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Kash.
He’s like a wraith against the lightening sky, in his robin-egg blue T-shirt and washed-out jeans, his pale hair and face, the smoke leaving his lips.
I lean against the rail, close to him, and his gaze flicks my way. He says nothing.
The silence is comfortable, companionable. I didn’t expect it to be, not after sharing a kiss and then avoiding any mention of it. But maybe it’s the night we’ve had, taking care of Nate, that is to blame.
“So you’re leaving?” I ask.
He doesn’t speak for long moments, so long in fact I’m not sure he heard me.
Then he smirks, and says, “You’re welcome.”
I blink, at a loss. “What?”
“I said you’re welcome for my help in bringing your friends back together.”
My mouth is gaping open. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. I mean, no thanks? Here you are, all friends again. One big happy family.”
Anger warms my chest. Yeah, here I am, sad about him leaving, and he’s making a joke out of it. “Don’t sound so bitter.”
He gives a hoarse bark of laughter. “Why the hell not?”
“You could be part of this family.” His admittance—that he is sad about not being one of us—cools my sparking anger. “You could stay.”
“No. I really couldn’t.” He blows out more smoke, and I catch a hint of sweetness in the tobacco scent.
Not enough to counteract the acid in the back of my throat, the burn behind my eyelids. “Right. Or maybe you don’t want to.”
He flinches slightly, tries to cover it up by sucking on his joint. A swirl of smoke escapes the corner of his mouth.
“You’re smoking weed,” I mutter.
“So what if I am?”
“Is that what you were buying at the party? Weed? That why you wanted to go?”
“If all I wanted was weed, Red, there were easier ways to get my hands on it.”
It’s my turn to flinch at his harsh tone. “Why?”
“I’m a junkie. What do you think? I’m a bad person, Sydney. You should stay away from me.”
My heart is hammering. I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I don’t believe that.”
“It doesn’t matter whether you believe it or not.”
“Look… thanks. For all of it. For helping the boys be friends again. For helping Nate.” I suck on my lower lip. “Please don’t go.”
“You’re welcome.” He lifts his lighter and relights his cigarette. “But I have to.”
He sucks a lungful of smoke, his eyes closing. The rising sun makes his face look white like marble, the piercings flash like flames.
“You know, you don’t look that old,” I say.
“What?” Smoke curls out of his mouth.
