I push up onto my elbows. That’s the one good memory from last night. The one I’ve been dropping into when thinking about Dad gets overwhelming.
I sit up and face Kris, pajama pants tangling in the sheets. “Don’t ostracize him. Actually… that went great.” A totally involuntary smile creeps up on me. “Really great.”
And then I disappeared for the full day after. For warranted reasons—well,sulking.Not exactly warranted, then.
I’m not usually this bad at relationships. Lily might disagree. And maybe my roommate. And, like, one or two other brief romantic encounters that didn’t last longer than a month or two.
Shit. Maybe I am bad at relationships?
Kris pulls the tray onto the bed and pushes it towards me. “Good. Because we like him. He was at lunch and he’s a creepy son of a bitch, but he’s much, much funnier than you.”
I pick up the mug—cocoa. “I do not fall for such easy baiting.”
He grins.
“But I’m glad you like him.” I take a sip, let the warmth wash through me. “I like him too.”
“Understatement. Massive. Colossal. But why are you in bed?” He surveys me with more scrutiny. “Are you sick?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Then what happened? Iris said you went to see Dad last night.” Kris’s voice twists. Bracing himself. “Did he do something?”
The cocoa leaves a too-sweet film on my tongue.
I know Kris would be as pissed as I am about all this. What’s stopping me from telling him?
Hex was so sure of our roles—he protects Halloween, I protect Christmas.
I’ve done a terrible job of protecting anything.
That awareness is a spotlight, swerving yellow and unavoidable onto the way Kris’s shoulders are set, ready to spring to action if I ask. My focus pulls back to the tray of food, to the unspoken way he knew to bring it, and yeah, I’d do the same for him, but… I don’t usually have to.
“You take care of me. A lot,” I state.
There’s a beat before Kris gives a dismissive shrug. The beat is long enough that I know he realized that well before I did.
“It’s what we do,” he says.
All the times he’s taken care of me crash through my mind at once. How he’s the one to come get me from school or trips or my wilder shenanigans. How he always comes to check on me like he has now, and leaps to do whatever he can to help.
“No,” I say. “It’s whatyoudo.”
He looks away.
I hit on something.
His neck bunches and his fingers start picking at the hem of his jeans and I feel like I ripped open a wound I was unaware he had.
“What happened with Dad?” he asks again.
I set down the mug. “Nothing. What’s wrong? What did you—”
“It isn’tnothing,Coal. It’s nevernothing.” His eyes pin on me, an abrupt show of despair that has me rocking back. “If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be in here hiding. He did something,again,like he always does, and he’s getting closer and closer to thatsomethingbeing the thing to—”
His lips slam shut.
He twists away, sucking his teeth, self-deprecation blossoming red stains on his cheeks.
