Chapter Eight
Eight
Casey was sixteen and had her driver’s license, but that didn’t mean they could afford a second car. She wouldn’t be saving up for one anytime soon either. Most of her earnings from working weekends at the drugstore went into a college fund, and the rest usually went toward models for Wyatt. She still took the school bus and, except for the days she had debate or math club, it dropped her home about 3:40. Normally she had time to start on her homework before Wyatt got home. He was in regular fifth grade classes but had to take the specialized transportation bus due to his chair— God, Casey, just call it the short bus like we do —and it was slow making the rounds, especially in winter. Which meant Wyatt was practically going to and from school in the dark this time of year. When four thirty rolled around that December Thursday, she wandered to the front window to keep watch for his bus.
Within a few minutes Kyle McCray’s bright red Jeep turned onto River Road. It was lifted high above big tires that crunched on the frozen ground. She expected him to make the quick left into his driveway after crossing the train tracks, but he kept coming and pulled into her driveway, which is when Casey spotted Wyatt in the passenger seat. Kyle gave her a wave as he continued to the rear of the house.
She jogged out back and opened the passenger door as soon as he stopped the Jeep. “What’s going on?” she asked Wyatt. Then she took notice of his face, the abrasions on his cheeks, grass and dirt smeared into his hair and jacket. “Oh my God.”
“Chill, Casey. I’m fine.”
Kyle hopped out of the Jeep and pulled Wyatt’s chair from the back.
“What happened?” she asked Wyatt. Though she already had a suspicion.
“Some asshats cornered me behind the school so I couldn’t get to the bus.”
This kind of thing didn’t happen often. Wyatt was well-liked by most of his peers, and the rest tended to ignore him because the wheelchair made them uncomfortable. But once in a while a few shitheads came along and decided to screw with him. Casey believed they deserved a special place in hell.
“They knocked my chair around and pushed me out of it,” he said. “But then Kyle came out of nowhere and took all three of them on.”
Casey glanced at Kyle, who set Wyatt’s chair down by the Jeep and unfolded it. One side of his face was bright red, like he’d taken a hit. His clothes were disheveled, and a jacket sleeve was torn at the shoulder seam. He was wearing those black leather boots he always wore. They looked heavy duty but worn in, and he never tied the laces, so they slouched around his ankles.
“You should have seen it,” Wyatt said. “They all went at him at once, but he batted them away like flies.”
“Not exactly,” Kyle said, pushing the wheelchair close. “Do you need help getting down?” he asked Wyatt.
“Just an arm to lean on.”
Kyle moved in to offer his forearm as a brace so her brother could swing himself down into the chair. She reached out to brush grass from his hair.
“Quit it.” He waved her hands away and pulled his backpack from the floor of the Jeep, dropped it on his lap. “I’m starving. I’m going in to get a snack.” He started wheeling himself up the ramp to the back door. “Kyle, I’ll make some for you too.”
Casey watched him go, her anger starting to burn. “Who was it?” she asked Kyle.
He swung the passenger door closed. “I don’t know their names, but I recognize them from school. I think they’re freshmen. I was heading to practice when I saw what was going on.” He shook his head in wonder. “When I got there he was on the ground, but he was swinging like crazy, putting up a hell of a fight.”
She looked toward the house, in Wyatt’s direction. He would be okay, he always was, but nothing infuriated her more than someone targeting her brother, deliberately trying to scare him or make him feel deficient in some way. “Motherfuckers,” she said.
Kyle’s forehead pulled up high in surprise.
“Sorry,” she said, feeling a hot blush creep up her face.
“Don’t be, they are motherfuckers. And you know how to throw that word down. Not everybody can pull it off.”
“Thanks.”
He took his cap off, held it in his hands. Which is when she noticed his knuckles were badly scraped up on one hand, and he had a small gash on his upper cheek.
She pointed to it. “You’re bleeding a little.”
He touched his fingertips to the cut, saw the blood, then swiped at it with the sleeve of his jacket.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she said. “It might get infected. Why don’t you come in and let me clean it up.”
“Oh, no. You don’t have to do that.”
“It’ll only take a minute. Please? My mom would kill me if she heard I let you leave here with an open wound.” It was the least she could do for him, but she also wasn’t ready for him to go yet. When he still hesitated she said, “Besides, I think Wyatt’s working on a thank-you snack.”
“Okay.”
She led him up the stairs and through the back door, took his jacket and hung it on a hook next to hers.
Wyatt was in the kitchen, throwing together a platter that involved potato chips, gummy bears, and grapes. “This’ll be ready in a few,” he said.
“I’m going to clean up that cut on his cheek,” Casey said.
Kyle followed her down the hall and into the half bathroom, where she was immediately conscious of how tight the space was with both of them in there. She wished she was wearing something other than the shapeless blue Potsdam High T-shirt she had on.
She crouched down to the cabinet under the sink to grab their small medical kit. “You don’t have to worry,” she said, standing back up and washing her hands. “My mom made me take a first aid course last summer, so I know what I’m doing.”
He sagged back against the counter. “Okay.”
That’s when Casey began to feel like she actually had no idea what she was doing. She knew how to tend to his wound, but there was something else going on here for her. The truth was her mind had drifted to Kyle McCray often the last few months, since coming home to find him in her house with Wyatt. She’d always thought Kyle was hot in a rugged way, with his muscly arms and longish hair and crazy hockey skills—not to mention those boots. But she’d overheard his dad telling her mom that Kyle had no plan for the future, which was hard for Casey to understand with all her goals for college and travel and a meaningful career. Kyle worked as a mechanic, didn’t seem to care much about school, appeared to spend all his money on beer and tattoos, and he was a player. He’d had a lot of girlfriends, none of them for long. But he had a quiet confidence, like he already knew who he was and he was okay with it. That night in the kitchen, he’d been so kind to her—not that she fully appreciated it at the time, she’d been too embarrassed. And today he had rescued Wyatt.
She dampened a washcloth under the faucet. “Is that a new one?” she asked, nodding to his right arm. Black and red ink snaked from under the sleeve of his T-shirt.
“Yeah.” He pulled the sleeve up to reveal a large tattoo that covered the top half of his upper arm. It was a smiling skeleton face shrouded in a flowing black hood, carrying a hockey stick on his shoulder, blood dripping from the blade. But there was a vaguely cartoonish quality that kept it from feeling dark or sinister. “My present to myself on my eighteenth birthday,” he said.
“I like it.”
“Thanks.” He tugged the sleeve down. “My dad didn’t.”
“Then he doesn’t have to get one.”
He grinned at her.
She held up the washcloth. “I’m going to wipe away the blood.”
He flipped his hat backward and turned his face toward hers, giving her better access.
Her leg brushed his when she stepped closer and reached up to gently swipe the cloth across his cheek. “Does that hurt?”
“Not at all,” he said in one exhale, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. When his hazel eyes flicked to hers, it was Casey’s turn to catch her breath.
She rinsed out the cloth and cleaned his cheek some more, even though it was already clean. “You really love it, don’t you. Hockey, I mean.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Why?”
He tipped his head. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“I love everything about it. How it has its own language. The intensity of it. How physical it is, the fast pace—there’s so much happening at once you can’t blink or you’ll miss something.” His face and hands had become animated, so she lowered the washcloth and just watched. “Most of all I love being part of a team. You have to be on the same page and work as a unit. Each person has their strengths and weaknesses, but together you balance each other out.”
Casey had goals and she was working hard to achieve them, but she couldn’t remember ever feeling the fire she saw in Kyle’s eyes when he talked about hockey. “It must be nice, to feel so passionate about something.”
He looked right at her when he answered. “It is.”
She tossed the washcloth in the sink and unwrapped an antiseptic wipe. “We should make sure the cut’s clean, but this might sting a little.” When she touched the wipe to his cheek he gasped and jerked back. “Oh God—sorry,” she said, yanking it away.
“Just kidding.” He reached for her hand and placed the wipe back on his cut, his fingers pressing hers briefly. “Aren’t you a nurse’s daughter?”
She flashed him an eye roll but smiled. “I guess it’s probably nothing compared to the pain of getting tattoos.”
“Yeah. But the pain is part of it, part of making it permanent. I figure they’re forever, so they should hurt a little, you know?”
“That’s true.” It was also true there was more to Kyle than met the eye. She squirted a dab of antibiotic cream onto a Q-tip and applied it to his face. “I don’t think anyone’s ever stuck up for Wyatt like that before,” she said.
“I bet you have.”
This was her chance. If she was going to ask, now was the time. “I have a question for you,” she said.
“I might have an answer.”
“That night you were here with Wyatt over the summer. When I came home I was upset about something that happened at Brad Rentzler’s house. A few days later he brought me my sweatshirt and apologized, and his idiot friends stopped hassling me. Did you have something to do with that?”
He glanced down before answering. “I had a talk with him.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him to make it right with you. Or I would make it right with him.” He studied her, an uneasy expression on his face. “I hope that doesn’t bother you…”
She gave him a smile and held those hazel eyes long enough to decide they were more brown than green. “Not at all.” Then she gestured toward his face. “I think you’re gonna live. Looks okay.”
“No worse than before?”
“Nope.”
They were quiet after that, just looked at each other, assessing what was happening here. Casey certainly was. She had little experience, had barely gone past making out with a guy she dated last year, and there’d been only brief kissing with Brad Rentzler that ended when she told him to stop, and he called her a tease and refused to drive her home. Casey was probably way out of her depth with Kyle. But she couldn’t help wondering if he was feeling the same intense fluttering in his stomach as she was.
He swallowed before he spoke. “How old are you now?”
“Sixteen.”
His gaze drifted to the floor, like he was considering something. Probably how to let her down.
She got it. He was a senior and had his pick of girls, particularly older girls who knew how to party. But she didn’t want him to leave yet. So even though she could hardly believe she was doing it, she took hold of his wounded hand. “What about this?”
“It’s fine.”
There were bits of dried blood on his knuckles and the whole thing was puffy. “Maybe you should get an X-ray.”
“It’s not broken.”
“It might be.”
“It’s not.”
“But it’s so swollen, and you’re shaking a little.”
He paused. “Maybe you make me nervous.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.”
“Everybody’s afraid of something, Casey.” It might have been a line, but the intensity in his eyes and his voice when he said it was thrilling. And a little scary. Mostly thrilling.
She figured it was time to let go of his hand, but she wanted him to understand how grateful she was to him, for helping Wyatt that day, and for helping her over the summer. She couldn’t think of anyone else who would do those things. When she thought about what she could do for his hand she recalled what her mom used to do when Casey or Wyatt would get a minor wound.
“Thank you for being different,” she said. Then she raised his hand to her face and gave it a light kiss.
His mouth fell open, and his eyebrows squished together, and she worried she’d gone too far, weirded him out. When he raised his other hand toward her face, she had no idea what was coming.
He gently slid his thumb across her bottom lip.
She peered down to see he’d wiped a spot of blood from her mouth that must have transferred from his hand. She didn’t move otherwise because he let the tips of his fingers linger on her cheek and she wanted them to stay there.
“Kyle!” It was Wyatt calling from the kitchen.
Casey jumped and Kyle pulled his hand away.
“Snack’s ready,” Wyatt yelled.
“We’ll be there in a minute,” she said, loud enough for Wyatt to hear, which further shattered whatever powerful spell they’d been under.
“Jesus,” Kyle said, almost to himself, dragging a hand down his face.
Which made Casey wonder if she’d done something wrong. She was suddenly aware of how bold she’d been with him, and her cheeks started to burn. She put the medical kit back together as quickly as she could. When she snuck a glance at Kyle he was staring down in concentration. Maybe coming to his senses, reminding himself he was with the nerdy sophomore from across the road. After zipping up the kit and tossing it under the sink she turned to leave.
But Kyle reached across the doorframe and blocked her with his arm. “Would you want to go out with me tomorrow night?”
“Don’t you have a game tomorrow night?”
He blinked. “Oh shit. Yeah, I do. You don’t go to the games, right?”
“I go to all the games.”
“You do? How come I never see you there?”
“Maybe you aren’t looking for me.” When he opened his mouth and nothing came out she smiled. “I’m just kidding. I take Wyatt to all the games, and we have to sit up in the last row because of his chair. That’s why you don’t see me.”
“Okay. We could hang out after the game.”
She hesitated. “Do you mean at, like, the after-party?” Maybe this was a bad idea. As much as Casey wanted to go out with Kyle, she wasn’t up for a bunch of jocks guzzling beer and war-storying all night when she had to get up early for SAT prep class Saturday morning. But, as far as she knew, that was his crowd.
He shook his head. “No. We could drop Wyatt home and then get some food. I’m always hungry after the games…” He trailed off, waiting for her answer, still blocking the doorway.
Casey shifted sideways, just enough that her shoulder brushed his arm. “I’d like that.”
The slow smile he gave her made her knees weak. “Good.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “Now I guess I should go have some of that disgusting snack.”
“Yeah,” she said. “You don’t want to break his heart.”
He lingered, like he really didn’t want to leave that room. But eventually he dropped his arm and headed for the kitchen.
Casey stayed behind for a moment. She braced her hands against the sink, looked at her reflection in the mirror, and tried to get a handle on the jumble of emotions she had going on right then. She felt excited, nervous, sort of… giddy, for God’s sake. She couldn’t remember feeling this way about somebody before, like she would be counting the seconds until she could be alone with him tomorrow night.
She shook her head at herself; she was getting carried away. They didn’t have much in common—she didn’t even know what they were going to talk about. It was just a first date, and it could be the last. That’s what she told herself throughout that evening, during a dinner she hardly touched, and later in bed when she couldn’t get to sleep. And during her classes the next day when she couldn’t concentrate worth a damn.
But sitting next to Wyatt at the game Friday night, she couldn’t take her eyes off Kyle. He spotted her early on in the back of the stands and waved, and he looked her way throughout the game. While he was on the ice, while he was on the bench, while he was in the penalty box for roughing—and each time he did she could swear she felt a charge of electricity sizzle across the arena.
At some point during that game Casey stopped telling herself it was just a date.