CHAPTER SEVEN

I made my way over to their booth. I came to a stop, breathing hard, angry lava percolating through my veins. I expected them to notice me or to say something, but Bronte just kept kissing Trent. I considered grabbing the soda on the table and pouring it over her head.

Jake stood just behind me, his hand on my shoulder. I think he meant to reassure me, but all his support did was give me strength.

Fiery, rage-filled strength.

Bronte finally stopped, and they pulled their cheating heads apart. Trent seemed startled to see me, his face turning paler. “Mattie!”

Some small part of my brain registered that at least he had the decency to look panicked and guilty.

Her? Not so much.

“Can we help you?” Bronte asked, no recognition registering on her features.

“Yeah. You can stop kissing my sister’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” she echoed. “That’s adorable how into labels you still are.”

“Says the girl who changed her actual name,” I hissed through my teeth.

Trent started to rise. “Mattie, it’s not what you think—”

“Sit down and be quiet!” I pointed at his bench, and he did as I commanded. “I’ll get to you in a minute. And don’t tell me it’s not what I think. I think you were making out with this . . . this pretentious wannabe in a family restaurant! And there is no way for you to spin that into something else.”

“Look, I don’t know what your issues are, but I’m not in a committed relationship. I’m not ‘cheating,’ however you define that construct. And I don’t control anybody else’s behavior. Life is about doing what you want when you want, and I won’t let some artificial set of ‘rules’ make me behave a certain way,” Bronte said, clearly enjoying how upset she was making me with every stupid thing that came out of her mouth.

But there was a grain of truth in there. I was blaming Bronte, but she wasn’t the one cheating on my sister.

Trent was.

So I focused my fury on him.

“How could you do this?” I asked. “Ella loves you. Even when you isolated yourself from everyone, she’s never given up on you. How could you hurt her this way?”

I saw a brief flash of regret in his eyes, but then it was gone.

“You are overreacting,” Trent told me, “and you’re making a scene.”

That part was also true. I was making a scene so big I could probably compete in Hollywood for an acting award.

But he didn’t get to talk to me that way.

“Don’t tell me I’m overreacting! That is so patronizing. If anything, I’m underreacting. If I were overreacting, there’d be little pieces of you all over this restaurant.”

“You need to calm down,” he said.

I hated when men told women to calm down. Like we were some species of hysterical creatures ruled solely by our uteruses. As if we were all in desperate need of some big, strong man to tell us whether or not we were allowed to get upset and show it.

And the fact that he was cheating on my sister while telling me how to feel?

Nope.

So I did something then that surprised even me.

I punched him dead in the face.

He yelled out in what I hoped was pain while Bronte said, “You’re bleeding!” and leaned over to press her napkin against his mouth.

“I’m feeling much calmer now! Can you tell?” I shouted at him. “And you two jerks deserve each other!”

Next thing I knew Jake had me by the waist and was pulling me out into the parking lot while I loudly and repeatedly questioned Trent’s parents’ marital status at the time of his birth.

My boyfriend got me into the car, even fastening my seat belt for me. All I wanted to do was go back and finish what I’d started. I literally saw red, and I wanted to claw some eyeballs out.

We drove for several minutes, and I took in some deep, cleansing breaths. Just like I’d learned that one time Ella had made me go to yoga class. As the adrenaline and anger receded, I became aware of the fact that my left hand was throbbing in pain.

“So I don’t think we’ll be able to go back there,” Jake said, and I could hear the laughter in his voice.

“My hand hurts,” I told him in a small voice. So did my heart. How could Trent have done this?

“I’m not surprised. You hit him really hard. I’ll take you to my house, and we’ll put some ice on it.”

Earlier he’d told me that he’d wanted to get out of his house tonight. I didn’t want to force him into going back there. “We can go to my house.”

He shook his head. “I’m not taking you home until we fix your hand. I don’t need to deal with a furious father on top of everything else.”

I briefly wondered what the “everything else” part was. But all I could think about was Trent and how blatantly and uncaringly he had betrayed my sister and her loyalty. Her trust.

“I still can’t believe he would cheat on Ella.”

“I can. What do you expect from a refugee from Edward Scissorhands?” Jake was trying to lighten my mood. To make me smile.

It was working. A little.

As my rage receded, I was shocked at what had just happened. “I can’t believe I hit him. I don’t even like violent movies. I’m not a violent person.”

“Someone should tell that to Trent’s face.”

A few minutes later, we pulled up in front of the place Jake called his house, but it more resembled the palace of a small European kingdom.

“Come on, Muhammad Ali. Let’s get your knuckles iced.”

Scooby waited for us at the door, wagging his tail enthusiastically. He nearly knocked Jake over in his excitement at seeing him again, even though we’d been gone for only half an hour, tops. His mom walked into the front foyer where Jake was petting Scooby and saying he was a good boy. She seemed surprised to see me, even though I came over all the time.

I said hello to her.

“Hello, Mattie. I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” Mrs. Kingston glanced uneasily between me and Jake. Maybe it was because of what had just happened with Trent, but my mind went to the worst place.

What had Jake said to her? About me? What was up with her reaction? She’d always been so welcoming to me in the past.

“If you’ll forgive me, I’m exhausted, and I’m going up to my room. Jake, there’s some cake on the counter if you and Mattie would like dessert.”

It was really early for her to be going to bed. I figured she was just trying to give me and Jake some privacy. Unlike my dad, who would have told us to come watch a game or a movie with him and sat in between us.

Maybe that was the difference between being the parent of a teen boy and a parent of a teen girl.

We told her good night, and now my mind kept going back to the fact that he’d wanted to get out of his house.

Was something happening with the Kingstons?

I followed Jake into his massive kitchen, still cradling my left hand. I really hoped I hadn’t done any permanent damage, or I might not ever be able to draw again and that would destroy me.

Jake got me a glass of water and some extra-strength ibuprofen. I sat down at the island on one of the bar stools. As I swallowed the pills, he dug through the freezer until he found a bag of peas. I hissed in shock and pain when he placed it on top of my hand. He sat down on the bar stool next to me.

“Maybe I should go to the emergency room. What if I’m bleeding internally?”

“You’re not . . .” Jake closed his eyes for a second, as if trying to relax. “You can’t bleed internally in your hand. There’s no organs in there.”

“It could be broken,” I insisted stubbornly.

He gently checked the bones in my hand. “If the swelling gets worse or the pain doesn’t go away, I’ll take you for an X-ray.”

I nodded. “I’ve never hit anybody before. Not hitting people is supposed to be one of those things you learn in kindergarten.”

“One”—Jake held up a single finger—“you have hit somebody before, and two, you did not learn in kindergarten that you shouldn’t hit people.”

Confused, I raised my eyebrows at him.

He smiled, as if remembering something that made him happy. “The first day of kindergarten you punched some kid in the face for calling you Silly Tilly.”

“I did? I don’t remember that.”

“I do. Clearly.” He adjusted the bag of peas on my hand, turning it over. “It’s when I first knew I loved you.”

My heart did a series of flips and threatened to beat its way out of my chest. “When we were five?”

He leaned over to kiss me gently, and my heart swelled up even more. “You loved me? All this time? Since we were little?”

“How could I not? You’re amazing.”

How romantic and sweet was that?

And how was it possible to love him more than I already did? “I can’t believe you liked me for so long. I’ve basically been in love with you since I was nine. We wasted a lot of time when we could have been together.”

“I think we got together when we were supposed to. When we were ready for each other. Who knows? Maybe if it had happened sooner we’d never be what we are now.”

I couldn’t get over the fact that Jake had harbored this secret crush on me the whole time I’d had one on him. What were you supposed to do with that kind of information? Or how should I deal with all the warm happiness pulsating inside me?

Jake looked like he felt just as gooey as I did on the inside. “Tonight is part of the reason why I’ve always adored you. I love a girl who stands up for herself.”

I was standing up for Ella, but I’d take the win. Thinking of my sister made me feel depressed, canceling out all that joy I was just feeling.

“Ella,” I said sadly, not sure how to complete my sentence. I had to tell her about this. But it was going to break her heart.

“I think I know you well enough to know what you’re going to say next.” That was good because I still wasn’t sure. “That Trent is a lying, cheating jerk, and you have to tell Ella.”

Wow. He did know me. “Give or take a profanity, yes.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t tell her.”

“What?”

Jake shrugged one shoulder. “Haven’t you heard that phrase ‘don’t shoot the messenger’? It exists because people shoot the messenger when they get bad news. This is just going to hurt her if you tell her. And you and Ella have worked all your stuff out. I’d hate for this to mess things up for you two.”

Maybe I just had more faith in Ella than that. I knew she wouldn’t blame me for Trent being a lying scumbag.

Right?

What if she does? some annoying little voice inside me asked. I told it to be quiet. “I’d rather it come from me than for Trent to try and lie about it or for Ella to hear it from somebody else. Her boyfriend was kissing another girl, and you think I’m not going to tell her?”

“Technically, Bronte was kissing him.”

My fists balled up on the counter. “You think that makes it okay? A technicality?”

Jake held his hands out in front of him, trying to placate me. “Whoa there, Bruce Lee. Put away your fists of fury. What he did was not okay.”

At that, I relaxed and even smiled a little.

“You kind of hit like a girl, by the way.”

“I am a girl,” I protested, indignant. And I thought I did a good job of punching Trent, given that I apparently hadn’t done it in thirteen years.

“Oh, I know you’re a girl,” Jake replied with a wolfish grin that made my toes curl up. “But your thumb inside your fingers is a very bad idea. You could break it that way.” He balled my hands up. “Keep your thumb on the outside, like this. You’re also better off hitting them someplace softer. Like a nose. Plus, they bleed a lot. Although good for you on busting open his lip. He won’t be kissing anybody for a while. Jaws are no fun for your hand.”

As evidenced by my painful knuckles. “You sure you want to share all this insider information? Aren’t you worried about me coming after you?”

He planted a soft kiss on the bridge of my nose. “I don’t plan on ever giving you a reason to punch me.”

There was my opening. To ask him why he’d been weird and secretive. Dismissive of things that were important to me. Why he was so hot and cold lately.

But even though I’d been determined to talk things out with Jake, now I was too scared to. What if he went off on me like Trent had at school? Or started kissing girls who named themselves Bronte at local eateries?

Instead I said, “Maybe Trent will man up and tell her himself.”

“Maybe. And maybe the Cleveland Browns will win the Super Bowl. But if you have to bet on one or the other, I’d bet on the Browns.”

“Why do I feel so bad about hitting him?” Because Trent had obviously deserved it.

“Because you have a conscience?” Jake suggested. “You could apologize. It might make you feel better.”

“Apologize?” I repeated, stunned. “He cheats on my sister, and I have to apologize to him?”

“Being angry at something or someone . . . that only hurts you.”

“That’s a helpful life lesson.” I was shooting for sarcasm, but I missed the mark given that I knew he was probably right. That the only way to lessen my guilt would be to apologize for the assault.

Which made me mad all over again.

“This lesson has been brought to you by the letters K and O and the number twelve.” He paused, waiting for something. “That was both a Sesame Street and a boxing reference, FYI. What with you being the reigning champ and all.”

“Ha, ha.” I let the bag of peas fall from my hand. It had started to feel better. I flexed it a few times. I didn’t feel any broken bones.

Then again, I was not a doctor. Just tutoring the daughter of one.

“I’m not excusing what he did, but sometimes people make mistakes. We need to forgive people for making mistakes, right?” His voice sounded high and tight and suspicious. He looked anxiously at me. I kept my super poker face on, not letting on that my nerves were now frayed with worry.

“What are you talking about?”

He blinked three times. “Trent. What else would I be talking about?”

I waited and watched. If he touched his mouth, his tell for when he was lying to me, I was going to punch him, too. With my undamaged hand.

“Let me get you some more peas. These are kind of melted.”

I watched him go back to the freezer and wondered what had my boyfriend done that he thought he needed to be forgiven for.