Page 58 of We Drank the Dawn

“Then look at me.”

I pushed my tray forward, accidentally knocking into the back of the next student’s. “I promise, I’m fine. I just⁠—”

But Peter reached around and grabbed the bill of my hat and gently tugged. Because my ponytail was laced through the gap, I had no choice but to turn my head along with it. Like a fish on the end of a line, reeled in, I turned to face him. He stood so close to me, I could feel his body heat. Conflicting feelings ripped through my torso.

Push him away. Bury your face in his chest. Run. Stay.

He smelled like spice and sunshine and laundry detergent.

His finger grazed the bottom of my chin, tenderly lifting until we gazed into each other’s eyes. His expression morphed when he saw my teary eyes; the boyish playfulness replaced with concern that made him look very much like a man and not the almost sixteen-year-old he actually was.

My lips rebelled, indulging in a brief quiver. I bit down on my bottom lip.

Emotions flicked through his brown irises in quick succession as he scanned my features—my eyes, my cheeks, my neck, and my forehead. As if he was looking for something.

Finally, he whispered, “Did he hurt you?”

I quickly shook my head.

“Did he try?”

I hesitated, biting my bottom lip harder. My instinct was to blurt yes, but my mother’s voice lingered in my head.

“He didn’t really mean it, sweetheart.”

Peter’s eyes darkened, his fingers now gripping my chin. “Sarah.”

Emotions turned my throat into a knot. I simply shook my head, telling him with one motion I couldn’t speak of it.

Suddenly, a voice carried over the noise. “Excuse me! Please stop holding up the line.”

Peter’s voice flitted over my head. “Let’s go.”

Wordlessly, we filled our trays. At the end of the line, Peter took mine and his, ushering us to our favorite spot. As soon as we sat, Peter shoved his tray to the side and braced his forearms on the edge of the table, staring across at me. I tucked my chin, trying to hide, but there was no place to go.

“What happened, Sarah?” His voice was so gentle, I wanted to cry.

I shrugged. “We…got in a stupid argument again.”

“About what?”

“That’s the thing. I can’t even remember.” I shook my head, leaning into the rage coursing through my veins so that I wouldn’t give into the sorrow. “I think I made a comment that there were other people in the house who’d like to use the TV on occasion.”

Peter hissed a breath through his teeth, knowing my parents didn’t handle my saucy attitude very well. “And then he freaked out, I’m guessing?”

“It blew up into this huge dramatic thing.” I rolled my eyes. “So stupid. When he verbally comes at me, I should just shut up and walk away, but that’s so hard for me to do. I made the insane suggestion that he should come to a basketball game and watch me cheer instead of watching sports on TV, but he said sitting on an uncomfortable bleacher to watch me wave plastic was a waste of his time. And going would make more sense if he’d had a son.”

“Wow.” Peter’s jaw hung in disbelief. “That’s disgusting.”

I twisted my lips to the side. “I know. It all blew up when I told him I wished he did have a son because then I would belong to someone else. Of course, all that did was piss him off.”

“Did he get…aggressive?” Peter treaded lightly.

“He…” I tilted my head side to side. “He came after me a little and raised his hand…but he’s so slow it’s not like anything would’ve happened anyway. Then, of course, Mom intervened. She coddled him like she always does.”

“And took his side, I’ll bet.”

“Of course.”