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“Fine by me.” I’m done with his games. I’ll text Lauren. I’m sure she can give me a ride. When I exit the car, I realize my mistake. I don’t have my phone because Kyson said I wouldn’t need it. Big oversight on my part for thinking he can be decent for longer than five minutes. He’s like a toddler throwing a tantrum for not getting an extra cookie. Chill bumps fan up and down my arms as I walk, not bothering to look back to see if he is still pulled over or if he turned around to go chase after Britney or to go hang out with his butthead friends. I really don’t care at this point. Coming here to live with my uncle was a terrible idea, but the alternative is way worse than whatever Kyson Allen can throw at me.
The purr of his engine revs behind me. Then a blur of black speeds past me. Whatever. I keep strolling along the side of the road, pretending to be unbothered. Pretending I’m not an idiot for picking now to stand my ground. But Kyson needs to recognize the fact he can’t go around doing these stunts and treating people however he wants. Releasing a deep breath, I stop and stare out at the coast, wishing I were back home with my dad. I miss Matt. I miss life making sense. The sunset is a beautiful distraction. Shades of gold, pink, and orange serve as a gorgeous backdrop to the sun as it disappears. I suck in a breath as tears threaten to fall at thoughts of my old life. I swipe my cheeks, wishing more than ever I were back home with my father.
Right about now he’d be standing at the stove telling me about his workday as he cooked dinner. I’d be at the kitchen counter, perched on a stool, doing my homework or in my room texting with Matt about our weekend plans.
It’s not fair.
None of this is.
Time to suck it up.
That life no longer exists.
My father is dead, and Matt and I are in different states. There might as well be oceans between us. I told myself that I would give this fresh start a real chance, but all I want is to go back in time to when things were easy.
To when my dad was alive.
Enough feeling sorry for myself.
I have a lot of walking to do if I’m going to make it home by midnight.
I take off in what I hope is the direction that will lead me to Uncle John’s house, eventually.
A few cars attempt to stop, but I know better than to take rides from strangers. I have no desire to end up on a true crime documentary.
Not even ten minutes have passed when Kyson shoots past me and abruptly stops, throwing his car in reverse and squealing his tires in the process. Simultaneously, Remy pulls up behind me in his big truck. The passenger side window rolls down. “Need a ride, princess?” He shoots me a wink.
Kyson throws his car in park and stomps toward me. “Let’s go. Get in the car.”
“I think I’ll take my chances with Remy.”
“Get. In. The. Fucking. Car.” He practically growls the words at me like a feral beast.
I shrink away from him, not a fan of the tone he’s taken. The fire blazing in his eyes threatens to scorch me till the ends of the Earth. It’s all too much. Too soon.
Immobile, I’m at his mercy. A prisoner trapped by his intense gaze. The heated way he glares at me steals the breath from my lungs. I can’t breathe as he seethes at me.
Emotions I don’t quite understand clog in my throat. Tears burn in the corners of my eyes, and I don’t even comprehend why. Were things always this intense between us, even as children?
I shake away the heaviness of my thoughts, reaching for something solid to cling to before I give into his bratty behavior. “No.” I barely get my fingers curled under the door handle of Remy’s truck when Kyson grabs my wrist. His fingers bite into my skin with possession.
“If Kipling sees you in this truck, it won’t just be my ass on the line,” he warns.
I sense Uncle John is a bit stern, but there’s something in Kyson’s molten gaze that gives me pause. I search his expression, unsure of what to think. I’m cold and annoyed. I just want this day to end. I want to disappear.
I want to go home.
I want Matt to wrap his arms around me and promise me I’m safe there. Like I always have been. But it’s not his touch I feel.
Kyson squeezes my wrist.
I swallow my last shred of pride. “Thanks for the offer. Maybe next time,” I tell Remy.
He shakes his head but pulls out.
I get back in Kyson’s car. He turns the radio up so high my seat vibrates. The tempo drums across my skin. I don’t attempt to hold a conversation with him, and he keeps driving in the opposite direction of home. We end up on what I think is the other side of the town, parked outside of an old church that, by the sight of it, appears to be abandoned.
White chipped paint. Overgrown grass. Busted stained glass.
