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I shrugged. “Maybe? Hopefully?” I hadn’t meant to say that last word out loud, but it spilled from me before I could stop it.
I felt my cheeks heat, but thank God my mom didn’t press. She went back to eating, the silence descending, my thoughts once again getting lost on things I couldn’t have.
Or maybe it wasn’t so much the things I couldn’t have. Maybe it was my fear holding me back. Maybe it was the fact I really didn’t know how Cannon would react if I confessed anything to him. It’s not like I’d asked him, not like I’d told him anything.
Maybe I should just take that plunge. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?
* * *
After eating dinner with my mom, Cannon picked me up and dropped me off at work, telling me he’d be back when I got off. But as I climbed out of his vehicle and looked back at him, I could see this angry, intense expression on his face as he stared at the shop.
I wanted to go talk to him, to see what was wrong, but as fast as his annoyance surfaced, he put that wall back up. Cannon waved at me and left the parking lot, and I stood there wondering what was going on, despite having this nagging feeling in the back of my head.
The sound of music coming from the garage was loud and obnoxious, as usual.
I headed inside and took my place behind the counter, starting right away on the paperwork and invoicing, but in the back of my mind, I was a little worried about seeing Ryan again after what had happened.
I didn’t know if what had happened—what could have happened—would make things worse. A part of me knew Ryan probably was not the type of guy to just step back in the face of intimidation.
And that’s what had me worried most of all.
For the next twenty minutes I worked, but every time I heard someone shouting in the garage, or heard a car pull up, my heart did a little flip. The bell above the front door rang and I looked up, seeing Ryan walk in. My throat tightened as I waited to see how this interaction would go.
He wore a pair of sunglasses, but there was no mistaking the bruise lining one side of his face, or the white bandage and tape straddling the bridge of his nose.
I half expected him to stop and look at me, maybe make some snide comment, but he didn’t even glance my way. It was as if I was invisible, not even there. He headed into the garage, the music pouring in only for a moment before he shut the door behind him.
I sat there a little confused, but extremely relieved. I didn’t know what had happened to make Ryan completely ignore me, to not even acknowledge the situation with Cannon. But I was even more curious about what the deal was with his face.
Could that have been a byproduct of Cannon’s aggression? He’d been so upset last night that I had thought about him, worried that he might go back and start something with Ryan. But I’d assumed he was smarter than that, that he wouldn’t resort to violence with a guy who wasn’t even worth it.
As that thought crossed my mind, picturing Cannon actually coming back to see Ryan, I shook my head. No, no way Cannon would’ve done that.
But even though I thought that, a part of me still questioned … what if?
12
Stella
I leaned against the lockers and waited for Cannon to show up, wanting to make sure he was okay after he’d dropped me off. He’d been a little distant since then, but I knew he was working extra hours at the landscaping company in between football practice.
I hoped that was the reason he’d been quiet, and not acting weird around me because he somehow felt uncomfortable because of Ryan and the confrontation.
I pulled my phone out of my bag and looked at the screen. Class started in five minutes, and usually Cannon met me in the parking lot. But he’d sent me a text saying he overslept, was running late, and not to wait for him.
I hated the fact I worried so much, that I was paranoid. It twisted up my stomach, made me feel nauseous, and was impossible for me not to constantly think about it. I rested my head back on the locker, staring straight ahead, seeing students walk back and forth, the loud clatter of conversation filling my head. The sound of Rachel’s high-pitched laugh had me exhaling slowly and bracing myself.
I turned my head and looked at where she was, her locker catty corner to where Cannon’s was. She stood with a couple friends as she put her books away, her long blond hair pin straight, shiny … perfect. She wore this light pink top that showed just a little sliver of her midsection, her jeans high-waisted and formfitting, stopping right above her ankles. She wore a pair of these strappy, glittery sandals, seeming kind of out of place for our school, but when it came to Rachel that was exactly how she was.
