Keeping one hand on Charlie’s arm, I turn out the shout, finding Corey bearing down on me with a crooked grin, his eyes drooping and glazed over. Amber is a step behind, not looking much better, except?—
Is that a stick in her hair?
Corey holds a hand out, and I slap mine against it by rote, watching as Amber tugs her skirt down.
“Didn’t know you were coming tonight, man,” he is saying, rocking on his heels. “You’ve been missing in action for weeks.”
The skin around my mouth pulls tight as I give him a close-mouthed smile. “I’ve been busy. Hey, we’re just?—”
“Charlie?” Amber’s finished fixing her clothes, blinking in surprise as she glances over at us. “What on earth are youdoing here?” She flicks a look at the house, and then back, something sly sliding through her eyes. “Does Bliss know you’re here?”
“Fuck off, Amber,” I snap. And then I’m turning away, tugging Charlie down the sidewalk after me.
“What the hell, Dillon?” Corey yells furiously. I don’t stop until we’re next to Barrett’s truck. They’ve got the interior light on, so I can see him behind the wheel and Jack in the passenger seat. They seem relaxed as they talk, and I figure Marisa must be passed out in the back.
Charlie tugs herself free from my grip as I whirl around, facing her, gorging myself on the sight of her. I step closer, the subtle fragrance of orange blossoms and vanilla—a scent that had lingered in each room of our apartment, like she’d always just left the room. Suddenly, for the first time, I understand howhomeisn’t just a physical place.
“Angel…” There’s so much I want to say to her, but how do I fix something I broke so irreparably? She’s standing here, her gaze cool and distant as she watches me, but then, it’s not her I’m seeing. It’s my mother—broken after years of my father verbally beating her down, berating for every little thing. The image morphs into Charlie as I remember the moment my anger took over and I turned intohim.
I clench my hands into fists, my fingers clammy, the words jamming in my throat like they’re blocked by a concrete brick. I want to tell her that I regret what happened at the bar that night, and that I’m sorry for every ounce of bullshit that flowed from my mouth the next day. I want to tell her how I wish, more than anything, that I could take it all back.
If I said all that, I’d also tell her that none of it was true. That the honest truth is thatIamnothing. I’d say that, without her, I’m no better than dust in a tornado.
It’s all just words, and I’m aware they’re the very thing that ripped her from me—ones I didn’t say and ones I did.
The wind is a bitter chill that creeps under my collar. Charlie shivers, her thin hoodie doing nothing to protect her from the cold, so I shrug out of my jacket, stepping closer so I can drape it over her shoulders.
“Here,” I murmur.
Charlie doesn’t put her arms in the sleeves, going so still that I can’t even be sure she’s breathing. She doesn’t push me away, so I take it as a small win.
As the silence stretches out, she turns toward the truck, intent on ending this night once and for all, but I’m not ready for her to go.
Not yet.
“Wait!” It’s a burst of sound, too loud in the quiet of the street, and Charlie flinches, her shoulders creeping up to her ears. She doesn’t look at me, and I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans to stop myself from reaching out to her. “You, um…You look good, Angel.”
Charlie turns to look at me, her green eyes full of ice. There’s no affection on her face—nothing to give me hope that she’ll ever look at me the way she used to. The apathy strikes straight at my heart, desperately wishing for anything else but such a complete lack of reaction. If she were screaming at me, at least it would mean she cared even a little…just enough to feelsomething.
Instead, it feels like she’s already shut the door on us, locked it, and walked away.
“Can we…?” I start, faltering at the weak plea in my voice. I clear my throat, trying again. “Can we talk?”
The breeze carries her soft sigh to me, and my throat goes dry.
“About what, Dillon?” Charlie asks tiredly. “It’s late,and I really don’t think we have anything left to say.” She lets that land before adding, “You said plenty the last time we saw each other, don’t you think?”
I flinch, glancing away. “I want?—”
She scoffs, and I bite back the rest of the words. “Not a great start, Dillon. I don’t really want to talk about whatyouwant.”
“Charlie, please.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Desperate for something—anything—from her, I switch topics. “You handled that really well back there. With Bliss, I mean. I wanted—” Sucking that word back in, I shake it off, trying again. “I was really proud of you.”
Her smile isn’t a nice one. “Was I strong enough for you this time?” she asks almost sweetly, but there’s a bite that makes my eyes widen. “Did I give as good as I got?”
I don’t say anything, because what can I say tothat? Especially when bitterness sharpens her tongue, the words thrown at me like the lash of a whip.
Charlie stares at me, expectant and hard. When I don’t answer, she shakes her head. “It’s interesting that, some days, you have absolutely nothing to say, and others, you say too much.”
