Chapter 12
twelve
“Sebastian, if I have to ask you to take that ball outside one more time,” Mum started with her half-hearted threat.
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll pop it and I’ll never see it again. I got it.” Sebastian said, though he made no movement to take the ball he was tossing from hand to hand outside.
“Actually, I was going to say no dessert tonight.”
I’d never seen Sebastian fly out of his seat and discard a soccer ball so quickly. It was like a flash of lightning, the ball there and gone in a matter of seconds.
“I didn’t even tell you what dessert was,” Mum said.
“You obviously didn’t have to,” Lavender said.
“Well, the ball is gone now so you can tell me.”
I laughed as I got up and started piling the dishes to carry back to the kitchen.
I stacked the pile of mismatched bowls (we’d had matching sets once upon a time, but Sebastian liked to play soccer in the kitchen and, well, that didn’t always end well), and had just dumped them to the sink when my phone started buzzing in my back pocket.
I pulled it out, figuring it was Clementine or Nora, then blinked in surprise when I saw That Guy across the phone screen, along with the red and gold abstract piece I’d used for his contact photo so it wasn’t blank.
It was the second time he’d ever called me and it still felt just as weird.
I briefly considered letting the call time out then realized this could be some sort of fake dating emergency—was Kelcey watching to see if I would pick up his call immediately? Was he around other people who wanted him to prove his girlfriend was real?—and I immediately swiped to answer.
“You’re calling me during dinner,” I said, retreating toward the stairs before anyone could ask who I was talking to. I would lie, of course, but it was better to retreat if possible. I kept the phone pressed hard against my ear so nothing on his end would carry. “This better be an emergency.”
“Depends on your definition of emergency.” His voice had an edge to it I hadn’t heard before, tight and a little breathless, like he was talking through gritted teeth.
I frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I need you to come over.”
I’d been headed upstairs but I paused at the front door, eyeing my shoes. I didn’t want to set the precedent for Rhys that he could call me whenever he wanted and I would just show up, but at the same time, I’d never heard this tone of voice from him.
“Why?” I asked. My tone was probably a little more suspicious than the situation called for, but I couldn’t help it.
“I just…” He sighed. “Look, I took an elbow to the temple during practice this afternoon. Bad. I’m home now but my head is pounding and I’m dizzy and I need ice but…”
“So call an actual doctor. You live with one.”
“He’s mid-surgery, Ainsley, he’s not exactly picking up.
” A pause, and something in his voice shifted, quieter, almost reluctant, like the admission cost him something.
“I wouldn’t ask, but my step-mom’s out with Leah, Landon is at a family thing, and I’m definitely not about to call Justin while he’s on a date with Kelcey. ”
I glanced back down the stairs. “There are probably a hundred other people you could call. Literally anyone without a concussion—wait, do you have a concussion?”
“No, I passed the trainer’s test, my head just hurts,” he muttered defensively.
“Look, I can’t exactly walk around my kitchen finding an ice pack when the lights are making my eyes bleed and I feel like throwing up if I move too fast.” He exhaled sharply, a low groan cutting off his words.
I cringed in sympathy. I’d never hit my head before, but I was sure it hurt like hell.
“Besides, you’re supposed to be my girlfriend.
Appearances and all that. If word gets back to Kelcey that I took a hit and my girlfriend didn’t even show up, that’s a problem, and I don’t feel like dealing with that on top of my head splitting open. ”
“Convenient that appearances always seem to require me showing up at your house,” I muttered, but I was already pulling on my trainers.
“I’m in actual pain right now, so if you wouldn’t mind saving the commentary for later…”
“Fine. I’m coming. Stop being dramatic.” I pulled on a jean jacket, using my free hand to tug my hair out from under it and grabbed my backpack from where I’d dumped it on the floor when I got home, figuring I might want it.
“Don’t die before I get there. It would be extremely inconvenient for my reputation. ”
“Noted,” he said, and even through the pain in his voice, I could hear the smallest thread of a laugh underneath it. “Also bring snacks, if you’re capable of that level of generosity. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
“You’re really pushing your luck for someone treating me like an errand girl.”
But I ran back to the pantry anyway. We desperately needed to go grocery shopping so options were limited, but I snatched an unopened box of crackers off the shelf and headed out again, calling over my shoulder that I was going out.
The days were getting long now, so it was barely even sunset as I stepped outside. I walked fast, half out of urgency and half because being seen anywhere near Rhys’s house, even if it was innocuously down the street from mine, felt like an admission of guilt.
I’d walked past Rhys’s house probably a hundred times over the last five years, had stood on the sidewalk staring at its hedges and its long driveway. But I’d never actually approached the front door on my own, without a party or a lie already halfway out of my mouth to justify it.
It felt strange, walking up those front steps in the fading light with nothing but the truth of the situation propelling me forward—that when a boy was hurt, I was the person he’d chosen to call.
I found Rhys stretched out on the couch in the dim living room, one arm thrown over his eyes, the TV off, looking, for the first time since I’d met him, entirely unable to pretend he had the situation under control.
“You look pathetic,” I said, echoing the first thing he’d ever said to me by that fence, six days and a lifetime ago.
“Keep your voice down,” he groaned into his elbow, not moving. “The light coming off your presence alone is giving me a migraine.”
“I’m being supportive. This is what support looks like in our relationship.” I dropped my jacket on an armchair and walked over, peering down at him. “Did you actually turn off all the lights in the house, or did you just lose the energy to turn them on?”
“Bit of both.” He dropped his arm an inch, squinting up at me through the shadow. “Where’s my ice?”
“I just got here, you baby. Give me two seconds.”
I barely remembered the layout of his house since the only other time I’d been here was for the party and I’d had bigger things on my mind then, but I found the kitchen quickly enough.
It was the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread rather than a house with actual teenagers living in it—marble counters, a coffee maker that looked more complicated than anything in my chemistry lab, a huge farm sink that didn’t even have dishes piled up in it.
I found a bag of frozen peas in the (very fancy) freezer, wrapped it in the first kitchen towel I found, and headed back to the dark living room.
“Peas,” Rhys said, eyeing the bag with visible betrayal as I dropped it gently against the side of his head. “You couldn’t find an ice pack?”
“You have a freezer full of gourmet frozen meals and no ice packs.” I settled onto the floor by the edge of the couch where he lay, watching as he adjusted the bag against his temple with a low sigh of relief.
“Does it actually hurt, or are you just using this to get me to act like an attentive girlfriend?”
“It feels like someone drove a stake through my skull,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “And if I wanted an attentive girlfriend, I’d ask for one who doesn’t accuse me of faking a head injury.”
“I didn’t say you were faking, I said you were being dramatic.”
The corners of his lips twitched up in a half-smile. “Thanks for coming anyway.”
“You made it sound very much like I had to. Something about appearances and Kelcey and a girlfriend’s sacred obligations.”
“Sure, I said that. Doesn’t mean I’m not glad you’re here.” He looked, for one unguarded second, like he regretted the sentence the moment it left his mouth, but before I could say anything in response, he gestured at my backpack. “You got homework to do?”
I blinked at the sudden change of topic and glanced at the backpack as well. “Yeah, some stuff. But I don’t have to do it now.”
“What class?” he asked.
“Grade eleven chem,” I said. “I have a lab tomorrow that I’m abysmally unprepared for.”
He shifted to get more comfortable on the couch and pulled the bag of peas over his eyes. “Don’t let me stop you.”
I laughed and shook my head, but got up to grab the bag.
I could probably go home now, since clearly all he wanted from me was the ice, but I guess it was a better look as a fake girlfriend to hang around and nurse him back to health.
He’d said Justin was out on a date with Kelcey right now, so they could easily come back at any moment and find us here, which would be the perfect cover.
Plus, though I’d never admit it to him, it was a little reassuring to sit here and see that he was okay.
For a while, we sat in something that felt, disarmingly, like comfortable silence—me working through problems by the light of my phone screen, him lying still with the bag of peas melting against his head.
“I’m bored,” he announced after twenty minutes, his voice flat. “Doing homework in front of an injured person is rude.”
“Honestly, you were so quiet, I thought you fell asleep,” I said, not stopping the scribbling of my pencil. “You’re supposed to be resting your brain. No screens, no stimulation.”
“The trainer said I didn’t have a concussion, Ainsley.” He reached blindly toward the floor, dragging a controller out from under the coffee table. “Put the TV on low. We’re playing Mario Kart.”