His face darkens, but he waves that off. “You already got into med school. And if it comes up, I’ll tell them I called without your permission. I can take the heat.”
That makes me feel slightly better, but not a lot.
“Your parents hate it,” I say. “And I don’t have the energy to perform for them, honestly.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “We don’t have to see them. Honest to God, I won’t let them around you unless they show they can change dramatically.”
I groan. “I’m not making you cut off your parents.” I stare at the ceiling, willing myself not to cry. “Besides that, if I do get into med school, there’s no guarantee you’ll find a job here. I’ll have to do my residency somewhere else, probably, because wearen’t all lucky enough to get one in our home state. I’m sure I’ll be stressed and studying all the time, trying not to freak out about the loans I’ll be paying back later.”
“I’ll help you pay for it,” Grant says. “I don’t have enough saved for the whole thing, but I can help.” He grasps my hand in his. “I will give you all my fucking money.”
“I can’t take that from you, either,” I say. “And I’m used to doing things myself. I can do this too.”
“But Iwantto be that person for you.” Grant’s voice takes on some urgency. “I want to be the one who helps you. So you don’t have to take on all of it on your own.”
Tears stream down my cheeks now, and those give way to sniffling, and then great, heaving sobs while Grant watches. I bend forward and curl over my feet. I cry so hard I worry I’m going to be sick, all while he strokes the back of my hand, watching me with concern and so much compassion I want to turn away from it. I haven’t cried like this in years. I’m not sure I’ve ever cried like this, even as a child.
Years of hurt come crashing down on me. Not just Grant’s treatment of me, or anyone else’s, but the ways I’ve had to endure so much in order to live a normal life. I’ve been flippant about it with my friends, but I’m so exhausted my bones hurt. It’s all too much. My upbringing, the way poverty leaves a mark on one’s very DNA. Being bullied. Blaine’s accident. The health problems I pretend are no big deal. My dad. The way I still fight to prove myself.
Grant snakes his arms around my shoulders and squeezes me. I sink into him, probably slobbering on his shoulder with my ugly, racking sobs.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. My throat stings from the crying. “I don’t . . .” Then I sob again, an awful wail I’ll be embarrassed about later.
“It’s okay, Kendall. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
That makes me cry harder, in more gulping sobs. I’ve neverdone something like this in front of someone else. It’s like someone pulled a pin and now I’m detonating.
After a few minutes, my gasping settles into sniffles at random intervals. I sit up and wipe my eyes. I’m wrung out, and my clarity is no better than it was.
“Well,” I say, “now you’ve finally seen me break down.” I sniffle again. “Don’t tell anyone I have feelings.”
He laughs a little, but it’s a sad chuckle, like his heart isn’t really in it. He pets my hair. “You’re breaking my heart here, babe.” He offers me a subdued smile. “On the other hand, if you’d done this in high school, I might not have bothered you ever again.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works. It probably would have gotten even worse. Showing weakness and all that.”
He makes a noise, a plaintive whimper like a pained animal. “I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you. I’ll spend years trying if you’ll let me.”
“Grant.” He stiffens next to me. “I’m so into you. I really, really am. You’re brilliant and sexy and kind. I like spending time with you. I know you would treat me well.”
He pulls his arm from my shoulders to look at me. “This feels like a prelude to letting me down.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks again. “If we were different people, I would give it a chance. But there’s too much baggage. And I can’t spend my life feeling less-than, especially around your family. I think it’s better if we do this now.”
Grant hangs his head. My heart pinches, and I rub my chest.
He lifts his head. “Is there anything I can say? Or do?”
The pinch becomes a thread of agony wrapping around me, squeezing my chest. I can’t get to the bottom of my breath.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “It’s been . . . fun.”
“Goddammit.” Grant folds his arms over his chest, featureshardening, and I flinch. “Don’t give me that. Now you’re diminishing it.”
I throw my hands up. “Fine. I doubt I’ll ever have a connection like this again. Is that what you want to hear?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “No. That’s worse.”
“Maybe we’ll feel differently in a few months,” I say. “That this was just lust, infatuation. A house of cards.” I can’t bring myself to talk about his admission, his use of the word “love.” I won’t allow myself to consider that I could feel the same way. I know I’ve left him hanging, that the word is now out there, untethered from his control like a lost kite. I wish I could give him what he wants—something I never thought I would say—but I can’t.
