We both look around, seeing the coast is clear, and her nose brushes my cheek, her warm, fantastic breath sending chills down my spine.
“Pick me up from here at seven thirty,” she says.
“I’ll be here.”
Her eyes meet mine as her hand slips under my shirt, caressing my stomach. I can see the war going on in her head. The hesitation.
“I’ll be here,” I say again.
I won’t let her down again.
She dives in again, inhales me, and then kisses my temple. “Okay.”
Something moves behind us, and we both jerk our heads, seeing Coomer frozen mid-step between the rows of lockers, her clipboard about to spill out of her hand.
Her mouth hangs open, gaping at us, and Liv backs up, heat seeping out of every pore on my body. How long has she been standing there?
But our coach just blinks, clears her throat, and purses her lips to hide her smile. “Well, that makes a lot more sense now,” she mumbles and keeps walking.
I close my eyes, mortified, not so much out of fear, but because she’s well aware I’ve acted like I hated Liv for nearly the past four years.
Jesus.
“She won’t say anything,” Liv tells me.
“I know.”
But that was close. It could’ve easily been another student.
Liv takes her things and walks past me. “See you later. And if you stand me up again, I’m going to kill you, okay?”
“Understood.”
She leaves, and I bite my bottom lip, because there’s just something about how even her threats are a turn on.
I shake my head clear. But yeah, I won’t stand her up. She’ll really kill me.
• • •
“Clay?”
I twist my head, seeing my mom through the open passenger side window of her white Rover. Her huge, cat-eye sunglasses make her look like a movie star sunbathing on a yacht in Monaco.
Or a big bug. I’m still not sure.
I move toward her, away from my car. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “I have my car.”
School let out eight minutes ago, and the parking lot swarms with students trying to make their getaway.
But my mother tells me, “I’ll bring you back for it.”
I shift on my feet, releasing a sigh. I want my car, because I want to leave Mimi’s when I’m ready.
Mom cocks her head. “I haven’t seen you in almost two days. Get in.”
I click the key fob, locking my car again as I walk to the Rover. Opening the door, I climb in and drop my bag to the floor. We’d be back way before seven thirty. My mom will probably be ready to escape Mimi long before I am.
She pulls out of the parking lot, taking a left onto the quiet street, and I take out my sunglasses, shielding myself against the afternoon sun.
The silence consumes the car, and I can almost hear her breathing it’s so quiet. I glance at the radio, wishing she’d turn it on, but I know if I turned it on it will be playing The Giver audiobook she and my brother were listening to before he died. My mother can’t bear to hear it, but she won’t listen to anything else. That would be like moving on.
“So, I spoke to Cara,” she finally says. “She’s quite concerned because Krisjen didn’t come home last night.”
I turn my eyes out of the window.
“She probably wasn’t worried,” my mom adds, “just that Krisjen wasn’t there to make breakfast for Marshall and Paisleigh this morning.”
Krisjen’s dad left them for another woman about a year ago, and her mom is in a rut she can’t seem to pull herself out of. Not that the marriage had been faithful on either side, but Cara enjoyed her position through the marriage and maintained it for appearances. Without her husband and being Mrs. Lachlan Conroy III anymore, she’s now stuck with a family she no longer wants.
Krisjen is the oldest, and while she never talks about it, I know she’s raising her siblings while her mother tries to chase down another husband.
“I was also concerned,” my mother says, “considering you were supposed to be sleeping over at her house last night.”
I don’t reply.
The silence stretches, and I hear my mother exhale. “You know, you scare me, Clay.”
Her tone is soft. She’s not yelling.
“I admire how you don’t rush to cover your tracks when caught,” she tells me, “and I appreciate you not wasting my time with another lie, but it’s also off-putting.” She hesitates. “It means you don’t care if I find out.”
I am scared, and I do care if she finds out. I won’t tell her the truth, though. I just won’t say anything.
“It’s frightening when you realize you’ve lost control of your child.”
But it’s not like that. If I tell her about Liv, she’ll ruin it. I just want to enjoy it for a while before the stress.
“Some days I still feel your age,” she tells me. “And I know even less about what I’m doing than I did the day before. You think you’ll reach an age where you finally know your place in the world, but nothing ever gets easier.”