He walks around the living room toward a collage of Mallory’s and my school pictures through the years that hang on the wall.
“Wow,” he says. “So you’ve always looked like this.”
I march up to the photo to examine it. There’s nothing wrong with it. I look normal for the most part, with a few silly smiles and my hair a little wild in more than one of the pictures, but I think I look cute.
I cross my arms. “Why are you here?”
He’s pacing again, not wanting to look directly at me for very long. “Myles wants to see you.”
All my air leaves my lungs and my heart stills. “What?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t get it, and I told him you wouldn’t want to see him—”
“I want to.” The words leave my mouth so fast I don’t have time to think. Myles is the only person who’ll understand what I’m going through.
A flicker of surprise flashes on Sam’s face, and he stares at me differently, like he’s trying to understand me but can’t. “But you hate him.”
My stomach turns in on itself all over again because it couldn’t be further from the truth, and I’m embarrassed I ever hated Myles. I regret every nasty word. Every time I hit him. Every terrible thought I conjured in my head. I regret all of it.
“I need to see him,” I say.
Sam sucks in a breath and runs his hand through his hair. “Well, this definitely didn’t go the way I thought it would. I figured you’d run me out of the house for even suggesting it. Maybe beat me up again. You’re really strong. You know that, right?”
“Sorry.”
He nods even though I don’t think he really accepts my apology. Then he shifts his weight. “So should we go then?”
“Right now?” My heart races and my eyes dart over to the kitchen door.
“Yeah. I’d kind of like to get it over with.”
“How charming,” I say.
He shrugs. “Can you blame me? It’s not like we have the best history.” He points to his arm. “You should’ve seen the bruise you gave me when you knocked me to the ground.”
He didn’t fall that hard. There’s no way he got a bruise from that. “You’re exaggerating.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. It was massive.”
I don’t believe him, but I do feel bad I hurt him when he didn't deserve it. I rub my arm as I say, “Well, I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “It’s fine. I dropped you on your head and you attacked me so I guess we’re even now.”
I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. “You did what?”
“I thought you knew.”
“What are you talking about?”
He steps past me. “Let’s go find your babysitter.”
“Hey,” I say, following him. “She’s not my babysitter.”
He gives me a pitiful smile. “That’s exactly what she is.”
My mouth slams shut because even though I don’t want to admit it, he’s right and he knows it. There’s no point in arguing. “She’s not going to let me go.”
He gestures to himself and gives me a confident look. “Leave it to me.”
