Page 92 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

the first time.”

I notice the ache in his voice and slide out from under the car. We

both lean back against the passenger door, our hands are messy with

dirt and dust that has collected on the engine of this stagnant car.

Even with the shitty situation, and the raggedy car behind us, this

moment is quaint, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m sorry for what you saw when you came by that day,” I whisper.

“I can’t imagine thinking you’ve found a dead body or something.”

“I didn’t want you to be hurt at all. I wanted to apologize for the

suggestion I made before, about going through with this entire

ordeal, and I felt bad. I didn’t want you to be upset with my plan, and

I came to apologize. Seeing you on the floor, though. It made me so

afraid.”

I rest my hand on him, letting it settle on his lap. “I’m okay, Percy. I

promise.”

“I know you are now, but at that moment… I don’t know. I thought it

was my fault.”

I perk up with that thought. “Why would it be your fault?”

“Because it’s always my fault. I didn’t stop my parents from going to

Dingy Hills; I just grew up blaming myself for their addiction. You

think having a kid, a son who loves you to no end, would stop a

parent from doing something as reckless as taking drugs and pills,

but it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”

I shake my head at such an outlandish remark. Releasing his hand, I

push myself upright and straddle his lap, tucking my head against his

warm, solid chest where he holds me close. His arms snake around

my sides and link behind my lower back, fingers interlocked, I settle

into his lap. I want him to feel like he’s not alone, not at fault for

anything, but he wouldn’t listen to me if I told him that.

I can’t reverse years of self-turmoil and blame in a matter of

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