“He had to deal with a lot from Mom…he was responsible for the house and me. No one has ever kept a promise to us before. That’s why he doesn’t want to trust you.”
I can’t pretend he doesn’t hurt my feelings, but Sadie is right. Why should he trust me? He’s had a lifetime of people letting him down. I’m determined to prove I’m not one of them. “You’re a smart kid,” I tell her. “You’re right. I’ll work extra hard to make sure Nash knows he can believe in me…that you can too.”
She blushes, nodding, then plays with the zipper on her backpack.
“Are you nervous to go to school today?”
“A little.”
“If anyone says anything mean, I want you to text me. I’ll come right away and pick you up, no matter what I’m doing.And whatever those bullies do or say has everything to do with them and nothing to do with you, okay? You’re better than they’ll ever be.”
“You don’t know them,” Sadie replies.
“I don’t have to. I know you.”
She smiles, mumbles a thanks, and then we’re pulling up in front of the school and she’s climbing out.
“Don’t forget what I said. Call me anytime.”
“Okay. Thank you, James.”
“You’re welcome.” Both of them saying my name in one day. Maybe that’s a good sign, but the nerves in my gut tell me that’s wishful thinking.
*
My heart leapsinto my throat as I turn down the hallway and see a tall figure in a hoodie, the hood pulled up over his head, leaning against the wall, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. I know that body, know those pants and the way they hug his thighs, know the way he stands and the curve of his shoulders.
I wish I could say I’m surprised to see him there. I wish that even with the moment of panic I felt, that my body didn’t almost immediately relax in that way he makes me do. I wish I didn’t want him to be standing there.
I hurry over. “What are you doing here?” I ask curtly.
“I wanted to talk to you about an assignment,” he says, which is probably a lie. He places his hand over my shaking one as I fight to get the key in the lock. “Shh. It’s fine. Get us inside, and we’ll be fine.”
His voice washes over me, makes my skin prickle while little parts of me that feel like they’re sleeping begin to come alive. The key slides into the lock, and as it does, Colton’shand drops away. I open the door and hurry inside, him right behind me. The sound of the lock clicking back into place echoes through the room.
“I just wanted to check on you,” he says softly, then tugs his hood down. His blond hair is messy, and I have the sudden urge to ask him if I can run my fingers through it.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you’re not. Yesterday was a lot. I apologize if I crossed any boundaries, especially with Nash. I was just trying to help.”
And he was. That’s the thing about him—there’s no doubt in my mind Colton wants to help. That he’s the type of person who would do anything for anyone in need. Everything we do is because he wants to try and make my life easier, better, and no one has ever been that for me.
“I know. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just didn’t expect it. I don’t know what to do with yesterday—meeting your friends, the way they helped with Sadie, you and Nash. That’s not what this is supposed to be.” Like what Sadie said about Nash earlier, I never had someone I could depend on either, and I’m not sure how to deal with that. “I worry if we depend on you too much, and if Nash gets too close, then what happens when we stop this? And none of that even takes into consideration that I’m your professor.” I run a hand through my hair, pushing away from my desk to pace the room.
“You’re waiting for something to go wrong. You’re expecting me to disappear or stop doing this, aren’t you?”
Yes. What makes you different from anyone else? What did I do to deserve you?
My ears get echoey, pulse thudding, the twisting and turning in my gut too much to ignore, but I can’t make myself say anything either. What the fuck would I say? “Thisis why I don’t do this. I don’t know how to do this. People are…hard for me.”
“James,” he says softly.
“I don’t know what to expect, even when you tell me. I know what I should expect, but there’s always a voice inside me that says something will inevitably go wrong.”
“James,” he says again, this time stepping in front of me, hands on my hips, holding me with what I know are calloused fingers. I crave his touch on my skin, wish he could slip his hand beneath my shirt and really touch me…make me feel. I so rarelyfeel.
“Breathe with me, good boy. Look at me.” His voice is so gentle, yet demanding at the same time. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t deny him.
