Текст книги "Crossing the Line "

Автор книги: Katie McGarry

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 6 страниц)

Lincoln

It’s crazy how you brought up feeling alone. I feel alone a lot. Oddly enough, I feel the most alone when I’m in a room full of people. Everyone I know is changing. Echo’s distant. Grace wants new friends. Even Natalie is spreading her wings.

To be fair, I’m changing too. At times I feel like my skin is too tight on me. All the time, I fight the urge to cut my hair and buy new clothes. I mean, who exactly am I going to change into? I’m still me, but not.

~ Lila

Lila’s fingernail taps repeatedly against the table, like a machine gun firing off multiple rounds. “I’m too tired to deal with this now.” She slams her hand on the table, silencing any more discussion on her possible prankster.

She stands and I follow, wondering if the park ranger will allow me back into the camp. Otherwise, I’m screwed. “Can I come back in the morning?” Then I remember what time it is. “Late morning? Afternoon?”

Lila freezes the same way Meg does anytime she’s near the baby. Hell, Lila hates me.

“Will you stay? I told the police you would. You told the police you would. If you leave that would be like breaking the law or something, so you have to stay.”

I raise an eyebrow at her logic—or lack of logic—but there’s no way I’m blowing this opportunity. “I’ll stay.”

“Good. Because you have to.”

Lila leads me back into the living room and mumbles for me to stay put. Her footsteps are light down the hallway. The one-story house is the size of a mansion and decorated like one of Mom’s Better Homes and Gardens magazines. Nice and breakable shit—everywhere. After several abrupt sounds that indicate Lila must have accepted a wrestling match with an alligator, she reappears with blankets and a pillow.

“Do you mind sleeping on the couch?” she asks.

I’d sleep on nails in order to be near her. “No.”

She hands me the ingredients for a temporary bed.

“Thanks,” I say.

“You’re welcome.” Lila’s fingers draw toward the hem of her tank top, and I remind myself to breathe when I catch sight of the sun-kissed skin of her flat stomach. In seconds, she pulls at the hem and her belly button disappears.

“Well, good night,” she says while tucking her golden hair behind her ear.

“‘Night,” I respond. Should I hug her? Kiss her? Shake her hand? Get on my knees and start begging for forgiveness?

She shifts her footing but stays in place. “The bathroom is down the hall.”

“All right.”

“You can take a shower if you want.”

“Thanks,” I answer.

“You’re welcome.”

And we’ve already had this conversation. Lila sniffs as if her allergies bother her, and she lowers her head. I want to comfort her, but I have no clue how to tread on this territory. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers. “Not even alone in a room. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“You could never be pathetic,” I say. Not the girl I’ve come to love from the letters. The girl who defended her best friend, even though taking that stand cost her other friendships. The girl who tells me exactly what she thinks of me, even when the truth hurts. The girl who dreams of being more—the girl who dreams of Florida.

Her lower lip trembles. “If you think that, then you don’t know me very well.”

I know her better than she realizes. I know the letters she writes to me late at night are more emotional than the ones written during the day, as if a lack of sleep inhibits reasoning. I ditch the blankets and pillow on the arm of the couch and plop myself onto the cushions. “Come here.”

Her gaze switches from the space on the couch to me. “I don’t understand.”

I snatch the extrahuge pillow and drop it on my lap. “Sleep here.”

Lila stretches the hem of her tank top over her hips as she moves toward me. When she sits, it’s with her thigh melting against mine. Her heat radiates past my jeans to my skin. Every single cell within my body sizzles to life. Play this right, Lincoln. She deserves a man, not a boy.

Without saying a word, Lila rests her head on the pillow and extends her legs on the couch. I drape the blanket over her body, and I love how she flips to her side, knees curled up in the fetal position.

Her eyelids flutter as she talks. “I’m sorry I slammed the door in your face.”

A lock of her hair strays onto her cheek. I shouldn’t, but I do it anyhow. With the same care I use when handling my nephew, I sweep the silky strands behind her ear. I’d give my left arm to comb my fingers through her hair until she falls asleep. “I deserved it.”

Her chest expands and she yawns. “Why didn’t you graduate?”

“Because I was stupid.” A nauseating pit forms in my gut. Stupid—it’s what Lila must assume about me. A moron who can’t put two words together to form a sentence, a moron who can’t add, a moron who didn’t graduate. But that’s not what happened. I didn’t graduate because I stopped caring.

Lila closes her eyes and lazily mumbles, “You’re not stupid. I’ve read all your letters—several times. You’re a good writer. And you got a twenty-nine on your ACT. That’s hardly stupid.” She pauses. “Not unless that was a lie too.”

“It wasn’t,” I say. “I only lied about graduating.”

“What about getting in to the University of Florida?” she asks. “You told me you were accepted through early admission.”

“I was,” I answer. “But admittance was contingent on graduating.” I struggle to find the right words. How do I prove to her that I’m not lying? “I’ll send you my official ACT scores. I’ll send you my acceptance letter. Whatever you need in order to believe me.”

“I believe you.” She’s motionless long enough that I wonder if she’s drifted to sleep. Then she pats my knee and whispers, “Tell me what happened.”

Lila removes her hand, but my skin still burns from her touch. She believes me. Maybe, someday, she’ll trust me. I prop my elbow on the arm of the couch and lean my head against my fist. I should keep my other arm resting on the back of the couch. Instead, I cave to temptation and snake it around her body. She nuzzles closer to me in response. For a girl who is just my friend—just a pen pal—this feels incredibly right.

“Lincoln?” she urges.

“We should wait until morning,” I say.

“It is morning. And I’m impatient.”

I chuckle. She is. Lila informed me of her unhappiness anytime a letter from me ran a day later than she thought it should have. I take a deep breath and jump.

“I began skipping in the fall and then skipped more days than I should have. By the time I realized I hadn’t earned enough classroom hours to graduate, I was already screwed.”

Her eyes flicker open. “Did you skip because you missed Josh?”

Hearing his name on her lips causes my chest to jerk. The familiar, unwanted pain spreads from my heart to my brain. She’ll never know him. Never meet him. “Yeah, Josh. And everything else.”

I told her in several letters that I had skipped. That when I woke in the morning and felt the emptiness of Josh’s death, the burden of feeding a baby, the anger of listening to my parents argue, I’d feel like I’d explode if I didn’t break free. So I’d drive to the state park and climb until my fingers bled.

Her head rocks in my lap. “I should have seen it coming.”

“Seen what coming?”

“That when you can’t handle things, you run.” She wrote the same criticism in her letters to me when I told her I had skipped school.

“I don’t,” I say.

Her only response is the rush of air blowing out of her mouth.

“I don’t,” I repeat with the stubbornness of a dog gripping a chewed-up slipper in its jaws.

Lila fiddles with the frayed corner of the blanket. “Today was your graduation day and you drove here to see me.”

“So?”

She shrugs. “Only stating the evidence.”

“I came here for you.” The tension in my muscles begs me to shift, but if I do, I’ll give Lila an excuse to move. “You were upset with me.”

A nagging pang of guilt causes my spine to straighten. What I said, it’s not a lie. I came here for Lila. But then I remember my mom and dad fighting, the way Meg panicked when I asked her to hold the baby, and the nausea when I considered telling my parents about my failure.

Then my mind redirects to how summer school starts in forty-eight hours—on Monday. I drove here with the intention of telling Lila that I was going to fix everything, but all I really wanted was to mend things between us. I rub a hand over my head. Is Lila right? Am I running from the real issues in my life?

“I’m not running,” I say one more time. Even I notice the doubt in my voice.

“Whatever,” she mumbles, exhaustion weighing down her words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because...” Because she’d be disappointed in me. Because I was disappointed in myself. Because her dreams became my dreams and I failed us both. Because I was chicken shit.

Two years ago, Lila began writing about the University of Florida. She talked about it enough that I checked out the school. Way before I fell for Lila, I fell for the dream of heading to another state for school. To possibly gain my degree in forest resource and conservation; to work around rock walls for a living.

How the hell could I lose sight of my future?

My right leg begins to tingle and all I can think about is getting up, walking around, heading back to the campsite, exploring the trails—even in the dark—and finding a rock wall. Then I glance down at the beauty cuddled close to me.

Her breathing becomes light and she flinches in her sleep. The baby does the same thing when he enters REM sleep. I tuck the blanket around her and permit myself to touch her hair one more time.

No, I’m not a runner. Not this time. She’ll have more hard questions, and I’m determined to answer them—standing right in front of her. It’s time I start facing the problems in my life instead of avoiding them. It’s time that I create a plan and follow it through. And hopefully, Lila will forgive me and be by my side as I go forward.

“I didn’t want you to hate me,” I whisper as I respond to her last question. “Because I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Lila

I thought of you when I climbed today. You should try it sometime. I think you’d enjoy the rush.

~ Lincoln

My entire body seizes at the sound of pounding. I jump, my hands flail, and then I finally crash onto the hardwood floor, a disheveled mess. That crack had to be my tailbone. “Ow.”

I blink several times as I nurse my lower back. What am I doing in the living room?

“You okay?” The gravelly, sleep-deprived voice causes my heart to thump hard once. My eyes dart above me to the couch. Lincoln stretches his arms over his head. Absolutely amazing. He slept sitting up, holding me, the entire night.

“Morning,” he says. His gorgeous eyes fall on me, and my cheeks warm when the corners of his mouth lift. Echo would make fun of me for the silly smile forming on my face.

Feeling suddenly shy and self-conscious, I comb my hair with my hand. Oh hell, tangles. Why, why, why do I always wake up resembling a troll? “Hi.”

The doorbell rings several times and the pounding resumes. Sunlight streams through the venetian blinds. The brightness definitely hints at more of a midday than a morning situation. “It’s probably Stephen,” I say.

Lincoln’s head jerks. “Your ex?”

I’ll admit it. I sort of like the alpha-male pissed-off stare he’s got going on. I scramble off the floor and for once heed my mother’s Post-it note advice by glancing through the peephole. Nope, not the ex. Which is good since Lincoln looks annoyed enough to chop the boy into deer steaks.

“Lila!” Grace yells. “Are you in there?”

“Yes!” I shout back to my ex-best friend. “Give me a sec, Grace.”

I turn to explain to Lincoln that it’s Grace and ram right into his chest. Both of his hands land on my shoulders to steady me. “I thought you two weren’t on speaking terms after what happened with Echo.”

“We aren’t. Which is why I need to answer. The world must have collapsed into a zombie apocalypse if she’s here.”

His grip on my shoulders changes into a massage that causes me to close my eyes. He could touch me like that for the rest of my life and I’d never move. “Then answer,” he says.

My stomach knots into a big ball of dread. Lincoln’s appearance screams that he just rolled out of bed and I’m in my pj’s and my parents are out of town and Grace is a huge gossip. “Crap!”

“I can hide,” he says as if reading my mind. His hands slide off my shoulders and I have to fight the urge to pout. “But you’d have to explain my car.”

I brighten for two point one seconds and then deflate. “I’m not that creative.”

“I’ll give you a few minutes alone with her. Maybe she won’t notice the car.” Lincoln starts down the hallway, then pauses to eye me in a way that suggests my clothes are riding up. “You look good right now. All rumpled and drowsy.”

The back of my neck explodes with heat, and I immediately focus on the muscles of his biceps. Lincoln flashes a flirtatious grin, grabs an extra pair of jeans from his backpack, which leans against the door to my room, and disappears into the bathroom. Good Lord, he’s hot.

Tangled thoughts of him and me muddle my groggy brain. He touches me and talks to me as if we’ve known each other forever. Is it possible he’s into me too? As more than friends?

Grace resumes her banging. I bat at the hair sticking on top of my head and open the front door. “Hey.”

In a cargo skirt that grazes her knees and a white lace tank, Grace hitches her thumb toward the car. “Have a guest?” She takes in my clothes. “An overnight one?”

Not interested in playing her games anymore, I say, “Yes.”

Shock and giddiness burst onto her face. “Really? Who?”

Once upon a time, I would have told her. She knew all of my secrets—including my writing relationship with Lincoln. That is, until she chose her new friends over Echo. Echo and I have always been a package deal. What sucks is that I miss Grace. “I’m guessing you want to come in.”

She does and practically pees her pants when she sees the pillow and blanket on the couch. “You had a guy overnight!” she squeals.

I shush her while waving my hands for her to keep it down. Embarrassment creeps along my skin. Lincoln must be laughing his ass off. “How do you know? It could be a girl.”

“Your girlfriends sleep in your room. So who is it?”

“It’s...” And I can’t think of anything believable, because the truth is unbelievable. “Lincoln. And you better keep it to yourself. This is private, Grace. I mean it.”

She grabs my hand, not missing a beat, acting as if our friendship didn’t disintegrate in a shower of flames months ago. “Lincoln? Pen pal Lincoln? Oh. My. God. That is so...so...is he hot?”

This is what I miss about Grace: her passion, her enthusiasm. And when she decided to, she could be a great friend. I clasp her hand back. “Smoking.”

And I have the urge to call Echo and Natalie and force the four of us to be what we used to be—inseparable.

“How long is he staying?” Grace asks.

My energy fades and I release her. “I don’t know.” Will Lincoln leave soon? Have I squandered the only time we may ever have together? Remembering last night’s late conversation, I remind myself that leaving would be Lincoln’s M.O.

Grace’s cell phone chimes to indicate a text. She reads it, then shoves the phone into her purse. “I’ve got to bolt, but I have something to tell you. Which is why I came.”

I circle my hand, motioning for her to continue.

“I overheard Stephen, Chad and Luke talking about how they’ve been showing up here at night, trying to scare you since your parents went on vacation.”

My mouth gapes and I go completely numb long enough to tense when the rush of anger pummels my bloodstream. “Excuse me?”

“I know. Stupid, right? Stephen thinks if you get scared, you’ll call him, and then you guys can work things out.” Grace glances at the blanket on the couch. “Guess he didn’t count on the dark horse pulling up late in the race.”

Disoriented, I lean against the arm of the couch for support. Holy crap, I’m not crazy. Someone was pranking me. But the relief is short-lived.

I lost my virginity to Stephen. He’s the first guy I ever said the words I love you to. And he’s betraying me? He’s trying to scare me? What has he become?

I feel my eyes dart, even though I’m honestly looking at nothing within the room. My mind rapidly tries to sort through the anger, the confusion and the weird emptiness. I’m mad at Stephen—all right, that’s the understatement of the century. The next time I see him, I’ll fry him like the catfish my brothers catch at the lake, but what I’m lacking is the epic sense of betrayal, the massive pang of hurt, the emotions I experienced last night because Lincoln lied to me. I mean, Stephen and I were together for two years. That should count for something, right?

“Lila?” Grace refocuses my attention on her. “Are you okay?”

“The bastard is going to hang from his toenails, but, yeah, I’m fine.” Astonishingly so.

She fidgets with her class ring. “Don’t let him find out I’m the one who told you, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Sure.” Grace and Chad are an item. She’s worked hard over the past year to claim him as her guy. “Why did you tell me, anyway?”

The fire that always consumes Grace dissolves. “Because I want us to be friends again. I made some really bad choices, and I’m sorry. You’re leaving for Florida and if we don’t fix this now, it won’t be fixed.”

Just as things will never be fixed between her and Echo. She doesn’t say it, but it’s there, hanging in the air like the stench of rotten fish.

A lot of bad blood has been shed, but maybe people can change. As much as that thought makes me happy, it also saddens me. No matter what, the relationship between Grace and me will never be the same. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

Grace stands there, looking like a damn puppy locked in a cage at the store. Unfortunately, I’ve got a soft spot for imprisoned animals. “Maybe we could go shopping together sometime.”

She cracks a smile. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

I close the door behind Grace and walk to my bedroom. Across the hall, water beats against the tub as Lincoln takes a shower. A black T-shirt pokes out from the backpack still resting against my bedroom door. I told him to store the pack in my room last night as he was warming the hot chocolate, but I didn’t realize what he’d see: the stacks of letters still lying on my bed and the scrapbook page I made for his graduation.

I sink to the corner of my bed and stare into the room as if I’ve never seen it. Everything is changing. My relationships are changing, my future is changing, my feelings are changing. My life is one big constant state of flux. I grew up scared of spiders, bees and dark corners in dimly lit basements. But this foe...change...it terrorizes me like nothing before.

For the first time in my life, I wish I wasn’t growing up.

Lincoln

A rush? Heights and rocks sound like a huge risk. But if you were there, I think I would consider climbing.

~ Lila

The high-pitch creaking of drawers being opened and closed greets me when I exit the bathroom. Across the hall, Lila yanks a manila file from her desk, flips through it, then dumps it onto the growing pile on the floor. The papers of the folder spill out, creating a fan.

“Lila?” I ask and step into her room. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t find it.” She hammers the drawer shut and opens the bottom one with such force that it falls out of the desk. “I can’t freaking find it!”

My letters to her still sit on her bed, stacked neatly. My chest squeezes again at the sight of them. I can’t believe it. She kept all my letters—just like I kept all of hers.

The room represents Lila perfectly—order, discipline. Yeah, everything fits, except for the golden-haired pixie set on mass destruction. “Can’t find what?”

“My acceptance package from the University of Louisville. The one that has the paperwork for me to return. I put it in a file. I labeled it. I would have filed it in alphabetical order under Colleges, but it’s not here.”

She frantically searches through the files. Once. Twice. A third time. Lila slams her hands on the floor next to her. “Where is it?!”

I approach her slowly. The way I had to with Meg when she found out she was pregnant. I bend my knees to crouch in front of her. “Why do you need the file?”

Lila tilts her head as if she’s noticing me for the first time. Her eyes are too wide for her delicate face. “I’m going to accept.”

I blink. “Accept?” I suck in air to steady myself. It’s as if the girl socked me in the stomach with a bat. “What about Florida?”

“Stephen’s the one pranking me.” The words tumble out as she clasps her hands over her chest. “He wanted to scare me, and it worked. I was terrified. Terrified! I can’t do it.” She chokes on a sob. “I can’t go to Florida. Not by myself.”

I bolt upright. Rage explodes through me—the eruption of the volcano complete. The bastard’s dead. No question. “Tell me where he is.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together. “Who?”

“The asshole who has you doubting yourself. The asshole who scared you. Stephen.”

Lila jumps to her feet. “All he did was point out what he already knew. That I can’t handle being on my own.”

“That is bull.” Unlike yesterday morning, I don’t yell. This emotion burrowing through me, it’s an eerie, deathly calm. Since Josh’s death, I’m used to numb, and Lila’s letters have been the only weapon strong enough to slip past that wall. Since realizing I could lose the connection with her I’ve felt anger, despair, guilt, hope, love and now pure, unadulterated rage.

“Before the prank you were ready to head south,” I say. “Your entire last letter was filled with what you wanted to do the moment you crossed the state line.”

“But that was before!” She throws her arms out at her sides. “That was when I thought I had someone.”

The anger dissipates—gone in a flash—leaving emptiness behind. “You have me.”

“No, I don’t.” Her eyelashes become wet as they flutter. “You were supposed to be right there beside me, and now you’re not. I thought I’d be able to convince Echo to come with me, but then she found Noah. I’m by myself now. I can’t do it. I’m not capable of going to Florida alone.”

I scratch at the stubble forming on my jaw as she wipes at a renegade tear streaming from the corner of her eye. She glances away and I feel sick.

Lila was depending on me and I jacked it up for her. For my family. For me.

An overwhelming urge bubbles inside me to head home—to talk to my family, the counselor at school, to fill out Florida’s spring admissions paperwork, which the counselor gave me to motivate me to do well in summer school. Since Josh died all I’ve been doing is ignoring my life, my future—just like how Meg ignores her baby. Yeah, going home, it would be running, but not the kind I’ve been doing for two years. It would be running forward instead of away.

When I left home to find Lila, I felt the first spark of awareness that things needed to change, but seeing Lila doubt herself, seeing her backtrack, it clears up my vision of what I need to do to get my life in order.

My grandpa once told me never to provoke an injured bear, especially one nursing its wounds, but sometimes the bear needs to be poked. “Who’s the runner now?”

A flash of fear shivers up my spine at the way her ice-cold blue eyes strike through me. “Excuse me?”

Hope I know what I’m doing. “I came here for you, Lila. For the girl who would never let anyone walk all over her. For the girl who wouldn’t be feeling sorry for herself because someone pranked her. Maybe I’m not the only one who told a lie. Maybe you invented the girl in the letters.”

Her mouth drops open; her cheeks redden as if I had physically slapped her. “You are a jerk!”

“You mad now?”

“Yes!”

“Good. Now stop focusing on what you can’t control and start focusing on what you can.” Like summer school, working toward college, applying for spring admissions and not on my parents, my sister, my nephew...my brother’s death.

Lila shakes her head, as if she’s waking from a dream. She leans against the desk for support and runs her hands through her hair. “You’re right.”

This is the girl I know: one hundred percent in or out. No waffling. A girl who treats life like a missile with a locked-in course.

Her eyes roam over me and I’m confused by the slant of her lips.

“Lincoln?” she says as the silly smile grows.

“Yes?’

“You’re not wearing a shirt.”

Embarrassment heats my body and my hand darts to my chest, feeling the exposed skin. “Sorry.”

Those blue eyes smolder. “I’m not. But you may want to get dressed for this.”