seizes my arm.
“Hang on.”
I close the door against the icy early morning air and raise an eyebrow. “Did you forget your keys?” My uncle is forever doing that, especially since he bought a new Titan a few years ago, and he just has to push a button to open the car door.
Kyle doesn’t answer. Rushes to his bedroom.
The kitchen has a counter with two stools underneath. So the person in the kitchen can cook and talk to everyone sitting in the living room. My aunt would say the space is functional.
“Put this on,” Kyle says, coming back. He hands me a thick red sweatshirt.
My eyes light up. He’s surprised me again. “Thank you, Kyle.” I pull it over my head.
He steps closer, and gently tugs my hair from the sweatshirt opening. “It’s way too big, but it’ll cover you up, keep you warm.”
For some reason tears fill my eyes. It shocks me. I’m not much of a crier. I can’t decide whether it’s because I’m glad or sad to find out he’s still so kind—the way I remember him.
Either way, I can’t resist flinging myself into his chest, wrapping my arms around him. He may not know me, but I know him. I know him so well. And I’ve missed him desperately. So much so that I can’t believe I ever thought I’d be better off without him.
“Thank you.”
He doesn’t do anything. Just stands there. Finally I feel his arms encircle me. And it isn’t a courtesy hug. He presses me against him. For a second I think maybe he’s remembered, but he squashes that thought. “You aren’t like regular girls, are you?”
I shake my head, but don’t release him. Inhale a deep breath and pretend he knows me, and that he’s overjoyed to see me.
I could tell him, look him in the eyes, and say, “No, I’ll never be normal. Because of your father. He killed my parents, and got away with it.” Suddenly my heart jumps. Does he know what his father did? I’d like to think he has no idea. But I can’t be sure. And then I remember why we can’t be together. I’ll always doubt him. Seeing his face will remind me of his father, of the evil in his family tree, and I can’t live with that.
“I’d better go,” I say, pulling away and opening the door.
He looks confused, but swiftly recovers. “Sure.”
Kyle leads me to a black Jeep. Somehow I know it fits his personality—rugged, efficient, and intense. He opens the passenger door and helps me in. My uncle always said, “If a man gets your door, he’s a keeper. It’s a sign he’ll treasure you.”
Once he’s inside, Kyle starts the car and we drive in silence. Turns out he lives off campus, though not far.
“Which building is yours? McKinley or Irvine?”
“Irvine,” I answer, keeping my eyes facing forward.
He stops in front of the building and puts the Jeep in park. “Thanks for hanging out with me last night.”
I open the door, forcing myself not to look at him. I’m so torn. I want to smile, tell him I think he’s wonderful, and ask if he wants to hang out. But my brain won’t shut up. Because even if he doesn’t know what his father did, even if he’s completely innocent, it doesn’t change the fact that he is his father’s son. I can’t forget that. “Thanks for taking care of me. I can’t believe I was such an idiot.” I step out. “See you in class.” I move to close the door.
“Hey, you still haven’t told me your name. You owe me.” His eyes twinkle, and for a moment I think he actually knows who I am, but is pretending otherwise. “I could just call you Lover Girl. You’re really, really affectionate.” He snickers.
My face gets hot as a shooting star. I try to remember what I did last night that was so affectionate. He said we didn’t do anything. Didn’t even kiss.
I almost lose my temper; tell him I don’t owe him crap. If he wanted to, he could easily figure out my name. It wouldn’t be that difficult. He’s the TA of my English class. But I decide to tell him the truth. “My name is Maddie. Maddie Martin.” I want to add, “Remember me now? We were next-door neighbors for eleven years. Best friends. Up until your dad shot my parents.” I don’t, though. I slam the door and walk to the building entrance.
I swipe my keycard. The door