It takes me aninterminable moment to spot it, parked against the back fence, justabout as far from the school building as she could possibly haveparked.And it pisses me off further.Has the girl learnedfuckingnothing?Getting behind the wheel when she can barely keep her eyes open,and parking so far away when she knows she'll be leaving schoollate after our tutoring session.Even if she knows I'll walk her toher car, it's still an unnecessary risk, and she should fuckingknow better.
I jog to her jeep inrecord time, ignoring curious looks.The only relief I have is theabsence of her brake lights, telling me that at least she's notpulling out.But she doesn't appear to be retrieving anything fromit either.In fact, she doesn't appear to be outside her car atall.
I peer through the backwindow, but can't see if she's in the driver's seat, she keeps theheadrest too high and she's too small.I make my way around to thedriver's side and feel a simultaneous surge of anger and relief.Because her small frame is slumped in the seat, her head laid backand mouth slightly open in sleep.I don't doubt that she had everyintention of driving out of this parking lot, but I thank God thatshe didn't even get to start the engine before she closed her eyesand passed the fuck out.
I take a deep breath,exhaling my frustration with the whole situation.I run hand afterhand through my hair, before I decide what I need to do.
Rory needs a fucking nap.And I'm going to make sure she gets it.And not in a goddamncar.
I pull the handle, furtherconflicted over my relief that she didn't lock it, and my angerthat shedidn't fucking lock it.She doesn't even flinch at the sound.
She looks like an angelwhen she sleeps.Her thick fans of lashes hide the soft graycircles of exhaustion that I know lie just under her tired eyes.The faint flush of sleep stains her pale cheeks, which still havethe slightest spattering of sun freckles from Miami—physical proofthat our time as something more than friends was real.
A thick curtain of herlong, auburn hair has fallen over half her face, and it blowsfaintly with each puff of air exhaled from her perfect pink lips.She's so beautiful it takes my breath away like some fuckingcliché.I shake my head, silently chastening myself.I didn't comehere to stare at her while she sleeps.Well… not in her fuckingcar, anyway.
I slide one arm around herback, and the other under her knees, and gently pull her to me.Shestartles in her sleep, and I watch her brows pinch together inconfusion and perhaps a smidge of fear.I'm almost positive sherelaxes before I even whisper my affirmations of her safety, ofcomfort.I let myself believe what I'm almost sure I saw--that itwas her deep inhale, the recognition of the familiar scent of myaftershave that comforted her.
"It's just me, baby girl,"I whisper to her soothingly, calling her what I usually only callher in my head now."I've got you.We're going to take anap."
I'm not expecting aresponse, and her faint murmured "m’kay", practically melts myheart into a puddle right there inside my goddamn chest.
I carry her around thefront of her jeep, squeezing us through the small space between itand the fence to avoid as many eyes as possible since the nextlunch period just began and the lot is filled withclassmates.
I prop my foot on the sidebumper and shift Rory's weight to my knee so I can get thepassenger door open, then carefully place her on the seat and reachover and buckle her seat belt.
She murmurs something Ican't make out, so I whisper more assurances and press a soft kissto her forehead.I'm about to shut her door when I hear her breathemy name.I'm sure of it.But she says nothing more, and I give itanother couple of seconds to make sure she's still asleep before Ihead back around to the driver's seat.I slide my phone from mypocket, text Tuck that Rory wasn't feeling well and I was drivingher home, and for him to tell Carl.I'll get Tuck to pick me upafter school to get my car back later.
I drive to Rory's house insilence, just listening to the sound of her deep, even, peacefulbreathing.It is music to my fucking ears.
I park her jeep in thedriveway, pocket her keys, and make my way around to carry herinside.There's another small startle when I slide my arms underher, but she relaxes into me immediately, and whimpers softly inher sleep.
I lift her effortlessly,she really is a slight little thing—not short for a girl, but nottall either, and naturally slim.Though her recent lack of appetitehas cost her weight she couldn't afford to lose.
Rory's arms come up andclasp around my neck, taking me by surprise.
"Sam," I hear her murmuragain.
"That's right, baby, it'sme."I sigh, both in the pleasure of having her in my arms, and theresignation that I know it isn't real."I've got you, Pine," Iassure her.
She's either talking andmoving in her sleep, or exhausted to the point of delirium.Probably a little of both, and I'm pissed again that she almosttried to drive herself home like this.
As if she can sense mytension even in her current state, she burrows her face into theside of my neck to soothe me.And it works, of course—the tensioninstantly drains out of me, but resurges lower, in one particulararea that can't help but be affected by the sensation of her lipsagainst my skin.
"That's not helpful rightnow, baby girl," I whisper to her as I reposition her weight tograb her keys from my pocket.
She hums against my neck,the vibrations flowing through my entire body, only making itharder for me.Figuratively, and literally.
Her house key is the onlyother key on the chain, and I open it expeditiously, and carry herupstairs to her bedroom.I know her mother will be home late today.Rory mentioned it would be after dinner, and I want her to sleep aslong as she possibly can.She needs it.And I'll stay here allfucking day if I have to.
I yank open her comforterand lay her down on the sheet, slipping off her sneakers andsetting them next to the bed.She's in black leggings and a graytee shirt today, so she should be comfortable.She started wearingleggings or sweatpants every Tuesday and Thursday so she wouldn'thave to change for phys-ed, and the recollection elicits a surge ofrenewed resentment toward Chelsea, whom I'm supposed to haveforgiven.
Though it's only thereason she wears them that I resent.Because I'll be honest, I'mdefinitely not complaining about those tight stretchy pants.I wantto send a fucking thank-you note to whoever it was that inventedthem.
Rory rolls to her side andburrows into her pillow before she settles into stillness.I fightto force my eyes away from the perfectly outlined curve of herass.
I watch her for a fewminutes, wondering what I should do now.I don't want hernightmares to return, not today.I know if I hold her there's abetter shot of keeping them away, but she's not mine, and that'snot my right anymore.If she were awake I would ask her permission.I would fucking beg if I had to.But she's not, so I don't knowwhat to do.
The thought of justclimbing into bed with her is tempting as hell.But it would bebeyond presumptuous at best, and probably a violation for any girl.But for a girl with Rory's history?It could be disastrous.Soinstead, I drag her desk chair to the foot of her bed, sit down,kick my feet up onto the mattress, and watch her sleep.I tellmyself I'm not a creepy stalker.And I hope to hell I'm not lyingto myself.
