I walked for another fifteen minutes, which ended up being only a quarter mile, and thought about hitchhiking. It would surely be better than walking through this part of town this late at night.
A car pulled up to the side of the road, and I glanced back at it to see the shiny bright lights beaming at me. Someone got out, and I continued to hurry down the grass on the side of the busy freeway. Okay, maybe hitchhiking was a no-go. I didn’t want to get into the car with a creepy, old—
“Mia?”
My heart dropped. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around, seeing his figure in front of the headlights. Michael … Michael was here. Michael was here for me.
“Mia, please, come home with me.”
Though part of me wanted to protest and tell him to go back to his date, I … I didn’t have it in me to break him again. So, I walked toward him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and pulled him into a tight hug, burying my face into his chest.
“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He wrapped his arms around me, brushing his fingers against my wet hair. “It’s okay,” he said softly.
But it wasn’t okay, and I wasn’t okay. Nothing about this was okay. He was my best friend’s dad, showing me more affection and more love than my boyfriend did, more than my dad did, more than anyone—except Mom—did.
“Let me take you back to my place, Mia,” he said. “You can stay with me tonight, and I’ll bring you to see your mother tomorrow morning.”
After swallowing all those emotions—hate, anger, sadness—that I had come to know so damn well, I nodded. “Okay.” I walked to the passenger side and peered at the seat, not wanting to ruin his car with my wet clothes. “Do you want me to take off my wet—”
“Get in,” he said.
I slid into the car and shut the door, listening to the rhythmic beat of the rain on the windshield. He started the car and veered back onto the road, merging onto the highway.
I stared down at my knees and frowned. “I’m sorry for ruining your date.”
“You didn’t ruin my date,” he said. “I hadn’t even wanted to go.”
“Was it that girl you were at the bar with?” I asked before I could stop myself.
It didn’t matter who the girl was. He didn’t have to tell me if he didn’t want to. I had hurt him.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Don’t do this, Mia,” he said. “Don’t try to make yourself hurt worse.”
I stared at the windshield. “Okay, sorry.”
And then I didn’t say anything else for the rest of the car ride. I just enjoyed the silence because it was better than any music-blaring party I had ever attended.
When we reached his house, he led me to his bedroom, turned on the shower, and stripped off my clothes. “Get in.”
I stepped into the shower, letting the water warm my bare and already-drenched skin. “The shower is big enough for two of us,” I said, joking and trying to start a conversation again with him.
There was something about him tonight that seemed different from the usual talkative, friendly Michael. He had that strained look on his face like he had on Thursday right before he told me he wanted to give me money.
“Not now.” He took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom.
I listened to him fumbling around in his closet and closed my eyes. It felt like all I had been doing these past two weeks was cry, yet I felt like I needed to cry more. But I held it in and washed my hair with his shampoo and then my body with some soap.
About ten minutes later, Michael came back into the room with some clothes and a fresh towel. He placed them on the sink counter and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest.
I stared at him, waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he continued to stare at me with those intense gray eyes, and I continued to stand there, unsure about everything. After washing the soap off my body, I turned the water off and reached my hand out of the shower for the towel.
“What happened at the party?” he asked me.
I sucked in a deep breath, gazed at my feet, and wiggled my toes.
He grasped my chin and forced me to look up at him. “What happened?”
