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“That's normal,” he said, wrapping a towel around his waist and folding another around me. "During a fight, you don’t realize all the places you catch a punch, land wrong, or slam into something. The adrenaline deadens it—temporarily.”
His dark hair grazed his shoulders, dripping lines of water down his back and chest. He sat me down to dry my hair, and I watched as thin rivulets snaked over his inked skin, flowing over the rose, cutting through the scripted words, and moving into the line of hair on his abdomen before finally soaking into the towel.
I closed my eyes. “The last time anyone dried my hair for me was in sixth grade, when I broke my arm.”
He lifted each strand gently, pressing the towel around it to absorb the water without tangling it. “How did you break it?”
I smiled. “I fell out of a tree.”
He laughed, and the sound reduced the pain of every sore place on my body to the dullest ache. “You fell out of a tree?”
I squinted up at him. “I think there was a boy and a dare involved.”
His eyes burned. “Ah.”
He squatted in front of me. “Stay here tonight, Jacqueline. I need to keep you here, at least tonight. Please.” He took one of my hands in his, and I brought the other to his face, wondering how his eyes could look like chipped ice and still warm me to my core. A bruise was forming near one eye, and the skin was scuffed and split high on his cheekbone, but his face was otherwise unhurt.
His next words were a whisper. “The last thing my father said to me, before he left, was, ‘You’re the man of the house while I’m gone. Take care of your mother.’” My eyes filled with tears and so did his. He swallowed heavily. “I didn’t protect her. I couldn’t save her.”
I pulled his head to my heart and folded my arms over him. On his knees, his arms slid around me while he cried. As I stroked his hair and held him tight, I knew this night had struck a chord at the heart of his pain. What tormented Lucas went further than the horror of that night eight years ago. What haunted him was guilt, however insanely misplaced.
When he grew quiet, I said, “I’ll stay tonight. Will you do something for me, too?”
He fought back his instinctive wariness—I’d seen him do this before, but never from such close range. He inhaled a shaky breath, shoring up his courage. “Yes. Whatever you need.” His voice was gritty and hoarse. When his tongue rolled over his lip ring, I wanted him so badly that it was difficult to waste time talking.
“Go with me to Harrison’s concert tomorrow night? He’s my favorite eighth-grader, and I promised him I’d go.”
He arched a brow and blinked. “Um. Okay. Is that all?”
I nodded again.
He shook his head and stood, leveling the ghost smile on me. “I’m going to grab a couple of ice packs from the freezer. Why don’t you go get in bed?”
I stood, laying my hand on his chest and staring up at him. “Is that a dare?”
He laid one hand over mine and pulled me closer with the other. Leaning down, he kissed me gently. “It absolutely is. No falling out of it allowed, though.”
Chapter 27
The middle-school auditorium was packed with camcorder-wielding parents, bored siblings, and a smattering of grandparents. Skirting around clusters of people standing in the aisle, Lucas and I took aisle seats halfway between the stage and the back exit doors. I glanced down at the photocopied holiday green program. Harrison was in the highest orchestra, which meant it would be a while before he was onstage. I gave lessons to two of the other boys in the lower orchestras, though, and I’d never had the chance to see any of them actually perform. I was nervous on all of their accounts.
I leaned close to Lucas so no parents would overhear. “I should probably warn you that many of these kids have only been playing a few months—especially in the first orchestra—so they might be a little… inexpert.”
The corner of his mouth turned up, and I wanted to lean up and kiss him, but I didn’t.
“Is that your polite way of saying to prepare for some nails-on-a-chalkboard sounds?” he asked.
I heard Harrison’s voice then from a roped-off section on the right side of the auditorium. “Miss Wallace!” I searched for him amongst a sea of black polyester-tuxedoed boys, and girls with ankle-length school-color purple dresses. I located his blond head about the same time he noticed Lucas sitting next to me. His wave froze and his eyes widened. When I smiled and lifted my hand, he waved back once, dolefully.
“I take it this is one of the ones crushing on you.” Lucas stared down at the boot balanced on his knee, scratching at a worn seam and trying not to laugh.
“What? They all crush on me. I’m a hot college girl, remember?” I laughed and his eyes burned into mine.
He leaned in close and whispered into my ear. “So hot. Now you’ve got me thinking what you looked like this morning, when I woke up with you in my arms, in my bed. Would it be too greedy to ask you to stay tonight, too?”
My face warmed from his compliment as I met his gaze. “I was afraid you weren’t going to ask.”
He took my hand and held it, balanced on my thigh, as the orchestra director took the stage.
An hour and a half later, Harrison found me at the back of the auditorium. He was holding a cluster of long-stemmed red roses, the color of which were identical to the blotchy, embarrassed shade of his face.
“I wanted to give you these,” he stammered, thrusting the flowers into my arms. His parents stood about fifteen feet away, allowing him to deliver his gift alone.
I took the roses and smelled them as he shifted a cursory look at Lucas. “Thank you, Harrison. These are beautiful. You made me so proud tonight—your vibrato was awesome.”
He grinned and tried not to, which gave him a sort of manic appearance. “It’s all ’cause of you, though.”
I shook my head. “You did the work, and put in the practice.”
He shifted from one foot to the other.
“You sounded great, man. I wish I could play an instrument,” Lucas said.
Harrison eyed him. “Thanks,” he mumbled, frowning. Even though my student was taller than me, he was lanky next to Lucas’s filled-out frame. “Did that hurt? On your lip?”
Lucas shrugged. “Not too much. I said a few choice four-letter words, though.”
Harrison smiled. “Cool.”
***
As we lay in the semi-dark hours later, we faced each other, sharing his pillow. I took a deep breath and prayed I wasn’t about to drive Lucas away again. I’d never felt more connected to anyone.
