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My parents had retired to the den to watch TV, leaving me alone with the youngest McCormick boy. I was apparently stuck with him, so I tried to make the best of a shitty situation. I did everything in my power to avoid talking about myself. Instead, I asked him a billion and one inane questions.
“Do you like your career? Are you and your brothers still close? Do you still play football?”
Every time he tried to turn it around on me, I had another question ready and waiting for him. And finally, when it felt like I might run out of questions, I started to panic. I racked my brain for something, some bit of trivial information. In my panic, what came out of my mouth was not what I wanted.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
The moment those words crossed my lips, I mentally kicked myself. I did not want to open up that line of conversation with him. It was a horrible mistake and one I hoped we could gloss over or otherwise just pass through quickly.
“I'm seeing you right now,” he said, giving me a sideways glance and a crooked smile.
“I mean –”
“I know what you mean,” he said with a sigh, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “And no, I'm not. I'm as single as they come. How about you?”
“Why's that?” I asked, putting the last of the dishes away in the cupboard beside the fridge.
He shrugged. “I haven't found anyone I like just yet,” he said. “I pretty much know every girl in Black Oak, and honestly, none of them caught my eye. Not until you showed up again, anyway.”
I felt my cheeks flushing with color, and for a moment, I forgot how to speak. This gave him time to pounce on what he perceived to be an opening to push the issue.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked.
“Me?” I laughed. “I just got back in town, how could I have a boyfriend already?”
“I mean back in California,” he said. “Or wherever.”
I stopped what I was doing and froze. It was a question I didn't want to answer and one that filled me with a powerful and overwhelming sense of dread. The memories of Leo and that whole situation bubbled up and I just looked at him, unable to say anything at all.
“I take that as a yes, then,” he said, his voice deflating a bit.
“Actually, I'm not. Not anymore,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “That's over.”
I expected some witty come-on, or smooth line, but instead, Cason surprised me.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
His tone was warm and sincere. And the expression on his face was nothing but pure compassion.
“Not really,” I answered honestly. “But, thank you for asking.”
He stared at me long and hard, and then his gaze fell to my arm. Before I could stop him, he reached out and pushed the sleeve of my sweater up.
“What are you –”
He stared down at my wrist; the same one that Quinn had seen earlier. A look of dark anger crossed his face as he looked at the bruise that circled my wrist. I was pissed at Quinn for telling him about it, and pissed at Cason for having the presumption to think he could corner me and force me to talk.
I pulled my arm back from him and pushed the sleeve down. “Don't do that again.”
“Who did that to you?” he asked.
“As I told your brother, no one.”
“Someone had to have done it,” he said. “I may not have been as good in Biology as you, but I'm pretty sure that bruises like that don't just spontaneously appear.”
I turned to leave the kitchen, and just like Quinn had done to me earlier, Cason wouldn't let me go. He followed me through the house until I reached the stairs. I just wanted to escape to my room, to be left alone, to avoid talking to anyone about what happened. Cason was making it difficult though. I turned to him, rage burning in my veins as I looked into his eyes.
“Hailey,” he said softly, reaching out for me.
