Whispered Darkness by Jessica Sorensen Page 0,8
brushes across the side of my leg.
“Yeah.” I try not to sigh when he pulls away. “I told you I slept-walked.”
“I know, but I guess I just didn’t think about what you’d be wearing …” He clears his throat. “You’ve got to be freezing.” He slips off his hoodie and hands it to me. “Put this on … Do you have any shoes on? I can’t tell.”
I take the hoodie from him and shake my head. “No.” I slip it on. The fabric smells like him, and I discreetly breathe it in, like a weirdo. But I was weird like this even before I died. It was just directed more at Foster. With Kingsley, it feels different. It doesn’t feel like I’m some silly girl with a crush. It feels like … well, like I’m standing here with a guy who saved my life.
“This is the second hoodie you’ve given me,” I remark. “I really need to give the other back or you’re gonna be hoodie-less.”
“I’m fine,” he tells me distractedly while staring at my feet. “Are your feet hurt? You walked here, right? Are they cut up?”
“No, they’re fine,” I attempt to reassure him, but I can feel his worry increasing. “The path I took was just flattened dirt.”
“Okay … I’ll carry you to the car. Then we can talk a bit more about this in private.” He starts to reach for me, but then he hesitates. “That is, if that’s okay with you?”
I step toward him. “Yeah, it is.”
I’ve never actually been carried by a guy before. Well, not that I remember. I imagine that, when Kingsley saved me that night, he had to carry me out of the water and to the shore. This is different, though. I’m not dying. I’m alive. I’m breathing.
Before I can freak out too much—which FYI, out of all the things to freak out about, that’s what my mind chooses?—he slips an arm behind me and picks me up, putting his other arm underneath my legs. Then he starts down the road, heading past the line of cars and farther away from the glow of the fire and farther into the darkness. And for the first time since I woke up at the lake, I feel safe, like I’m wrapped up in some sort of protective bubble where nothing can touch me or hurt me.
“Sorry about this,” he mumbles, his boots scuffing against the dirt.
“What’re you sorry about?”
“I don’t know.” He lifts a shoulder. “For the entire situation. That you were sleepwalking. That you ended up here. That I had to carry you.”
Always so hard on himself.
And that’s partly my fault.
“The first two things aren’t your fault. And as for the last”—mustering up every ounce of courage I have, I place my hand on his cheek—“I like that you’re carrying me. In fact, it’s been the only good thing about tonight.” I trace my fingers along his cheek, down to his lips.
Those lips that saved mine.
Those lifesaving lips.
I still can’t get over it.
That he saved me.
And that he was going to die with me if we didn’t get out of that lake.
A breath shudders from those lips and dances across my fingertips. I expect him to say something, but he doesn’t, remaining quiet until we reach his car. Then he shifts me into one arm so he can get the door open.
After he gently sets me down on the passenger seat, he closes the door and rounds the front of the car. He doesn’t get in right away, though, stopping beside the driver’s side door. There, he digs out his phone and glances at the screen, staring at it for a moment before pocketing it then climbing into the driver’s seat.
Once he has the door shut, he leans back in the seat and grips the wheel. “I just got a text from Foster. He’s looking for you, and he knows you’re here.”
“I know.” I rotate in the seat to face him. “Eli, one of Foster’s friends, saw me when I got here. He said a bunch of shit about him having to report to Foster that I was here, that Foster always has his friends tell him if they spot me at parties.” I expect Kingsley to react, but he doesn’t. Suspicion stirs inside me. I don’t like that it does. “Did you know he did that?”
He lowers his hands from the steering wheel. “I wasn’t positive. But I’m not surprised with how protective he is of you.”
“Protective?” I mutter bitterly. “That’s