Page 69 of Things We Left Behind
“I just can’t,” I said tightly.
“Yes, we can,” she insisted.
She kept saying “we.” As if she was in this too when that was thelastthing I wanted. If she got too close… If she got hurt…I wouldn’t be able to hold back. I wouldn’t be able to stick to defense. I would end him, and in doing so, I would become him.
“If he’s hurting you, Lucian—” Sloane’s voice broke, and so did a piece of my heart.
“Stop,” I whispered, gathering her into my arms as I stood.
She wrapped her arms around my waist and held on tight. Her face pressed against my chest. I hated how good this physical affection from her felt.
It wasn’t the way I felt about Brandy Kleinbauer when I’d lost my virginity to her at barely sixteen. Or the hormonal longing I’d felt for Cindy Crawford all through junior high. And it wasn’t what I felt for Addie, my on-again, off-again weekend hookup.
This was…more complicated. I liked Sloane. I wanted to keep her safe. And every time we touched, no matter how innocently, part of me wished for more. But that wasn’t an option. I was broken and she was beautiful.
I didn’t know what we were to each other beyond the fact that she was important to me. More important than anyone.
“What CD did you get?” I asked.
She pulled back from our embrace, and I was both relieved and regretful. Her glasses were askew. Her hair was even moreof a wreck. I felt something warm and tender slide through my chest. Like I was absorbing her goodness. But it wasn’t mine to take.
“Shania Twain.”
I smirked. “You’re kidding right?”
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you man enough to listen to girl country?” She bounced over to her bed and picked up her headphones with a challenge in her eyes. “Shania Twain is a beautiful badass. Wanna listen?”
She looked so sweet and hopeful, her hair lopsided, eyes wide. I wanted nothing more than to lie next to her in that soft bed, in this nice room, in this big house, and be part of it all. And that was exactly why I couldn’t.
I brought darkness with me. My bruises were contagious.
“I should get back and…” And what? What was left for me at home?
Sloane cocked her head. “Please?”
“It’s not a good idea, Pix. What if your parents come in? I shouldn’t be here.” I shouldn’t be anywhere near her.
“They’re asleep on the other side of the house. And honestly, if you leave right now, I’m just going to spend the whole night worrying about you. I won’t be able to sleep. And I’ll be so tired tomorrow that I’ll fail my trig test. Come on, big guy. Do you really want that on your conscience?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Three songs,” Sloane bargained, hopping onto her bed and patting the mattress next to her.
I sighed. She sensed victory and grinned. “One song,” I countered.
“Two,” she insisted.
It was selfish and absolutely stupid, I thought, as I toed off my shoes. If Sloane’s dad were to come in here and find me in his daughter’s bed, he’d never forgive me. Even if I tried to explain. He knew how special she was, and he could sense how damaged I was. That was why they were so nice. Because they felt sorry for me.
“It’sCome on Over, not advanced calculus,” Sloane teased.
I climbed onto the bed next to her and resolutely stayed above the duvet cover. But I did let her pile her insane pillow collection around us. “What are you doing?” I asked as she tucked a pillow under my arm.
“I’m building a nest. This is how I sleep,” she explained, fluffing the two behind me.
“You sleep with forty-two pillows every night?”
“It’s six, smarty-pants. And don’t judge me until you’ve tried it.”
