“Where are we going?” I say.
“It’s a surprise,” Dane says. “Get in.”
He opens the passenger door for me, all chivalrous. He also drops his voice to a low authoritative tone that I find myself obeying, even though my mind is racing with confusion. He waits until I’m inside and closes the door gently on me. He throws my backpack and coat in the back, then jumps into the driver’s seat. I wind down the window, still feeling dazed.
“Have fun,” Mum says.
She has a big smile on her face. Why the sudden change of heart about Dane? I guess his horrible singing won her over too. Or at least what it represents.
“Have him home before Christmas,” Mum says to Dane. “And look after him.”
Dane gulps, looking a bit scared. “I will.”
He starts down the driveway and we’re on our way, apparently. My heart hammers with excitement, but I don’t want to look too carried away. Though I suppose it would match his energy after he sang for me when he can’t even sing.
“I can’t believe you just kidnapped me,” I say.
“Yep. I’m hard-hearted like that.” Dane drums his fingers on the steering wheel complacently.
“I feel like you’re taking advantage of my frail physical state.”
He laughs. “The ankle? It seems fine to me.” He gives me a sidelong look. “You could’ve put up more of a fight. If you wanted to.”
He’s getting pretty cocky. I feel myself blushing.
“Well, maybe I want to get out of the country too,” I counter. “You almost ruined my band’s reputation with that honking… I mean singing.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. And who said we’re going out of the country?”
“Wherearewe going?” I ask.
“Not telling you.”
“Can I guess?”
His gloating grin makes him look half hot, half punchable. He knows he’s safe from that because he’s driving. His blue eyes glint at me with the arrogance turned up to eleven. He changes gear, making me look at the muscles of his forearm under his pushed-up sleeve.
“You can guess, but I’m still not going to answer,” he says.
He’s enjoying this power way too much. I give up and fall silent to process everything. I still can’t believe this is actually happening. A few days ago he was jumping in terror at the idea of being caught with me. Now he wants to go on a trip together. I’m still hurt at the way he treated me. His song melted my heart quite a lot… but not completely. I had to save him from public humiliation otherwise I never would’ve forgiven myself, but thatdoesn’t mean I’m over everything. Seven years later, I can still remember exactly how I felt when he let me down at school. He left me alone under the mistletoe to be attacked by that bully. I can still feel the Coke trickling down my face and hear the laughter.
I was mad at him foryearsabout that. Probably too long, if I’m honest. Now I’m older and wiser, I don’t blame him so much for freezing up. It was a terrible idea to attempt to kiss him in public. In school, of all places. I wasn’t trying to put him in an impossible position. I was just… fourteen years old and not thinking. I just wanted our moment under the mistletoe like everyone else. I was a bit of a teen crusader, I guess. But I should’ve at least asked him first. I know that now.
The trouble is, he’sstillso wary to be seen with me even now we’re adults. He proved that with his embarrassed silence in the changing room after the exhibition match. It’s his right to be guarded, of course, but it still hurts. I need to protect my heart in case Dane decides to stomp all over it again. I know he doesn’t mean to stomp. Doesn’t mean to play with me. He has his own issues to deal with. But even if he doesn’t mean to, he has the power to hurt me. Am I letting him off too easy by going along with this? We’re barely even friends. And now he’s taking me away on a surprise trip like we’re a real couple. And I’m just letting him.
“So…” he says, breaking the silence and looking a bit nervous. Maybe he isn’t as cocky as I thought. “Can I take it that this means you accept my apology?”
“What apology?” I play dumb.
“The song at the gig. There was a… subtext.”
He looks so earnest as he explains it, I have to laugh.
“Yes, I got that it was supposed to be an apology,” I say. “As subtle as thesubtextwas.”
He scowls. The crease between his eyebrows looks weirdly hot. “I thought I’d speak to you in your language. Music.”
“Sure.Music,” I tease.
