“I just want to make sure you get home and those pricks don’t follow you,” I said softly. “Because I don’t trust that theywon’t. And if they try it with me, they’re going to regret it. Severely.”
Elijah looked into my eyes for a minute, almost as though he could read my mind. Like he was assessing my feelings and intentions. He must have either decided he could trust me, or he was too drunk to let himself think about it any further. “Fine,” he mumbled, and stood up on wobbly legs.
I glanced at Chris. “I’ll get him home. Tell Derrick we’ll hang out another time.”
Chris nodded. “Be careful, man.” He gave me a pat on the shoulder and headed back inside.
I inclined my head toward my car and headed off, Elijah stumbling along after me. He had his phone out and was typing out a text, probably to his friends still inside. He caught up to me and I glanced down at the phone, managing to suppress my laugh when I read it.Don feel grade. Good home. Havr a ride. Tslk to you tmorroq. I wondered if his friends were drunk enough to decipher it.
“That’s me,” I said, motioning to my car.
Elijah glanced at the car, but then slurred, “Hold on. I have to get something out of my car.” He pulled out his keys, weaving through the other cars. He hit the alarm first, got it to turn off, then locked it three times before managing to get it unlocked. He was far enough away that I actually let out the chuckle this time. He climbed into the back seat and rummaged around for a minute, then came out with a bag of damn cat food, locking the door again before heading over to my car.
Elijah hesitated at the passenger door of my car, looking torn. He still wasn’t looking at me. “Elijah,” I said quietly. “Do you remember when we were best friends?”
He paused and looked in my direction, but still not at me. He didn’t respond to the question.
“I do,” I said, even though it made me feel like crying. “And seeing you with that cat food... do you remember that night in the treehouse when you said you wanted to work with animals when you grew up? Animals always loved you. Squirrels wouldcome up and eat out of your hand and birds landed on you when you stood still. You had that opossum that followed you around everywhere. It was crazy. But you told me your favorite animal was a cat.” He gave the tiniest nod. “Do you remember when you told me I was your best friend in the world, and you hoped we lived in a cottage in the woods together when we grew up because you never wanted us to be apart?”
His eyes finally found my face, somewhere below my eyes. He gave the same little nod.
I went on. “I know I fucked it all up. I know I fucked it up way back in middle school, and it only got worse until I was the biggest piece of shit evenIknew. I’ve never stopped regretting it. Please, just for now, remember who I used to be, back when we practically lived in the treehouse and hung out in the woods every day. Let me get you home safe tonight. Then I’ll leave you alone forever if that’s what you want. I promise.”
His eyes finally found mine again, those eyes so crystal blue they seemed like ghost eyes in the dark. They felt endless, all knowing, like they could seek out whatever they were looking for in my mind. But they were still wounded, still sad. They took my breath away, but I didn’t look away. He finally broke eye contact and opened the passenger door, sliding into the seat as he hugged the bag of cat food to him like he was a scared kid and it was his teddy bear. He pulled his seat belt on when I got in, but he just stared out the windshield in front of him.
I took the opportunity to admire his profile. God, did he know how beautiful he was? Did he have a clue what he did to me? What he’d done to me back then? Back when my brain was scrambled and the thoughts I had about him scared the shit out of me? I memorized the upturned nose and soft lips, the long eyelashes silhouetted in the dark. He was somehow exactly the same and yet so different than I remembered. He’d grown up, become even more breathtaking. I turned away and started the car.
I pulled up my GPS and said, “I have no idea where you live, so you’ll have to guide me or put it in the map.” He glanced my way for just a second, then slowly and painstakingly put anaddress in while I waited patiently. Way out of town, then, in the woods. I stared at it on satellite view and had to bite my lip to stop the tremble. He really did live in a cottage in the woods. Alone.
I hit the guide and pulled out of the parking lot. The location of his home was what he’d always wanted but the isolation made me worry. Someone he’d dated had recently been murdered, and two asshats had just been harassing him without provocation at the bar. He was so alone way out there, what would happen if they tried again? I didn’t mention it, though, just drove.
Neither of us said a word all the way to his house. As I pulled into the driveway of a small, wood-paneled house with a comfy looking porch and a light on in one window, Elijah said, “Oh, fuck.” I didn’t even have the chance to start lamenting the past and that he really had his dream, minus me. I looked over to see what was wrong, prepared to fight if someone was lurking. Even in the dim light of the dash, though, I could see he’d turned green. He threw open the door and stumbled out before I even had the car in park, bending over a few steps away to projectile vomit all over the ground in front of him.
I cut the engine of my car and got out, going around to check on him. He was still bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard, but was apparently done throwing up. He spit and stood slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I grabbed an unopened bottle of water from my car and offered it to him. “Here, drink a little bit. Slowly.”
He eyed me but took the water from me, rinsed his mouth out and spit again, then took a few sips.
“You okay?” I asked him.
His eyes found mine again, and I suddenly saw the rage in them, rage that had probably been there in the background just waiting formesince senior year. “I’m fine,” he practically spit out. “I just drank too much. Not that you really fucking care. Thanks for the ride.” He turned to grab his cat food and most likely storm into his house, but I reached out and touched hisarm. It was the first time we’d actually made contact that night, and as soon as my hand touched his skin, he jerked like he’d been hit with electricity.
I yanked my hand back, confused, because he hadn’t exactly jerked away from my touch, but I wasn’t sure what had happened. He whirled around to face me, eyes searching mine again, but he looked horrified instead of angry. I took a step back, uncertain, even though he didn’t seem scared of me.
His eyes were wide and shining, without the rage. He took a step toward me. “Mason?” he whispered. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, turning my hand around and looking at my palm for a moment with his head tilted before placing his own palm on it.
I was confused but didn’t stop him. As soon as our palms connected, he jumped slightly, and I could feel him start to pull away before he wrinkled his brow in determination and pressed it back down. He was looking past me, lips turned down and eyes glistening with sadness.
“What the hell happened to you?” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure what he was asking. “Uh, what? What do you mean?”
“You... it was bad. What... what happened? I—” He suddenly seemed to come back to himself. He released me and stepped back quickly. “I have to feed my cat. See you around, or whatever.” He snatched the bag of cat food from my car, shut the door, and hurried toward his house.
What the hell was that about?I followed him, even though it was obvious he didn’t want me to. He was struggling with his keys when I reached his porch. “Let me help you,” I said, holding my hand out.
“No, I’ve got it,” he insisted, finally getting the correct key in the lock and opening the heavy wooden door. I followed him inside without giving him the chance to tell me no. I glanced at the windows, assessing the safety of the place. The door was solid, but the windows were low enough that a person could climb through them with little effort. Especially the windowonto the porch. The porch light wasn’t even on.
“So what the hell just happened in the driveway?” I asked him, glancing around the house. I took in the living room we’d stepped into, and the kitchen on the other side of the partial wall. Even though the place was small, he’d made it his own. My heart felt lighter realizing he still created art, because I recognized it all over the place. He’d even painted a mural of the woods on the wall behind his TV. There were paintings and drawings of animals and nature, one particularly impressive deer standing out to me, but no sketches of people. The kitchen was redone completely, because there was no way it had looked like that when the house was built. The cabinets were rustic, polished wood and glass, lit from inside, and the countertop was smooth stone. The table looked hand carved. I wondered how much of it he’d done himself.
