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When I don’t speak, he places his hand on my knee, letting it hover for a moment. I move my legs out of the way and his hand returns to his lap.
“Please talk to me.”
“Get out,” I beg, my tone a hiss. Neither of them moves. “GET OUT!” I cover my ears with my hands and press my face into my knees. “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!”
“Mallory—”
“MY NAME ISN’T MALLORY! GET THE FUCK OOOOOUT!”
Even the dog flees my presence and I don’t stop screaming until the door shuts behind them.
I get dressed, hurriedly, putting on my dance uniform because I’m not skipping school, I just need to get out of this room.
How could they do that to me? Don’t they understand anything? Why do they have to try and fix me and change the way I do things? If I’m okay, if I’m being good and I’m happy…
What if they get rid of me now?
I ready myself to climb out of the window but then think better of it. I could run away, get chased again, put more strain on my relationship with the Oaks family… but then where would I end up?
They mean well, I think. They’re just doing what people who love other people do.
Is this it now?
Will they get rid of me?
“Fuck it,” I mutter and push open my window, but then I close it again.
I don’t know what to do.
“Scandal?” Stanley calls through the wood of my door. “I heard your window open; I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He taps on the wood when I don’t reply. “Scandal?”
The door opens and the room fills with light. His overbearing shadow casts across the ground, getting smaller as he approaches.
“Are you okay?” he asks on a breath, so quietly I hardly hear him. “Please tell me you’re okay.”
“Are you going to send me away?”
“No.” He places his hand on my shoulder. “Never.”
I turn to face him, tears in my eyes, wondering how a girl my age with my attitude and history got this house over all the young kids in foster care that need love.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he utters, his voice full of emotion. He cups my cheek with his hand, again, hesitating before it connects as though giving me a chance to push him away. “I promise. This is your home for as long as you want it.”
I step into his body, wrapping my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his chest. He chokes on a noise and returns the embrace, holding me tight, making me feel safer than I’ve ever felt.
My tears soak his shirt and I feel his hit the parting of my hair.
“It’s going to be okay.” He holds me tighter. “I’m never going to let anybody hurt you again.”
Nobody has ever said that before. I believe him.
He leans back after a moment and cups my cheek again. “Go on. Go to bed. Set as many fucking alarms as you want.”
“You swore in the house,” I comment and his sadness holds a smile. “I’m telling Lane.”
He kisses my forehead and steps away completely. “You’re always going to have a home here. Always. No matter what.”
I believe that too.
I want to question why. I want to ask but I don’t. I’m tired, and for the first time in my entire life, I go to bed feeling loved.
My alarm wakes me up an hour later. Then an hour after that. And an hour after that and I have a feeling nobody will mention it again.
“Hey,” Carter says, approaching me on his bike again, except this time it’s morning and I haven’t left with Stanley for school yet. “Can we talk?”
I look at Stanley who nods. “I’ll wait in the car.”
Thanking him, I walk to the other side of the driveway with Carter whose hair is a mess on his head from the wind but he still looks incredible.
“About the kiss,” he grumbles, getting straight to the point as he scratches the slight stubble on his jaw. He must be in between shaving days.
“Let me guess, it didn’t mean anything?”
“No,” he gently touches my arm. “No, it’s not that. I mean, it was great. You were great.”
I blow out a breath, feeling my bubble of excitement begin to lose air.
“I was just wondering if we could keep it between ourselves… just until I speak to Presley.”
I laugh once. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m not going to be an asshole like I was, and I really do want to kiss you again. But Presley is my best friend and he can’t stand you.”
I roll my eyes at that; despite the fact I know it’s true. “Look, you don’t have to make excuses—”
“I’m not making excuses to ditch you. If I wasn’t interested, I never would have kissed you.”
“Whatever, Carter. Don’t worry. I’m not about to tell people we’re getting married. I’ll go back to pretending you don’t exist.” This sucks ass.
