She tries to jerk away from me, but I’m stronger. I tug her into my lap and hug her to me. At first she’s stiff, but then she relaxes. Her body curls into mine and her tears soak my shirt.
“Shhh,” I murmur as I stroke her back over her denim jacket.
“She’s afraid I’ll cut myself.”
Rylie
His fingers rubbing up and down my spine stop their ministrations. “She’s just trying to protect you,” he says, his voice gruff.
“I don’t need protecting.” I start to get up again, but his palm grips my bare thigh, stopping me. Heat floods through me. I should move his hand, but I find my body turning to jello at his touch.
“Yes, you do.” His fingers rub along my skin in a comforting way.
I shiver. “I don’t. I’m not going to cut my wrists with a shaving razor. Do you know how embarrassing it is being told you can’t shave your own body when you’re almost eighteen years old?”
His brows furl together. “I’ll do it for you.”
I blink at him. “You’ll shave my legs?”
“And under your arms.”
Images of him in the shower with me, shaving my legs while I hold the removable showerhead between my thighs flood through my mind, causing my flesh to heat.
“You’re blushing,” he teases, his palm never leaving my thigh.
Because I’m sick.
Because I want you in ways I shouldn’t.
“I am not.”
Under the black light, his eyes seem wild and untamed. Dangerous even. I like seeing him like this. Daring and carefree.
“There you are!”
Amy’s voice has me jerking out of Hudson’s lap and straightening my dress. He jumps to his feet and shoots me an intense look before accepting her hug. She looks past him at me, jealousy flaring in her eyes. The jealousy is much brighter and obvious in this place.
I want to remind her he’s my brother.
That she can’t be jealous of our relationship because we’re family.
“Come on, guys. The band I wanted you to see is about to start,” Amy chirps. She tugs at Hudson’s hand and pulls him away from me.
All I can do is follow.
Alone.
We exit the hazy store and Amy babbles to people along the way that she knows. They meet up with a group of kids they went to high school with. I recognize a few faces, siblings of the older kids. Nobody I talk to. The group migrates past herds of people to a stage that’s been set up in the middle of the street.
My mouth waters when I get a whiff of turkey legs being cooked by a vendor parked nearby. I want to ask Hudson if he wants to share one like when we were kids, but he’s in a heated conversation with some guy about baseball. I drift away until I find a bench.
If Mom were here, she’d be complaining about the shoes she’d worn. Always a trend setter but not a practical one. Dad would offer to carry her on his back. She’d deny him, of course, because he was always in pain. Hudson would kick off his tennis shoes and offer them to Mom, saying he didn’t care if he went barefoot. We’d all laugh—
“Anyone sitting here?” a voice asks.
I look up to see a boy I’d noticed in Amy’s store staring at me. He goes to school with me. Travis Mayes. “All yours,” I reply.
He sits down and his thigh brushes against mine. “This band sucks.”
