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"Please move your foot. "
Slowly he brought the other foot up, crossed it over the first. "No. "
She turned, fixing dull brown eyes on his face. "I dont feel like talking now . . . yet.
So if you dont mind . . . "
A wave of empathy moved through him at the sight of her pale, ashen face. She looked young and achingly vulnerable; a woman in need of a friend. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be a friend to someone. Not a drinking buddy or a casual acquaintance, but an honest-to-God friend. Hed never seen anyone who needed one more. But first he had to get through to her, break past her wall of pain.
"But I do mind," he said, infusing a dark steel into his voice. "Im sick of your little-girl theatrics and your poor-me whining. "
She gasped, and if possible, her skin paled another shade. She brought a trembling hand to her midsection and pressed hard. "I lost my father last week. "
"Thats life. Its no excuse for acting like a child. " He paused for effect, then said the meanest thing he could think of. "Your father would be disappointed in you right now. "
She made a horrible, gasping sound of grief. "Why are you doing this to me?"
He drew back, tried to will her to look at him, but she didnt. She just stared down at his crossed legs as if it took too much energy to lift her head. "It needs doing," he answered softly.
She stiffened. "You have no idea what I need. Now, move your feet and let me pass. Im tired and I want to go to bed. "
"But you dont sleep, do you? Ive seen you, sitting out on this damn swing for hours at night. "
"Thats my business," she said, but there was no sting in her voice, only a quiet sadness.
"Im making it my business. "
"You cant do that. "
"Watch me. "
She sighed and shoved a hand through the tangled mass of her unbound hair. "What do you want from me, Mad Dog?"
"I want your smile back. I miss it. " His voice lowered, thickened with emotion. "I miss you. "
Her eyes squeezed shut. She bowed her head. A curtain of snarled brown hair fell across her face. "Oh, Mad Dog . . . "
He reached out, touched her cold chin with his forefinger. Gently he forced her to look at him. Their eyes met, held. "Matt," he said quietly.
She blinked. "What?"
"My name is Matthew Jedediah Stone. My mother used to call me Matt. " He smiled, surprised by the admission. "I havent told anyone that in years. "
"Why tell me?"
He paused, feeling a surprising sadness. "Its all I have to give you. "
She shuddered, hugged herself, and looked away. "I dont want anything from you. "
"Yeah, I know. "
She looked pointedly at the front door. "Well . . . Matt, I appreciate your honesty, but—"
"Last week you would have cared," he said quietly.
"Yes, well . . . then you should have told me last week. This week I dont care about much of anything. Now, if youll excuse me . . . "
"I have the cure for apathy. "
