Page 37 of Slick Trip

“I’ll just sleep until then.”

“That’s a plan,” he whispered.

I pulled back slightly, my face hot. His hand lingered on my waist, his fingers digging into my hip as if he had to force himself to let go. He reached up and brushed the tears from my cheek with his thumb, his touch unbearably tender.

“Let’s go.”

Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the center of my forehead.

Neither of us acknowledged it. That didn’t make it any less real.

* * *

COOPER, 19, five months before the trip

I was on my way to snatch cookies from the pantry when I saw Jon in the kitchen. He was standing by the counter, his back turned, and he was laughing at something Mom had said. I’d missed his laughter. Jon rarely laughed or even smiled, and stealing a laugh from him had always felt like a victory. Now it felt like a slap in the face. If I’d known he was coming, I would’ve come up with an avoidance strategy as usual. I’d forgiven nothing and forgotten nothing. Apparently, I’d learned nothing either, because I stood in the doorway long enough for Mom to notice me.

“Hi, Cooper,” she said cheerfully, oblivious to the way Jon’s back tensed at hearing my name. “Look who’s visiting!”

“Beelzebub’s in the house. Hurray.”

Jon turned around, and everything blurred except him. It was just us. I shook my head. There was no us. We hadn’t talked after the party. I’d missed him terribly, and I knew I’d never get over him, but it was time to face the reality—Jon didn’t want me like I wanted him. He’d literally held me in his lap before shoving me away like a piece of trash.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was too careful, almost gentle, and I hated it. I didn’t want his remorse, and I sure as hell didn’t want his pity. He had no right to look at me like I was some pathetic kid who had gotten in over his head with a real man. Like I needed to be handled with kid gloves. I wasn’t fragile, far from it. I was practically unbreakable, or at least I tried very hard to be.

The silence between us was unbearable. Uncomfortable. Un-everything.

I shifted my weight, and his eyes flicked down. Shame crept up my neck and made me cross my arms. Jon rubbed his face, exhaling. He clearly hated seeing me as much as I hated seeing him.

Mom tilted her head, glancing between us.

“I need to . . .” she said. “Yes.”

And then she left.

“I shouldn’t have—” Jon started.

My heart sank.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it as if you pity me.

He stared at me like he was trying to figure out which version of me he was dealing with—the brat from before or the wreck from after.

There was no before. There was only this.

“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” he finished quietly. “I went too far. But Cooper, the second you said red, I stopped.”

I got it then. He was checking his boxes. Making sure his best friend’s little brother wasn’t going to cry. He thought he’d shattered my boundaries, and now his twisted sense of duty was forcing him to check on the collateral damage. I could feel the hot, shameful sting of tears, and the absolute panic of him seeing me cry made me vicious.

“Well done,” I said icily, stepping back. “The medal for following basic instructions will arrive in three to five business days.”

Jon was right. He had stopped. He just didn’t realize it had already been too late. And it killed me to know it was on me when I needed it to be entirely on him, because he was the one who’d set it in motion. He was the one who saw a part of me I hadn’t even known was there. My throat felt like it was closing. I’d practically begged for the very thing that broke me, and humiliation made my hands curl into fists.

I turned away. I needed to get out. I needed air, distance, to never see Jon again.

“Coop.”

The way he said my name hurt, but I didn’t turn. I decided Jon Beckett didn’t exist to me anymore. And if I kept walking away from him, not turning, not seeing, and never again hoping, maybe I wouldn’t exist to him either.