Delicate (15 page)

“Hey!” he says, cheerfully with a wide smile.

“Uh, hi,” I respond, backing away from him. “What are you doing here?” My tone is more abrupt than necessary. I catch a glint of confusion in his eyes— most likely because I haven’t seen him since the day of the fight with Trevor. The incident in the parking lot floods my mind. How innocent it felt at the time. How much trouble it ended up causing. As far as Grant kn
ows
, though, we’d ended things on a positive note.

“My flight was delayed and I just got in. I came by to drop off my History paper. What are you still doing here?”

“I had detention,” I say. I look around the empty campus for someone-
anyone
else that I can ask for help. “And my car won’t start,” I admit, looking at my feet.

“Why don’t I take you home?” He offers immediately, just like I knew he would.

“Actually, that’s okay. But do you have your phone? I can just call my dad.”

“Sure, no problem,” he says. He reaches into the front pocket of his button up shirt and then hands me his iPhone.

I dial my dad’s cell phone number and listen to it ring.
And ring
. And cringe when his voicemail picks up. There’s no answer on the house phone, either.

“No answer, anywhere,” I say, handing the phone back to him. “Thank you though.” I turn away from him to walk back to my car. Eventually, Dad will come looking for me, right?

“Sydney,”
I hear him laugh as he follows
behind me. “Where are you going? Let me take you home.”

When I look up at him, his face is so warm and selfless.  Am I really going to turn him down and risk spending the night in the school parking lot waiting for someone to come and get me?
No.

I look around the deserted campus one last time. “Are you sure?” I ask.

“Positive, you know it’s not any trouble. Come on,” he says, motioning to his car across the lot.

I slip into his dry car, and I’m so happy to be out of the cold rain I could squeal. I pull off my dripping sweat shirt and stuff it into my backpack.

“So, how was your trip?” I ask. I should keep it short and sweet with Grant. I should have walked home rather than get in the car with him.
I know.
But still, I can’t help it.

“It was all right. Dry,” he says smiling.

I laugh.

“So, you were able to spend some time with your dad?”

“Yeah. And my brother. Actually, the main reason for the trip was a friend’s birthday.”

“Wow, that’s some trip for a birthday party.”

I’m likely being insanely nosy, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Maybe.

“Yeah, it was, um…” He runs his hand across his scruffy cheek and pauses for a moment, “It was actually my ex-girlfriend’s birthday.”

“Oh. Wow. You flew across the country for an ex-girlfriend’s birthday?” I’m impressed. And that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach
i
s something unfamiliar.  It couldn’t be
jealousy
. I ha
ve
no right or reason to be jealous.

He laughs softly but doesn’t respond at first. Ha
ve
I overstepped again?

“Actually, we ended on good terms,” he starts. His voice is thoughtful, which is pretty much standard for Grant. 

In reality,
there’s
so little that I actually know about Grant. I don’t like that. I want more. To know more, I mean. Grant pulls into my driveway, and I’m surprised that the house is dark. Where is everyone? I should thank him and get out of the car, but he looks as though he might finish his thought. I wring my hands nervously. Stay? Go?

“Jesus
,
Sydney,” he gasps. My eyes drop in the direction he’s looking. My hands. My wrists, more precisely. I slide them in between my knees to conceal the bruises, as if he hasn’t already had an eyeful.

“What the hell happened to your arms?” he asks, reaching for one of them. His touch is soft and careful, but I still shrug out of his gentle grasp and reach for the door handle.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say, trying to end the conversation before it goes any further.

“Seriously, what happened to your arms?” he demands, more firmly this time.

“I…” My mind races. I want to tell him the truth—that my boyfriend is insanely jealous of him. That he saw us in the parking lot together. I want to tell him that this is why I can’t be sitting in his car right now. I want to
beg him
to stay away from me. But I say none of those things.

“Gymnasts get bruises, Grant. My grips were too tight, and I’ve been training really hard…” I stutter off a litany of excuses.

He narrows his eyes at me, those gorgeous dark eyes full of equal parts doubt and concern. It’s painfully obvious that he isn’t buying it.

“Really, thank you,” I say stepping out of the car. He continues to stare at me.

“Sydney…” He starts. He lets out a low breath. “If someone…” he lets his voice trail off again. His hands tightly grip the steering wheel as he stares straight out the windshield.

I shake my head at him and let out a little chuckle while flashing the most convincing smile that I can muster.  I scramble out of the car.

“Thank you,” I say. I close the car door softly behind me and walk slowly up the driveway. I know he’s watching me walk away. I wish he’d drive off and not worry, or even think about me again. I don’t look back as I close the front door behind me. I don’t want to see the look of pity in his eyes again.

There’s a note taped to the refrigerator. Dad and Maisy have gone into Atlanta to do some shopping. I run upstairs to shower and change before Trevor gets here. The water is hot and soothing. I let it wash over my clammy skin, warming me. Calming me. I throw on some jogging pants and a long sleeved t-shirt and dry my hair before pulling it back into a loose ponytail. Finally. I’m home and comfortable. 

The knock at the door startles me. I’
ve
curled up on the couch and nodded off for what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, though it was long enough that the house is completely dark when I wake up.  I jump up, dazed momentarily and rub my eyes until I realize what’s going on. Trevor is waiting on the doorstep with a small bouquet of peonies, my favorite.

“For me?” I ask, beaming.

“Course,” He says. He hands me the flowers and I pull the door open for him.

“Come in.”

“Are we alone?” he asks, peering around me into the dark house.

“Looks that way,” I say with a flirty grin. I quickly do the math in my head to calculate how much time we have alone based on Friday night Atlanta traffic and what time Dad and Maisy must have left, before leading Trevor upstairs behind me. Trevor makes himself comfortable, sprawling out on my bed while I scan my playlists before choosing Damien Rice. I hurry across the room and into Trevor’s extended arms. It’s a risky move, not knowing exactly what time Dad will be home. But the overwhelming desire to be close to Trevor tonight outweighs the risk.
I’m
desperate to make the week we’d just had disappear.  Trevor touches the hem of my t-shirt and starts to pull it up over my head. Rather than pushing his hand away, I shock him by helping. The warmth of his breath on my skin is electrifying. Better than the first time, although then I
had
difficulty imagining that that
c
ould be possible. 

“I love you,” he whispers as we hold each other afterward.

“Love you, too,” I sigh. The crappy week dissolves. This moment replaces it.

“I’m so sorry about this week,” he says. He traces a line from the middle of my forehead, down my nose and to my chin. I crinkle my nose every time he brushes his finger near my eyebrow, which makes him do it repeatedly.

“It’s over,” I say.

“Well, it’s not going to happen again. I love you so much.”

“I know.” I really don’t want to talk about our fight anymore. “We’d better get dressed. I’m not sure what time Dad will be home.” I sit up and nudge him, then fumble around the dark room for my clothes.

“Hey Syd, I meant to ask you.” He pauses to pull the v-neck over his head.

“Yeah?”  I’m already dressed and waiting by the bedroom door.

“Where’s your car?”

“My car?” I choke out. My stomach lodges itself into my throat.

“Yeah, it’s not out front.”

“Ugh, it wouldn’t start after detention,” I say unhappily.

“That sucks, you should have called me. I would’ve come to get you,” he says. He follows me down the hall with his hands in my back pockets. With him this close, can he feel me trembling?

“I didn’t have my cell, and I don’t know your number by heart.” I stop at the top of the stairs and look at him, weighing the options of telling him the truth or not. I hold my breath. I know the question that’s coming next.

“So, how’d you get home?”

“It was a total conspiracy against me today.” I try to joke. “There was no one left at school, it was all locked up. But Grant was there and he drove me home.”

Trevor opens his mouth to respond, but I reach up with my small hand and cover his lips with my fingers. His eyes swirl with anger. Surely he’s not going to let a stupid ride home ruin tonight. 

“Before you get all worked up, he just drove me home. It was pouring rain. That’s it,” I say. I take my hand from his mouth and wink. “You should be glad someone was there to save poor little me.” I try for sweet and flirty.

I fail.

He doesn’t say a word. He just glares at me with the same livid eyes that he had th
at
morning
in
the kitchen. The flash of anger that I’d found so new and unrecognizable that morning has become familiar. 

“You make me sick,” he says flatly. He shakes his head in disappointment.

My mouth falls open in shock.
Did I hear him correctly?

“Trevor! That’s not fair. It was just a ride home,” I say. I’d expected him to be upset, but really, what did he expect me to do in the situation?

“You little slut,” he mutters under his breath. His lips curl around the harsh words.

He pushes past me aggressively as he bounds down the stairs.

I follow. Not because I intended to. Or even because I want to. But because when he pushes past me, I lose my balance and tumble down the steps behind me. I wince at the pain as I somersault down the hard, oak stairs. My head strikes each one with a thud. I throw my arms out to try to stop myself, but it does no good. I continue to fall. Trevor doesn’t stop to help when I finally land at the foot of the stairs. He turns for a split second to stare down at me with a wicked, sickened expression before walking out the front door. He slams it behind him without a word.