Page 53 of The One Month Boyfriend (Wildwood Society)

She goes on, her voice low, the edge gone but still glinting in the undertones. I have no idea what she’s saying—it’s not what I expected, I thought I’d hear about her day—but it doesn’t matter because I fade in and out of listening, surfacing and sinking. Kat’s voice bobs on the surface, outlined by the sun, and I try to let myself float toward it.

“…Heliotroth the Fearless, sworn warrior to Unstead the Merciful, was the first to raise her fist and pledge her banners…”

After a long time, I take a deep breath and shift against the wall and when I look over at her, she stops talking.

“Thanks,” I say, mouth dry, voice filled with rust.

“Do you think you can handle a car ride?”

I swallow, my throat sticking together unpleasantly.

“Not with you driving.”

“Oh. God. Fuck no.”

I nod slowly, head still against the bricks.

“Five more minutes, then,” I say, and her eyes trickle down my face: nose, mouth, chin, chest. I realize I can feel the stiff pull of dried blood when I speak.

“Let me grab you some ice,” she says. “Your nose is fucked up.”

“Drunk guy had elbows,” I explain. “Thanks.”

“Don’t leave.”

I give her a thumbs up and try for a charming smile. I think I miss the mark. She leaves and I close my eyes: experimentally at first, but then I leave it.

The worst is over. The worst wasn’t even that bad this time, compared to what it’s been like before. I’ll still be up all night, feeling drained and buzzing and too aware to sleep. I still feel like I’m watching the world on a screen, but I didn’t break anything this time.

Footsteps, and I open my eyes again. It’s not Kat. I wish it were Kat.

Meckler stands a couple feet in front of me, arms crossed. I fight a dangerous, bone-deep prickle, the urge for violence. I smash my knuckles into the brick behind, looking for distracting pain and not finding enough. His face is blank, and then he smirks.

“Still?” Meckler asks.

I don’t answer. He fucking knows it already and the only response I want to give him is a fist.

“I would’ve thought it had been long enough,” he goes on.

“Fuck off and die,” I say, and my voice manages to sound normal. I mean it.

“No, thank you,” he says, and he’s about to say something else when the door opens with force and Kat’s there, ice pack in one hand.

When she sees him, she sharpens. It’s the only word that makes sense. Then she smiles with more teeth than I’ve ever seen.

“Evan!” she says, too loudly, as she comes over. “Great! I’m so glad you’re here, because we really need a helpful team player right now who can find us a ride back to Silas’s house.”

“Then—”

“Thank you so much!” she says, squeezing his arm with one hand, unsteady on her feet. “Great job finding us a ride. Your leadership in our company is totally inspiring! Everyone’s inside. Door’s right there. Synergy!”

She shouts the last word as he walks back toward the door, and then she turns to me.

“Here,” she says, and holds out the ice pack. “For the swelling.”

The cold reels me in a little, biting against my raw fingertips. I hold it for a second, my thoughts like a cloud trying to twist into a tornado.

“Synergy?” I ask, as I put it to my face.