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“Yeah, of course.” I nod.
“And I’m not trying to put you on some big guilt trip, although you are an asshole for telling me you’d call and then not calling.” Her eyes narrow into a glare that I think is supposed to be angry, but all I can see is injured disappointment.
Fuck! Why did I say I’d call her?
Because you’d just had some of the best sex of your life, and you were still high off it. She caught you in a weak moment. Tell her that.
No fucking way!
I smash my teeth together and stay silent.
“I don’t even know why I thought you should know.” She scrapes her fingers through her hair, the beads on her bracelets clicking together. A white cloud puff pops out of her mouth when she huffs again. “It’s not like I expect you to do anything. You can’t even pick up a phone, so why would you suddenly step up for this?”
I wince, hating how shitty this is making me feel.
“I guess I just… thought you had a right to know.” The last few words leave her in a rushed mumble, and she sniffs, her chin bunching like she’s about to start bawling.
Was this what it was like for Mom?
Did she look this stressed and on the verge of throwing up? Did my dad just stand there like some asshole, not saying anything?
“What are you going to do?” The words stumble out of me, my voice gravelly and low.
Her blue gaze hits me with a look of pure terror before she crosses her arms and looks to the pavement. Her voice is thin and wispy when she finally speaks. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” Her breath catches, like she’s holding in a sob, and fuck, I can’t do this.
I hate it when girls cry.
I’m not good with that shit.
Mom used to lose it sometimes, and I’d hold her, pat her shoulder, try to make her feel better. But I don’t know if it ever really worked.
I’m not the guy who says the right thing. I don’t know what the hell girls want to hear when it comes to this kind of shit.
“Uh…” I scratch the back of my neck, getting ready to beg her not to cry, but instead, I mumble, “Well, I’ll be there. However you need me, okay?”
I don’t know where that came from, but it makes her sniff and glance up at me.
She gives me a skeptical frown, which is great because that’s not crying, right?
Damn, she’s pretty. Even cynical looks good on her.
My lips twitch like I want to smile. I have no idea why. I guess I just like looking at her. Or I like surprising her, maybe.
“I’m serious. I’m not gonna leave you hanging.” I go a step further, pulling the phone out of my pants pocket. “Here, give me your number.”
“I’ve already done that,” she snips.
I cringe, briefly reliving that moment where I washed it off in the bathroom. “Yeah, I, uh…”
“It’s a waste of time giving you my number.” Her nostrils flare. “You’re never gonna call it.”
“I will.” My eyebrows rise. “I mean, I…” Then they drop as I let out a sigh. “Look, fine, just let me give you mine, then.”
Her eyes narrow. “What’s the point? Will you answer if I call?”
“Of course I will.” I give her an emphatic look and realize just how much I mean what I’m about to say. “If you need me, I’ll be there. This is my responsibility, too, okay? I’m not just gonna turn my back. You don’t have to deal with this on your own.”
She’s obviously still not sure whether to believe me or not. Her eyebrows form a wonky line as her lips pull into a frown.
