Collateral Damage (24 page)

"Your turn," I announce, shoving these emotions—these feelings—back where they belong.

"My turn?"

"Yeah. It's only fair, right?"

She sits taller. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

"Same idea. Something real. Something no one else knows."

She thinks about this for a moment, considering. "I, um, I don't really know how to relate to my dad," she confesses. "He's busy. All the time. He doesn't pay very much attention to me, or do things I'd like him to do. Things I
need
him to do. Like fix my faucet." Her shoulders lift—like it's no big deal. Even now, she defends him in her own selfless way. The guy sounds like a dick—a freaking absentee father. But she'll never accuse him of it. She will never blame him for it. She'll suffer, silent. Jaden McEntyre—global humanitarian—girl who speaks for everyone but herself.

"I'm the youngest in the family," she continues. "Two older brothers, so I was practically tortured growing up, especially by Phillip. He's like, the practical jokester of the family. If I had to pick, though, I think I feel closest to Daniel. He's really protective—probably to a fault. But you know if you had that quarter? That one person you'd call if everything blew up? I'd call Daniel, and I know he'd do everything he could to fix it. He's not perfect. I mean, he's made his share of mistakes, but he learned from them. And now he does everything he can to keep me and Phillip from making the same ones."

She knows about the arrest. She has to. And still she sees her brother—knows he would do anything for her. And if Daniel couldn't answer that phone call, she'd ask for Phillip. And deep down I know he'd stop whatever he was doing to help her, too. This pang of...
something
—something that might be jealousy—lurches in my stomach.

Because part of me desperately wants to be connected to that quarter—someone Jaden can count on when shit hits the fan. Someone she can depend on. Rely on.

Trust.

"I'm just afraid that I'm going to disappoint him," she continues. "That I'm going to disappoint everyone. I'm afraid that, one day, I won't be enough—I'll fail. I'm afraid that I'll never live up to everyone's expectations."

Jaden? Fail? The two words don't belong in the same sentence.

"But that's not even logical," I say. "I mean, if that's true, then you're already setting yourself up to fail because you can't please everybody."

"I know. It's just that, it's like everyone is anticipating me going on and doing something amazing—saving the world, or whatever. They
expect
it."

"Which is why you need to start focusing more on Jaden and less on what everyone wants Jaden to be," I tell her. "You need to relax. When was the last time you went out and did something crazy, for you?"

"Saturday...and now tonight."

"Yeah, well, it's been a long time coming. You can't let the opinions of other people get in the way of who
you
want to be."

"I know, but in a lot of ways it's my own fault," she admits. "Their expectations are so high because I set them. They're all sitting back, waiting for me to become...I don't know...Jaden McEntyre, M.D."

"Who cares? You're not living for them."

"I know...but..."

"You have a 'but' for everything, do you know that?"

But something she said, something about everyone wanting—expecting—her to become a doctor. It doesn't sound at all like someone excited about the opportunity. The possibilities. It sounds like someone with a list—another item to cross off. Another detail to mark "complete." Bread. Milk. Detergent. Become a doctor. "Wait a minute. What are you saying? You
want
to go to med school, right?" I ask.

She opens her mouth to reply, but nothing emerges.

Shit. She can't even give me a straight answer. She doesn't have one. She doesn't know. She's worked her ass off the last four years and for what? Because that's what everyone
expected
her to do?

Her eyes squeeze shut, and she pinches the bridge of her nose. And I remember the way she crumbled the day she forgot that meeting, the fear in her eyes when I asked about her back-up plan in case Harvard didn't work out.

"Jade?" I press.

"What?" Her eyes catch mine, and I hold them, staring into her.

Please don't pass out.

She blinks as I take her hand, lift it to my lips, drawing her back to me. Her fingers tremble, freezing. "Please tell me you
want
to be a doctor, and it's not something somebody told you you should do that sounded like a good idea at the time."

"No. I mean, med school is
the
greatest challenge, right?" she replies, voice wavering, forcing confidence. "I want to see if I can make it."

"This isn't about a
challenge
," I hiss. "This is about finding what you love to do—doing something that makes you happy."

She rips her hand from mine, distancing herself. "
Helping people
makes me happy."

"If it doesn't work out...."

"I don't know," she admits. "But isn't that the point? To go to school and figure out what you want to do?"

"Yeah, keeping in mind it's
your
decision and no one else's."

"I make all of my own decisions, thank you."

"Okay, then. Let me rephrase that. Keeping in mind that your decisions shouldn't be influenced by other people."

"You should take your own advice," she snaps.

"You're really going there again."

"You started it."

"Yeah, well, friends don't let friends screw themselves by stressing about what other people think."

This stops her. An eyebrow lifts, curious. "So...you're saying we're friends?"

Does she want us to be friends? Can you even call someone who does nothing but lie to you all day, every day, a friend? No. Despite this, I
want
this girl to think about me, and if "friends" is the way she sees us....

"I think so. Don't you?"

"I'm just making sure we're on the same page, that's all. You're not the easiest person to read." Her easy smile sends fire coursing through my veins. I shrug the feeling away. "In that case, friends don't let friends screw themselves by not thinking about the future at all," she continues. "So don't expect me to let up on the whole college thing. As your friend I have a license to annoy you about it. Bring it up. Beat you into submission."

"So this is an abusive relationship," I confirm.

I could handle a beating from her.

She laughs quietly. "This is a friend...caring about her friend."

The night slips away, each second dragging us closer to the inevitable.

Ethan and Mattie. School. The weather. It doesn't matter how boring or trivial the topic, part of me would stay awake forever to listen to this girl—to not miss a thing she said.

 
But the longer we remain tucked away in this attic, the heavier her eyes grow. The more she yawns.

And finally I make the decision. "I should probably let you get to bed."

She stifles another yawn. "I guess it would be kind of obvious if we both show up to school half-asleep."

"And I don't think Mr. Perfect would appreciate the rumors about your late-night escapades on the third floor," I tease.

She glares at me, fully awake and frowning. "Which is why it doesn't leave this room."

"He's not going to find out from me, so don't worry," I promise. I trace an X on my chest.

Cross my heart. Hope to die.

She smiles, stands, pulling the comforter with her. "It's been fun."

"We should do it again sometime," I suggest.

She eases closer, so close I'm almost standing on top of her. She tips her head, finds my eyes, and stares straight into them. Straight into
me
. The light from the window falls across her face, highlighting every perfect feature. Her cheeks, the slope of her nose, and God—those eyes. She chews on her bottom lip, and something jams my throat. I feel this pull, this urge, this inexplicable desire, everything inside demanding I move closer. That I lower my head. That I kiss this girl—that I live this fantasy—just once.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Well, later today, I guess," I clarify, voice barely above a whisper.

Inside I'm screaming—my body on fire. Because I would give anything to touch those lips. I don't even believe in signs, but I'm desperate for one. Something. Anything to let me know what she's thinking—what she's feeling. Because if she's feeling half of what I'm feeling at this moment....

"Okay," she murmurs.

I work to hide my disappointment, backing away, moving toward the window. I raise the sash, and an arctic draft rushes the room. I grab my boots and climb outside. But I turn to face her one last time before I go. And, when she smiles at me, I know I'll see that smile the whole ride home. It'll be the last thing I think about when I fall onto the couch and close my eyes.

It'll be the first thing I remember when I wake up.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
OUR

I miss my morning workout. I hit the snooze button on the alarm clock repeatedly, every ten minutes, until I'm out of time. I roll off the couch and stand. My body aches. My eyes ache. My head aches. I stretch my arms to the ceiling, yawn.

Everything about the night before comes flooding back, and at first it's like a dream. Like it happened both a million hours and five seconds ago, and, if I don't remember everything, right then, it will all disappear.

Part of me can't believe what I did—what we did—Jaden and I. I can't believe I suggested it. That she agreed. That we got away with it. But I don't regret it. I don't regret it the same way I didn't regret asking her to climb on my bike with me.

I don't regret
her
.

I do regret not taking that final moment we had together.

I should've kissed her.

I check the time on the microwave. I'm already running late.

I hurry through a shower, pull on my jeans from the day before and grab a clean t-shirt from the stack on the chair.

The drive to Bedford takes longer than I want—every stop sign, every stoplight conspiring to keep me away from her.

There's no time for breakfast.

The parking lot is nearly full by the time I arrive. My usual spot is taken, so I park at the far end of the very last row. I pass Jade's car on my way in. When I see it I think of that night, sitting with her, alone in the dark. My chest burns at the memory, and the need to find her—to see her, to hear her voice—consumes me. I need to know that what happened last night was real. That she was there.

I need to know if she would've kissed me back.

I find her standing by her locker, my eyes drawn to her despite the horde of bodies weaving up and down the hallway. I make my way toward her, pushing through the crowd, squeezing past the masses congregating before the bell.