Someone runs into me and it nearly knocks me to the floor.
“Sorry,” a deep voice apologizes.
I catch myself on the doorframe and it breaks my trance. I hurry down the hall without bothering to see who ran into me. I need to get out of this place and breathe again.
After I collect the first aid kit from the bottom cupboard and the icepack from the freezer, I take the long way out of the house, going through the side door unnoticed. Kayden’s not outside anymore, but the interior light of the pool house filters from the windows.
Hesitantly, I push open the door and poke my head into the dimly lit room. “Hello.”
Kayden walks out from the back room without a shirt on and a towel pressed up to his face, which is bright red and lumpy. “Hey, did you get the stuff?”
I slip into the room and shut the door behind me. I hold out the first aid kit and the icepack, with my head turned toward the door to avoid looking at him. His bare chest, and the way his jeans ride low on his h*ps smothers me with uneasiness.
“I don’t bite, Callie.” His tone is neutral as he takes the kit and the pack. “You don’t have to stare at the wall.”
I compel my eyes to look at him and it’s hard not to stare at the scars that crisscross along his stomach and chest. The vertical lines that run down his forearms are the most disturbing, thick and jagged as if someone took a razor to his skin. I wish I could run my fingers along them and remove the pain and memories that are attached to them.
He quickly lowers the towel to cover himself up and confusion gleams from his good eye as we stare at one another. My heart throbs inside my chest as a moment passes, like a snap of a finger, yet it seems to go on forever.
He blinks and presses the pack to his inflamed eye while balancing the kit on the edge of the pool table. His fingers quiver as he pulls his hand back and each knuckle is scraped raw. “Can you get the gauze out of that for me? My hand’s a little sore.”
As my fingers fumble to lift the latch, my fingernail catches in the crack, and it peels back. Blood pools out as I open the lid to retrieve the gauze. “You might need stitches on that cut below the eye. It looks bad.”
He dabs the cut with the towel, wincing from the pain. “It’ll be fine. I just need to clean it up and get it covered.”
The steaming hot water runs down my body, scorching my skin with red marks and blisters. I just want to feel clean again. I take the damp towel from him, careful not to let our fingers touch, and lean forward to examine the lesion, which is so deep the muscle and tissue is showing.
“You really need stitches.” I suck the blood off my thumb. “Or you’re going to have a scar.”
The corners of his lips tug up into a sad smile. “I can handle scars, especially ones that are on the outside.”
I understand his meaning from the depths of my heart. “I really think you should have your mom take you to the doctor and then you can tell her what happened.”
He starts to unwind a small section of gauze, but he accidentally drops it onto the floor. “That’ll never happen and even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. None of this does.”
With unsteady fingers, I gather up the gauze and unravel it around my hand. Tearing the end, I grab the tape out of the kit. Then squeezing every last terrified thought from my mind, I reach toward his cheek. He remains very still, hugging his sore hand against his chest as I place the gauze over the wound. His eyes stay on me, his brows knit, and he barely breathes as I tape it in place.
I pull back and an exhale eases out of my lips. He’s the first person I’ve intentionally touched outside my family for the last six years. “I would still consider getting stitches.”
He closes the kit and wipes a droplet of blood off the lid. “Did you see my father inside?”
“No.” My phone beeps from my pocket and I read over the text message. “I have to go. My mom’s waiting out in the car. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” He doesn’t glance up at me as he picks up the towel and heads toward the back room. “Alright, I’ll see you later, I guess.”
No, you won’t. Putting my phone away in my pocket, I depart for the door. “Yeah, I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Thank you,” he instantly adds.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. I feel terrible for leaving him, but I’m too chicken to stay behind. “For what?”
He deliberates for an eternity and then exhales a sigh. “For getting me the first aid kit and icepack.”
“You’re welcome.” I walk out the door with a heavy feeling in my heart as another secret falls on top of it.
As the gravel driveway comes into view, my phone rings from inside my pocket. “I’m like two feet away,” I answer.
“Your brother is out here and he needs to get home. He’s got to be at the airport in eight hours.” My mother’s tone is anxious.
I increase my pace. “Sorry, I got sidetracked… but you sent me in to get him.”
“Well, he answered his text, now come on,” she says frantically. “He needs to get some rest.”
“I’ll be there in like thirty seconds, Mom.” I hang up as I step out into the front yard.
Daisy, Kayden’s girlfriend, is out on the front porch, eating a slice of cake as she chats with Caleb Miller. My insides instantly knot, my shoulders slouch, and I shy into the shadows of the trees, hoping they won’t see me.
“Oh my God, is that Callie Lawrence?” Daisy says, shielding her eyes with her hand and squinting in my direction. “What the heck are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be like hanging out at the cemetery or something?”
I tuck my chin down and pick up the pace, stumbling over a large rock. One foot in front of the other.
“Or are you just running away from the piece of cake I have?” she yells with laughter in her tone. “Which one is it Callie? Come on, tell me?”
“Knock it off,” Caleb warns with a smirk on his face as he leans over the railing, his eyes as black as the night. “I’m sure Callie has her reasons for running away.”
“There are many more black sheep than you and me.” I shield my eyes from the sun with my hand. “And I’ve toned it down. I’m even wearing a red t-shirt today, like the list said to do.”
The corners of his lips tug upward. “Which would look even better if you’d let those pretty locks of yours down, instead of hiding them in that ponytail all the time.”
“One step at a time,” I say. “It was hard enough just letting my hair grow out. It makes me feel weird. And it doesn’t matter because that has yet to be added to the list.”
“Well it needs to be,” he replies. “In fact, I’m doing it when I get back to my room.”
Seth and I have a list of things we have to do, even if we’re scared, repulsed, or incapable. If it’s on the list, we have to do it and we have to cross off one thing at least once a week. It was something we did after we confessed our darkest secrets to each other, locked away in my room, during my first real bonding moment with a human being.