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Kassidy
Pulling up in my driveway, Will pushes the gear into drive and kills the engine. We haven’t exchanged a single word since he led me out of the club with smoke oozing out of his ears. I didn’t dare ask him any of the million questions driving me mad, in fear that it would distract him from the road.
I’d like to live, thank you very much.
I glance around the empty lot. My mom’s still at work, and I assume from the nonexistent light in Winter’s window that she’s asleep.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“No one.” He unbuckles his seat belt.
Is he serious right now?
“What kind of idiot do you take me for, Will? You knew his name was Dixon. Who is he?”
“I said no one. Fuck.” he snarls, storming out of the car and slamming the door. These two definitely have a past. And if Will lashing out at the mere mention of Dixon’s name is anything to go by, it’s a rather destructive one. I don’t let his anger faze me, following him out of the vehicle and scampering to his side.
“Will, who was it?” I grab his arm.
“A fucking terrible friend. That’s who!”
Seemingly annoyed with himself for telling me, Will curses, his chest rising with shallow, ragged breaths. For a reason I can’t pinpoint, my instinct is to grab his hand—the way he previously grabbed mine on his way out of the club—to show my support.
His fingers are cold, rigid in mine, but he doesn’t move away, staring down at our linked hands as though he can’t compute my affection.
Rejection in 3, 2, 1…
He doesn’t say a word and intertwines our fingers.
Wait, what?
“He’s the guy I told you about.” His shoulders relax like a burden was just lifted off his body. “The one I thought had my back.”
Memories flood my brain. He’s the friend Will told me was a masculine version of Zoey. Must be why he hates her so much. Because she reminds him of his past.
She’s like salt to his opened wounds.
“I met him when I was seven at the homeless shelter my mom and I had to move into. We practically grew up glued to each other. He taught me to survive life on the street. Made it bearable. He’s two years older than me, so I looked up to him. Wanted to be just like him.”
This explains a lot. The similar way they carry themselves, the way they talk. They spent so much time together they eventually rubbed off on each other. This leaves me to wonder how Will and his mom ever got off the street. Will said his mom recovered from it all, and he obviously isn’t homeless anymore.
So, what, or who, pulled them out of this hell?
“Then what happened?” I push my luck an inch too far, and he puts me in my place.
“Then we grew up, and he dropped me when it mattered the most. The end.”
&nbs
p; He unlatches our hands, stalking toward my house.
“And the girl he was talking about? Lyla? Who is she?”
Was she his first girlfriend? His first love? The girl who broke his heart and made him… Will?
Does she really look like me?
“No one.”
