I pull up off to the side of her house and begin my pace from left to right across her yard. If anyone's watching me right now, I probably look like a damn freak. Making it across the entire front lawn with no luck, I pass by Haven's bedroom, trying not to wonder what she's up to right now. I avoid looking in and continue my hunt around to the back yard. As I pass their outdoor kitchen, a glimmer of something catches my eye, and thank the fucking heavens above, it's my goddamn key. I don't want to know how it ended up on the patio, but whatever, I have it. Now that I have it, I can keep it in my pocket because I am not going back to Crow's anytime soon, especially now that I know who he's screwing.
"What are you doing?" Haven's voice scares the crap out of me, and I look around to see where the hell she is. "I'm over here." I turn around, finding her curled up on a deck couch, reading.
"I—ah, lost my key," I tell her.
"I was wondering whose key that was. Of all the places to drop it, huh?"
"And here I was thinking there was a very slim chance of finding it somewhere in your yard." I step up onto the patio and dip my hands into my back pockets.
"You don't have a spare key?" she asks. There's some kind of tone in her voice, one I can't make out. Is she pissed at me for something? I should be able to answer that. I know what she's angry about, but she has to understand. I almost caved and kissed her, but thankfully, I realized what would happen if I broke down. Messing with her father isn't something I can do, which means I can't cave.
"The guy I live with does."
"So, why didn't you just get a copy made?" she asks.
My focus settles on her face for longer than it should, not having a good answer to her question without explaining the two-hundred-dollar fee, why that's a big deal to me, and probably pocket change to someone like her. "I didn't want it floating around somewhere."
"Hmm," she sighs.
I pinch the back of my neck, working out the stress that's currently making me feel like there's a boulder sitting on my shoulders. "Are you mad about something?" I ask, thinking I already determined the answer to this but it’s obvious she wants me to ask. That's what chicks do. They act like nothing's wrong, while at the same time sending daggers out through their eyes.
"No," she answers quietly.
"Look, I'm sorry if I caused you to be angry or whatever. It was never my intention. It looked like you needed a friend—"
"Just stop, okay?" It didn't look like she wanted a friend. It looked like she wanted me, period. She has no clue what she'd be getting herself into, and beyond that, I can't tempt my fate with the officials of this town again. As much as I'd love to share a cell with pops, I'm all set. "I'm not going to sugar-coat this, Raine. You made me feel ridiculous today. I get it. I'm younger than you, and I have no clue what I'm doing. I'm an idiot. Blah, blah, blah. I've heard it all before. And that bull about a connection. Really?" I'm listening to her every word. I'm watching pain work itself into her face. I'm an asshole, and it isn't a new revelation. I can sit here and tell her it wasn't bull, but I can see why it sounds like that. Though, if Iweremaking up all of that crap about a connection, it would be so I could take advantage of her. That's not quite what happened, so again, I don't understand her argument.
"I did want to be friends," I tell her. "I mean...I do." I sound as stupid as Crow did, telling Kacee he liked her.
She looks me up and down as her lip curls into a small snarl. "You don't want to be friends with me," she says as a statement rather than a question.She's right; I want to throw her over my shoulder, bring her to her room, and do what I can't stop thinking about. I'm guessing she doesn't want to hear that, followed by me telling her I can’t do that.
"Why wouldn’t I want to be friends with you," I ask her.
"I think a better question is…whywouldyou want to be friends with me?"
With the back and forth banter between us, I might consider her question more carefully. She's pushing my buttons, and the anger I've been doing my damnedest to suppress is starting to fill my chest. I hate being questioned or quizzed, whatever she’s doing to try and extract some kind of answer she wants to hear. "Why do I have to keep answering the same question? You didn't believe me the last time you asked, and you're not going to believe me if I give you the same answer this time," I tell her.
"It just doesn't make sense to me," she continues. “Your behavior is erratic and crazy. I don’t even know what to make of you or anything you say.”
"My behavior is erratic and crazy?” I shout a little louder than I should be in this neighborhood. “You’re the one who took your clothes off in front of a fucking window, knowing I—someone you knew jack shit about—was watching. You think that screams 'sane person'?"
Haven tosses her book down and stands up from the chair. "I knew you were an ass. I figured that one out today," she says. "Like I said, I regret what I did. I can't exactly take it back, but I'm going to guess that you already know what it's like to make a mistake and then pay the consequences for it afterwards." It's clear that she knows more about me than I thought—than I wish she knew.
"Good. Well, whatever you heard about me…don't go thinking it’s just a rumor. It wasn't a mistake," I argue.
Her forehead creases and her brows buckle in toward her nose. "So you stole an entire register full of cash from Charlie's Store, and you don't consider that a mistake." An entire register. A hundred bucks.
"No, it wasn't a mistake," I tell her again.
I watch as she swallows what looks like a lump in her throat. Suddenly, she looks scared of me, rather than disgusted. I refuse to explain myself—my situation—and grovel for forgiveness.
There's silence between us, and discomfort is growing quickly. "Why don't we just pretend like this past week never happened. You go back to your life, I'll go back to my life, and you won't have a reason to feel like you made a mistake."
"Fine," she says, quicker than I thought she would.
"Thanks for joining me today," I tell her as I take the step off the patio and head toward the front yard.
She doesn't respond, and that's fine. I saw the smile she had on her face when she looked up into the sun today, and how happy she was to just swim in the lake without worry. The few things I can do whenever I want to are evidently the big things she appreciates.
The irony between the rich and poor.
