of weed. His gray eyes are glassier than usual.
I glance down at the blunt. “How much did you smoke earlier?”
“Too much.” There’s tightness in his voice, a frustration, but I don’t think it’s directed at me. I know that feeling. It bites at me every time I drop into imagining a guy’s fingers digging into me or I make a joke to avoid being honest.
&nb
sp; The distance between us is too far. I want to reach for him. I want his hands settled on my hips, the firm weight of him pressing against me. But I don’t know what part of me aches for that. The breaking Jean who minutes ago wanted a guy to pummel her with his fists? Or this girl inside of me who wants to understand?
“There’s something you should know.” I grip my shoes. “Mackie… I think he wanted Devon to hook up with me.”
Pine needles whisper. I have enough time to count every damn needle on the tree.
“Why do you say that?” he asks.
“Devon admitted it.”
“You’re telling the truth?” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck.
“I wouldn’t lie about this.”
He glances at the house, still rubbing his neck. After a moment, his hand drops and he takes a step towards me. Suddenly he’s no longer standing a few feet away on the grass but in the arc of personal space around me. The night crackles to life, and he comes into sharp focus. The disordered strands of his blondish hair tickle over his forehead. His glasses are outlined in his t-shirt pocket next to the drying drops of blood. But he doesn’t reach for me.
“I’ll give you a ride home,” he says. “You shouldn’t walk home by yourself. It’s a mile with stretches of darkness and a trailer park between here and there.”
“Making judgments about trailer parks?”
“I make judgments about lots of things.”
I shake my head. “No way in hell I’m getting in a car with someone who smoked ‘too much.’”
But I can’t stay here either. I walk towards the street, the pain in my feet screaming to life after a few steps.
Kepler follows me, stepping onto the sidewalk while I walk on the softer grass. “I could carry you.”
“Don’t you dare.” I hop away from him, which just makes my feet hurt more.
“Seriously, you’re being ridiculous. Take my car.” He keeps pace with me, which isn’t hard since I’m limping like an idiot girl who cared more about fashion than comfort.
I sigh. “Then how are you going to get home?”
“I suppose crashing on Mackie’s couch is a bad idea.” He shrugs. “You know I enjoy a good walk.”
I don’t know where Kepler lives. I never have—his parents lived somewhere up in the mountains when we were growing up. I assume he’s not still living there, but I’ve got no real idea. One more thing to prove my Kepler ignorance. But when he showed up to walk us to class that one morning, I didn’t see an unfamiliar car anywhere. Which means…
“Do you live close to me?”
“A few miles.”
“A few miles which way?”
He raises an eyebrow. “A few miles up the hill.”
The dirt road behind our duplex. The one that goes up to survivalist country. I didn’t think there was anywhere normal to live up there. All bunkers and homemade log cabins.
I stop the painful walking. “I can take you home first, and I’ll pick you up in the morning.” It seems like a logical solution.
He tenses. I can see it even in my current hand-trembling state.
“Clearly, I’m not invited over.” I fidget with my shoes and pretend like his rejection doesn’t sting.
“I’ll walk from your place.” There’s no flexibility in his words, and it makes me swallow the next question.
This is not an argument I need to win. “Fine. Whatever. Where the hell is your car?”
“Right over there.” He gestures another block down, where there aren’t that many parked cars. There’s a rusted SUV and a shiny black two-door car. I’ve got no guess which one is Kepler’s. Another bit of evidence he’s the most confounding person in existence.
The shiny car’s lights flick, and he holds out the keys. I hobble towards it and fling open the door. I have to pull the seat up about a foot so I can reach the pedals. A golden Porsche emblem glints in the middle of the steering wheel. Well, whatever.
Kepler crawls in—his height and the lowness of the car making him bend his knees up.
“This isn’t a mountain-driving kind of car.” I note the stick shift with displeasure. “You live off a dirt road. Right?”
He shrugs. “Wait until you drive it.”
“I’m just happy not to be walking.” I go to jam the keys in the ignition and stop, the keys swinging in the low light. “What the hell?”
“The ignition’s on the other side.”
Fine. Another whatever. I fire up the car and pull out, my feet taking a moment to find the right movement for the clutch. Once I’m on the road, I step down on the gas.
Oh my fucking God. Our heads fly back against the seats. I slam on the brakes. Kepler crashes into the dash. I should have taken the Porsche emblem more seriously.
“I was under the impression you knew how to drive.” He rubs his knees and smooths his hand over the dash. I’m not sure if he’s more concerned about himself or the car.
“I assumed you were smart enough to wear a seat belt.”
He raises an eyebrow and clicks it on.
We’re driving smoothly now. Mostly because I’m barely touching the gas. But when I turn and accelerate again, the damn thing roars away.
He snickers. It’s the closest I’ve ever heard him come to a laugh in recent memory. “Take your next right.”
“That’ll lead us out of town.”
“Let’s take a drive.” He points towards County Road 62. “Take your next right.”
“No,” I snap.
“Do you have to argue about everything?” He grabs the wheel, long fingers wrapping around it. Then he turns it.
“What the hell are you doing?” I push his hand away. A red truck on the other side of the road swerves and honks.
“I’ll go right! Take your hand off the wheel.” As soon as he does, I swing my arm out to smack him on the shoulder to make sure he stays in his damn seat. I smile when my hand hits his soft hoodie. Normalcy returning.
I get the car driving down the correct side of the road. “I don’t think I like you when you’re high.”
“I can live with that,” he says. “It implies you like me at other times. I don’t exactly enjoy your company when you’re pressed up against the wall with another guy. Or checking them out in the library. Or telling me how you will never date me.”
I don’t take my eyes off the road for fear of this damn car spinning out of control. “That’s pretty much all I ever do, so what you’re saying is that you never enjoy my company.”
“That’s not all you do. You’re about to do something else. You’re about to turn right again.”
“What? Why?”
In my periphery, he raises one hand and inches it towards the wheel.
“Fine.” I grumble. “I know it’s hard with your Mister Fantastic limbs, but stay on your side of the car.”
I turn onto a county highway that winds up into the mountains. No streetlights or stop signs. Just rows of lodgepole pines framing a black road.
“Now floor it,” he says.
“What?”
“Don’t make me swing my foot over there. Floor it.”
I shake my head. “No way.”
His hand presses down on my knee, and we’re off.
“Holy shit, Kepler.” I try to lift my foot off the gas, but his hand stays firm on my knee. “Do you have a death wish or something?”
“I am attempting to date you, Lo,” he says—close to my ear and in that low steamroller of a voice. “So I must have a desire for my demise.” That voice would distract me if I weren’t one-hundred percent concentrating on the road.
Fifty miles per hour and speeding up. It’s an eternity before Kepler takes his hand off my knee.
We fly. I’m about to jam on the brakes when I let myself breathe out. The car slides around the turns. The tires squeal, but they stick. We’re going too fast. There could be a deer out here, which is more likely than another car, but when we come to a straightway through a field, I step on the gas. Tensi
on rushes out of my fingers and into the steering wheel. The pain in my feet pushes into the gas pedal.
We fly over the road and away from Rock Falls. Away from all of it. I wish I could just keep going. As fast as possible. Faster than this.
He laughs a low rumble that tickles through me and fills the car. I slow so I can glance at him. He isn’t fully smiling, but it’s so close. Like his smile is a wisp of smoke that’s already faded.
I whip my attention to the road in time to slow for a sharp turn.
Lights invade the darkness behind us.
Red and blue lights.
Kepler must see it at the same time because his laughter dies. I give him a once-over. The joint in his pocket. The blood splattered on his shirt.
Not good.
Ten
Swirling blue and red lights reflect off the evergreens and blacktop road. I slow the car and pull off on gravel. An SUV stops behind us, and a cop with a small stature but a lot of kick-ass steps out. Sloane. She spotlights the car with her flashlight, and of course, I freeze. With my hands locked to the steering wheel.
Crap, I hope Sloane leaves Kima in the backseat. She’ll alert all over Kepler.
Kepler glances out the back window before his hand falls on my knee.
“Slide over.” He squirms around as if he’s capable of getting all six foot two of himself over the gearshift and into the driver’s seat.
“Get back over there.” I shove him back and keep him there with my hand planted on the soft cotton that covers his ribcage.
“My car. My idea to go for a drive. My hand pushing your foot down.” His leg presses against mine as if he can force me out of the seat. His logic button is clearly turned off.
“Did you forget you’re high? And that I’m related to a cop?”
A knock on the driver’s side window makes us both jump. Sloane’s face peers in, all severe with her hair in a tight braid. If she’s surprised to see me, she hides it behind her cop face. I fumble for the window control while Kepler kicks me in the process of extricating himself from my side of the car.
“I clocked you at seventy,” Sloane says, her voice a bucket of ice. “In a thirty.”