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Trying to wish the blood back into my ass that feels numb, I wonder how, at eighteen, I’m fearing back problems from having sex on the wood planks of the dock. I had unprotected sex, and my first concern is back problems?
I’m an idiot.
When his movements stop and our eyes meet, his face says a lot. His actions say even more.
“Finally,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say, and I touch the side of his cheek, running my fingertips along the edge of his jaw, and for a split second, he opens his eyes. I want to see warmth and the connection reach them, and when I don’t, fear works through me.
Ender shakes his head, laughter on his lips, swallowing, as if he doesn’t know what to say and he drops his weight on me, kissing me harder. There’s a sting as he slides out of me and to his knees. My breathing evens out but Ender’s mood changes. He’s gasping, hands in his hair, confused, swallowing over and over again, trying to gain control. “Fuck…,” he breathes out, and then sucks in another one just as quickly.
Maybe he didn’t want to do this? “What’s wrong?”
He stares at the dock, allowing me to move back a foot. I don’t want to lose contact with him. I don’t want it to end, but it has already. I can feel it. His head slumps forward with his shoulders and he pants. Reality slowly returns, and the weight of what just happens sets in. “Fuck. What the fuck have I done?” he mumbles, so low I have to strain to hear him.
My cheeks break into fire, waiting to see what he’s going to say. Finally, he draws in a deep breath and looks over his shoulder at the people in the distance, the party has moved to the lake, and I’m surprised to see no one has noticed us yet.
“Are you mad? Was it not good?” I ask, reaching for my shorts and tank top, fearing his rejection but hello, I’m the one in pain.
He shakes his head frantically, forcing a smile and righting his shorts, pulling them up and buckling them. He stands up on the dock, running his hand over his face. “No, it was good.”
The best you’ve ever had? So good you want to marry me?Oh, my God, shut the fuck up.“Good.” I bite my bottom lip, relaxing slightly, and reach for my shorts, ignoring the wetness between my legs. There’s so much of it and maybe even blood. I don’t know and I’m too afraid to look, but it’s sliding down the inside of my thigh when I stand up.
Ender comes closer when I have my shorts on. His brow goes up, and he smiles, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek, his damp hair falling against my face. “Sorry,” he whispers, for what I have no idea, leaning his forehead against mine. “That wasn’t exactly what I—”
“Ender!” Theo yells, standing on the James dock to our right, assuming Ender is with the others near Wiley’s boat.
Ender glances over at him. “Fuck.” Moving back, he shifts away completely and reaches for his shirt. His glassy eyes move to mine before looking away. “I’ll be back.” He leans in, pressing his lips to my forehead, staying there for what seems like forever. When he draws back, his brows knit, his eyes focused on mine. “Meet down by the lake?”
Nodding, fear knots in my chest. He’s pulling away. I can feel it inside my heart.
32
WHEN HE LEFT THE LAKE
Iwait by the lake like he said for over an hour. But Ender doesn’t come. That’s when I notice Walker, Ender, and his dad in the driveway, yelling at each other. Screaming.
I make my way up the edge of the house, but I don’t approach them. I stay back.
Standing next to his truck, Ender’s eyes catch mine, and he stares at me for a moment, the rush of reality sinking in. My pulse is pounding, but it’s struggling to even beat. He’s bleeding from his face, blood all over the front of his gray T-shirt.
The air shifts and I see it on his face. The goodbye. It’s coming. Theo’s pushed him over the edge.
Walker’s still in his face and Ender isn’t having it. He yells something at Walker and shoves him away. Walker falls into the ground and Ender leans in, final words delivered before he walks away from him. But then he hesitates at the side of his truck, as if he can’t decide if he’s coming down to the lake or not. Theo’s next to him, his arms crossed over his chest, talking to Ender.
I place my hand over my chest. A slow painful beat thumps like it knows the impending doom.
Ender looks at me again, and for someone who has always been so sure of himself, he’s uncertain. Theo says something else to him and he gives me a fleeting look and then turns around and leaves, slamming the door to his truck.
Our eyes meet again, distorted by the windshield as he grips the steering wheel. He tips his head, his brow furrowed, and though I can’t see his face clearly, I can tell you he’s teetering between unstable and uncertain. He doesn’t know what to do.
I wait, fearing what’s going to happen next, and my answer is him speeding away, dirt and gravel spraying the space Theo’s standing.
Theo throws his hand up in the air and then leaves, as if he can’t believe his son.
I want to cry, but I think I’m in shock. Running to the bathroom, I clean up, gather my thoughts and text Ender. Again and again. I try calling him, but his phone goes straight to voicemail.
I find Theo and demand he tell me what happened. I find him in the house, a beer in hand and his eyes as wild as his son. “Where’d he go? What did you say to him?”
Theo’s eyes slide to mine, his face worn. I’ve never looked into this man’s eyes. At least not up this close, but I can tell you, without a doubt, there’s no sympathy in them. Fear, yes, but empathy is nonexistent. I know the look a parent gives when they want something so badly for their child they’re hard on them, pushing them to achieve more, but that’s not the impression I get looking into the eyes of Theo James.