Tara and the other guy kept backing up, as if to distance themselves from what had just happened. But Peter stood his ground.
“Or what?” he asked Miles.
Miles started to move forward, his arm already pulled back for a swing, but Denny threw an arm out to stop him.
“Or I’ll have Glitter here bite your ass,” Denny said.
“You’re lying,” Peter said. “Service dogs don’t bite. They’re trained not to.”
“You want to test that theory?” Denny asked.
Peter hesitated, but I guess he wasn’t as sure as he thought. After a second, he huffed and marched off toward the living room. “Whatever,” he said. “You’re all going to hell.”
“Then we’ll see you there,” Denny called after him.
The minute he was out of the way, Miles rushed forward, falling to his knees in front of me. “Lee?” he said, but he didn’t touch me, and I was glad for that. I didn’t want to be touched. Not right now. Not even by him.
“Is she okay?” Amber asked. She was hanging back, next to Denny and Glitter. “Should we do something?”
“She probably just needs to go home,” Denny said, his own voice a little shaky now.
“Would Glitter really bite?” Amber asked him.
“Nah. Not unless you’re made of popcorn.”
“Lee,” Miles said again, his voice gentle. “Come on. Let’s get outta here.”
I nodded. I was still trembling, still not able to speak through my ragged breathing, but I managed to pull myself up on my own.
The boys had ridden with Amber, who promised to give Denny a ride home as we walked out of the party. People were still singing, still playing games and laughing. Completely ignorant to what had just happened in the dining room. No flashbacks. No panic attacks. They were free.
Sometimes, it feels like people who weren’t there, who didn’t witness the shooting firsthand, live on a different plane of reality.
When Miles and I reached my truck at the end of the street, I handed him my keys. The panic attack had mostly passed, but I still didn’t feel like I should be driving. He took them from me without saying anything and we climbed into the cab, our usual positions swapped.
We were halfway home before I managed to say anything.
“I saw Kellie today.”
He glanced over at me out of the corner of his eye.
“You were right,” I said. “She doesn’t want to write a letter. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. I’ve been harassing her this whole time.” I swallowed. “I’m no better than those guys at the party.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not, though.” I shook my head. “The only difference is that they want me to shut up, and I want her to talk. I’m such a jerk.”
“Stop,” he said. We pulled into my driveway then, and he cut the engine before turning to look at me through the darkness. “You’re not a jerk.”
“How can you say that?” I asked. “I’ve been harassing you, too. I’m sorry. I don’t know why you don’t want to write about it, but it shouldn’t matter. You don’t want to and I should’ve respected that. I just … I’ve been obsessed with this.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“I really did think I could make things better,” I said. “But … I’ve just made things worse. For Kellie. For Sarah’s parents. For Ashley.”
“Maybe,” Miles said. “But you helped, too. Denny told me tonight that he submitted that letter for a few different scholarships. He’s already won two of them. And Eden … We were texting this morning. She told me what’s been going on. Writing your letter helped her.”
“I still should’ve stopped when you said no. I’m sorry, Miles. I care about you so much, and I was a crappy friend. I shouldn’t have yelled at you last night. You don’t have to write a letter if you don’t want to.”
