Collateral Damage (29 page)

She nods.

"And you still want to do it?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?" I study her expression, her eyes, waiting for any signs of hesitation. One pause—a single waver, and the whole thing is off.

She nods again. "Yeah."

I open the driver's side door. "Then we're gone."

*
    
*
    
*

She shuts off her cell phone as soon as we hit the highway, removes a package of tissues from the glove box. Is there anything this girl isn't prepared for?

"You okay?" I ask.

She pulls down the visor, examines her reflection in the mirror, wipes away mascara smearing beneath her eyes. Another deep breath and her lungs shudder, still unable to take it all in. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

She's apologizing for not getting into Harvard?

Jesus. This girl could use some therapy.

"You're sorry? For what?"

"For that. Back there."

So she's apologizing for
crying
? That's even worse. Girls are allowed to cry. They're
supposed
to cry when things like this happen. I glance over at her. "You don't have to apologize. You have every right to be upset."

"Jaden McEntyre doesn't get upset. Not in front of people, anyway," she says.

I try not to laugh at this. "Apparently she does."

She stares out the window, longing, though there's nothing to see. Nothing but trees and fields and the occasional overpass as we leave another forgotten town behind.

"It's not a bad thing, you know," I continue. "It's okay to cry. To let people know you're hurting."

"Yeah, well, I'm the one who's supposed to keep it together."

"No. You're not. The only person who expects that is you."

"Still."

"No. Not still." I exhale a sigh. I don't want an argument. Not today. "Anyway. It doesn't change anything. You're still the same, boring Jade."

She slants a look sideways, so I do the same. And, when I do, our eyes connect. A hint of a smile plays at her lips, and it warms me from the inside out. "If anything," I continue, "it makes you more real."

Real.

Real and imperfect.

Real and imperfect and wonderful.

*
    
*
    
*

We drive all the way to Hamilton. I take Jaden to the zoo because there are penguins, and it's impossible to have a bad day when you're hanging with penguins. When she asks, I spin some stupid story about my past. I'm not supposed to know anything about this zoo—it doesn't matter how many times I've been.

I shouldn't have lied.

I'm so
sick
of the lies—of keeping things from this girl.

I pay for her admission before she can argue and hand her a map highlighting the exhibits. Hanson—what I know about him—will have to wait. Harvard is enough for one day.

"Where to?"

"I don't know," she replies.

"Well...we can go left or right. Your call."

She studies the map. The exhibits. Everything she does is so calculated and measured—every decision, every action carefully thought through. Every pro and con considered.

She's a pathetic eighteen-year-old, but she's going to be a fucking amazing doctor.

And staring at her, standing on this cobblestone pathway, miles away from our real lives and our real problems, everything is clear.

I'd do anything for this girl.

The knowledge drags a knot from my stomach to my throat, jamming it. I swallow hard, forcing it back.

"I know. I know. I'm thinking," she says.

"No. It's not that."

Her eyes fix on mine, confused. "What?" she asks.

But I can't speak. Her long, thick lashes have rendered me speechless. The specks of light dancing in her eyes have snatched the words from my lips—those pure green eyes that could make an entire life worth living. Those eyes that when I look into...I see forever.

I want to tell her everything.

I want to tell her who I am and what I've done.

I want to tell her what I'm feeling at this very moment—that she has jarred my world sideways. That I'd rather have my heart ripped out of my body than to ever see her cry.

I want to tell her that I fell for her the day she cornered me in the guy's bathroom, with its graffitied doors and broken soap dispenser, and that I've fallen for her every day since.

I want to tell her that, if she'll give me a chance, I'll do everything I can to keep her smiling—to keep her happy. I'll be whatever she needs me to be. Whatever she wants.

I want to tell her that it was unplanned, that it was unexpected, but that I love her.

I love her more than I've loved...
anything
ever before.

Boyfriends and
fiancées
and assignments be damned.

But I don't. I can't. I can't tell her any of this.

"It's just...your hair," I finally say.

"My hair?" she repeats, not understanding.

"Yeah." I move closer, brush the shimmering strands away from her face. "It's really red today."

"Oh. I know. It's the, um...the sunlight." She glances skyward. "It's auburn, so when I'm inside or in the dark, or it's cloudy outside, it looks brown. But when I'm in the sun...." She shrugs, trailing off.

"It's almost copper," I finish.

And when she smiles that crooked smile—that crooked, sexy, perfect smile—I know it's worth the risk.

I know that, whatever happens, I can't miss this opportunity. I won't look back on my life and regret letting this girl slip away from me.

I have to break up with Callie.

*
    
*
    
*

It's after four o'clock when we finally reach the school. Most of the staff is still here, but my motorcycle is the only vehicle left in the student lot. I park in the space next to it.

"Back to reality," Jaden mutters, clutching the postcard of a tree-lined Market Street—where we ate and shopped this afternoon—between her fingers. "But the bright side is I had a really great time today. One of the best days I've had in a long time, even."

"I'm glad," I tell her. And I mean it.

The doors open. I climb out, stretch my legs, feeling the sun warm my shoulders. I grab my bookbag and helmet from behind the driver's seat as she circles the car.

"It's just that, I know I'm gonna have to explain everything now, and I don't know what to say," she says.

"About Harvard?"

"Yeah." She folds her arms across her chest.

I ease closer, stare directly into her eyes. "Tell them that Harvard made the biggest mistake imaginable and didn't admit you. But it's okay, because you're still gonna go on and do great things."

"You make it sound so simple."

"It
is
simple. No one is going to think any less of you—especially not your family and friends. And if they do...their priorities are screwed up, not yours."

I tuck her hair behind her ear, brush my fingers across her cheek. Her eyes close as she turns toward my hand, as my thumb moves across her lips.

I can't do this. I can't wait anymore. I can't wait another second to feel her mouth against mine. And when she opens her eyes, I'm already tilting closer, everything about her sucking me in like a freaking black hole, her lips so close I can practically taste them.

She jumps back, hits her car door, face flushing a million shades of pink. "Um, thank you. Again. For everything." She tries to tuck her hair but it's already tucked, so she drags her fingers through it instead, refusing to look me in the eye.

I ease away from her, hiding my disappointment, giving her the space she needs. "Any time."

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-E
IGHT

"Callie? It's me. Something came up."

I raced back to my apartment, flirting with speed limits and stop signs. I showered, slipped on a pair of khakis and a white dress shirt, and was back on my bike in less than ten minutes.

I make the phone call just outside of Carson County, when I stop for gas.

Every second after five-thirty beats painfully in my skull. By six I reach the outer boroughs. Everyone is getting off work, and roads are congesting. By the time the Hamilton skyline appears in the distance—for the second time today—traffic is at a standstill.

The sun is sinking, setting the sky on fire, as I pull into the restaurant parking lot. I stuff my helmet into my backpack and check the time on my cell phone.

Shit.

I hurry down the sidewalk and pull on the massive glass door at the entrance. The lobby is full of couples and groups of friends waiting for tables. I shoulder my way through the crowd, struggling to reach the hostess.

"Hi. I'm with the Donovan-Whalen party," I tell her.

She takes my bag and jacket and hangs them in the coat closet. I follow her through the dining room, breathless, tucking my shirt in, smoothing the wrinkles in my pants. I exhale relief when I see them. Callie, my family—they're still here.

There are plates, though.

Empty plates.

"I'm so sorry," I say, circling the candlelit table. "Something came up, then I hit rush hour. I got here as fast as I could."

Callie reaches for her water glass. She says nothing. She won't even look at me. I pull out the chair beside her. "I'm really sorry, Cal," I say, sitting, voice low.

"Hey, hon," my mom says. "Don't worry about a thing."

I nod toward Mrs. Donovan, and then her husband. "Mr. Donovan."

"Christopher," he replies, voice cool and level.

Mrs. Donovan smiles at Callie, who refuses to return it.

There's no time, so I order a water and the tortellini. The waitress takes my menu and gathers some of the dirty plates, making more room on the table.

Dad clears his throat, folds his arms across his chest. He's wearing a tie. The guy actually put on a tie for dinner.

Shit. I am so screwed.

"Should we assume this delay was work-related?" he asks.

Immediately my mind slips to Jaden. The tears. The drive. The zoo.