twelve

We do return to the forest, briefly, skirting the trailer park. I suspect if we hadn’t lost our pursuer, he’d have been unable to resist letting us know.

I’m still here. Did you think you’d escaped that easily?

But we haven’t escaped. No more than we’ve “lost” him. He’s left.

We reach the trailer. Thankfully Bert’s pickup is gone. When I usher Lennon through the door, I fuss with relocking it to avoid watching his reaction.

“Light?” he whispers.

“To your left.”

He flicks the switch. Then he walks in without a pause. That nonchalance lasts only a moment, though. Then he stops in the middle of the kitchen and gives a slow look around.

“Shit,” he says.

“It’s—”

“Turn off the light, Winter.”

I do, too nervous to ask why, but he only moves through the kitchen and living area, pulling the shades.

“There, okay. Turn it on.”

When light fills the trailer, I try not to look around with fresh eyes. Try not to see the thrift store sofa, one arm bleeding stuffing where Bert stabbed it with a knife after losing a gig mowing the cemetery lawn. Try not to see the pyramid of empty bourbon bottles near the door, an altar to the god that rules his life. Try not to see the Chinese food containers left on the counter. I don’t know if he’s just too lazy to put them in the fridge or if he leaves them to taunt me with food I don’t dare eat unless I want to risk salmonella poisoning.

I grab the takeout containers and open the trash. “Sorry about the smell. Let me open a window.”

“It’s fine, Winter.”

I reach for the window over the sink. “No, I’ll—”

He catches my hand. “Opening a window isn’t safe. And it really is fine.”

“It wasn’t like this when I left.”

“I know. If you insist on being hospitable, I see a case of Coke over there. I’d love one.”

“That’s, uh, not mine.” I hurry on before he can question. “I have some in my room. Just give me a sec.”

I come back with a can and hand it to him. It’s even cold. I have a bar fridge. Edie and I found it put out for the trash.

“We can sit…” I look around. There’s crap everywhere. The trailer has zero storage space, so our belongings just get moved from surface to surface.

“Let’s just sit over here.” He moves into the living area.

I dart ahead to clear the sofa.

“I can do that,” he says.

“I just— It’s— I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” he says. “You should apologize for making me move stuff to sit down. And apologize for not having a bigger home. Because clearly this doesn’t meet my standards.”

There’s a chill in his voice, and I know I’ve insulted him.

“I don’t mean—” I begin.

“You’re embarrassed by your place. I get it. But I don’t give a shit. You saved my life and took care of me. And what did I do in return? Brought some psycho to your doorstep. Do you honestly believe I’m looking around and thinking—”

“—maybe next time you can attract a better class of rescuer?”

I smile when I say it, but the look he gives me makes me murmur an apology.

He sets the can down and steps toward me, his face softening. “I don’t mean to give you shit, Winter. I’m just trying to say that I think you’re pretty damned amazing, and this”—he waves at the room—“doesn’t change that.”

His hands go to my hips, and he leans in, and his lips barely brush mine before I back from his grip.

“You don’t have to…do that,” I say.

His face tightens in annoyance. “Do what? Kiss you to say I think you’re worthy of my attention. That’s not what I meant, Winter.”

“I know. Just—”

He moves away. “Oh, right, no, I must be kissing you as a reward for saving my ass. Or maybe to ensure you don’t kick me out the door. Give you a little incentive to keep risking your life for me.”

“That isn’t—”

“I kissed you because I want to kiss you. I think my little speech should have made that clear.”

“Okay. But…no. I don’t want—” I inhale. “Let’s not go there, okay.”

He blinks, and there’s genuine surprise in his face. Then a flash of hurt, and he pulls back, picking up the Coke and turning away.

There’s silence. Long, awkward silence, and I’m about to go tidy the kitchen when he turns to me, his gaze slightly downcast, his lips crooked in a rueful smile.

“And that was a really shitty thing to do,” he says. “You don’t want me to kiss you? Well, screw you.” He shakes his head. “Have I mentioned I can be a jerk?”

“Not many girls tell you no, I’m guessing.”

“I’d say it’s never happened before, if that wouldn’t add ‘arrogant’ to ‘jerk.’ But, hey, new experiences are good. They build character. Let me apologize. Deeply and profusely. Not for trying to kiss you, which I think is acceptable, but for being an ass when you said ‘no thanks.’ ”

“Apology accepted.”

He smiles. “Most girls would cushion the blow by telling me I wasn’t being an ass. I like that you don’t. One of many things I like about— And let’s stop there. Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“Under the circumstances, I think it’s best to…avoid anything.”

“The practical and wise course of action. I’m the strange guy you met in the forest. You’ve already taken risks for me. You have no idea what I’ve brought to your doorstep. Being nice to me is one thing; kissing me is quite another.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, you’re right.” He waves at his face. “See this expression? It’s my serious one. I’m not angling for a compliment.”

He takes a basket of laundry from the couch and clears us a spot. We both sit, and he continues, “You are absolutely right to be wary. I want you to be. That’s what’ll keep you safe from…” He looks at the window, and I know he’s thinking of the man out there.

“I stumbled onto something,” he says, “and I’m an idiot for bringing it to your door.”

“You didn’t exactly have a say in being rescued.”

“Yes, but…” He shakes it off as he straightens. “I just want you to be careful, Winter. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“Neither did you. But I take your point. Trust no one.”

“I used to think everyone was a good person, deep down. I remember Jude—” He makes a face. “Sorry.”

“No, go on.”

He pauses and then says, “Even in private school, kids can be bastards. Jude wouldn’t put up with that shit, but he’d also say that the bullies probably had crap going on in their lives too. Divorce, abuse—stress of some kind. He’d say that doesn’t excuse it, but you need to remember that everyone else is dealing with crap, and bear that in mind before you write them off.”

His brother has a point, but as someone who’s been bullied, I don’t particularly want to grant it. It’s easier to imagine that when I’m a surgeon at a big city hospital, my father will be stuck in Reeve’s End, drinking himself to liver failure and realizing if he’d just been a better father, I could have saved him. Enjoying that fantasy makes me petty and vindictive. Jude’s way is better. Probably healthier. But I can’t bring myself that far.

“Jude might be right about seventy-five percent of assholes,” Lennon continues. “But the other twenty-five percent? They have no excuse. They’re just bad. Born bad.” He fidgets with his Coke can. “They might seem good on the outside, but it’s a disguise. Sometimes I feel that way. Like everyone thinks I’m this great guy—student council president, captain of the volleyball team, Mr. Popularity—but I’ve done shitty things. I’ve thought shitty things. And when other kids looked up to me in school, I wanted to run and—”

He thumps the can down so loudly I jump. “And very clearly I haven’t had nearly enough sleep in the last couple of nights. Sorry.”

“No,” I say quietly. “It’s okay. I know…People think…” I swallow. “They tell me I’m a good person for helping Doc Southcott. For tutoring other kids. For setting a good example. But I get paid for the work and the tutoring. And how am I setting a good example? By being smart? By working hard so I can get out of this town and never come back? If I were a good person—”

“You risked your life to save me, Winter.”

I push to my feet. “We both haven’t had nearly enough sleep. There are only a few hours left until morning. I’m going to insist you take my room because if Bert comes home and finds you on this couch, he’s liable to mistake you for an intruder and grab his shotgun.”

“Which would be bad.”

“Yep. He has crappy aim, but that doesn’t matter with a shotgun.”