Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
ZIGGY
Ican’t breathe.
Kennedy’s tongue is filling my mouth, and his kiss is so deep and so powerful, I’m not sure my feet are still touching the ground.
I’m spinning with how something can feel this good.
How one single thing can bring every nerve in my body alive to the point where I’m confident I could do this forever.
The kiss is so Kennedy in a way I can’t put into words.
His passion and the way he’s not holding anything back transfers into the kiss, and all I can do is hope that it’s as good for him as it is for me.
As far as first kisses go, this one has to be the best.
It’s made me so goddamn hard I can’t think straight.
But for as incredible as it is, it doesn’t keep that little voice quiet for long.
That little voice that took over when Kennedy and that guy were speaking. The one that told me Kennedy is and always will be too much for me.
Too bright.
Too happy.
Too friendly.
It’s no surprise that we can’t even come into a small town without people wanting him, so if he has all of these options, why the hell would he pick me?
I’m not worth the clothes on my back, and kissing him like this isn’t fair. He’ll want to know why, and those aren’t words I can give him.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I rip myself from his mouth and stagger back out of his hold. His lips are stupidly red, and my top one is scratchy from his mustache, but as our eyes meet, his widen, and everything we did sinks in.
“Ziggy … what … what was that?”
I wish I knew. The only thought running through my head was how desperately I wanted to make him mine. How I wanted all those other people to stop looking at him, and him to stop looking at them. I want to be the one who gets his smiles and his closeness and his kisses.
So I took one.
And it’s only hitting me now how deeply stupid that was.
If I want Kennedy to pick me, he has to pick me.
I can’t go around always taking what I want.
His surprise melts into concern, and seeing him look at me like that is too much.
I don’t want him to worry about me. I don’t want him to kiss me out of some misplaced pity.
He thought I was mad at him, and I couldn’t tell him that the only one I was mad at was myself.
Mad that I couldn’t have an easy conversation with him.
Mad that I couldn’t hold his attention. Mad that I’ll always be the shy one he has to make excuses for.
I wanted the kiss to take away his guilt, and for him to know that I’m not mad. Not at him.
And he kissed me back.
It’s only now hitting me that he did it to make sure I wasn’t upset.
Fuck.
What have I done?
Before he can reassure me or try to make everything okay, I turn on my heel and run.
As soon as I leave the safety of the awning, rain buckets down over me, seeping through my hair and my shirt.
The storm is so close that the thunder is directly overhead, and it’s impossible to see anything through the rain until lightning flashes across the sky.
This storm won’t last long—they never do—but I need to put as much distance between myself and Kennedy as possible before it ends.
My head is swimming with the alcohol I don’t usually drink, and I cross the parking lot to come out on the road on the other side. I’m panting, my heart rate is still up from that kiss, and I want to find somewhere that I can curl up into a ball and never show my face again.
At the very least, Kennedy doesn’t know where I live, so once I’m home, I won’t have to face him.
I almost stop running at that stray thought.
Before Kennedy, I knew I was missing something in my life.
I could feel it, like the misplaced haze of a dream where you’re in one place when you know you’re supposed to be in another.
I didn’t know what it was that I was missing, but now that I’ve met Kennedy, everything I thought I liked about my life is empty.
Why did I have to go and kiss him?
This is why I hate leaving Wilde’s End. There’s nothing in the outside world except for big, scary chaos, and now I’ve created the biggest and scariest chaos of them all.
No surprise for someone who can never do anything right.
All my life, I’ve been the screwup. Even when I was working with Dad and becoming a qualified electrician, I was too scared to do anything in case I made a mistake.
Which led to making more mistakes. The anxiety gets so consuming it’s like it takes over my body.
I can’t move right, I can’t talk right, and when I force myself through the things my body doesn’t want to do, it rebels against me.
I’ve learned to stop fighting it, but tonight …
I don’t know what that was.
My hands are shaking, and it’s hard to tell if my face is wet from the rain or if I’ve finally given in to the urge to cry. I’m not a crier—it’s too loud and has never gotten me anywhere in life—but the pressure behind my eyes is quickly winning out.
Why do I ruin everything?
The best I can do is crawl back into my cave and stay away from the outside world.
It’s stupid of me to want more. To think that I can interact with someone like Kennedy and have it turn out okay.
Instead, I’m poisoning him. Turning his laughter into worry. His friendliness into solitude. That big, open heart is shrinking down to fit the tiny world I’ve created for myself. I should feel terrible that I’m dimming his light, but all I selfishly want is for that light to keep shining on me.
Sometimes, when I’m with Kennedy, I feel like a whole person again.
He makes me feel seen, and now that I’ve had that, I don’t want to let go of it again.
If I really cared about him like I claim to, it would be easy to walk away.
Selfish.
Pathetic.
Needy.
Turns out my parents were right. I do only care about myself.
The sound of tires slowing on a wet road comes from behind me as headlights fill the street. I’m scared to look, but after a moment, the car pulls into sight, and Kennedy’s voice sounds through the rain.
“Ziggy, get in the car.”
I keep walking.
“Dammit, Ziggy, you don’t get to kiss me like that and then disappear. Get in the fucking car.”
I freeze at his tone. Kennedy’s never used that voice with me before, and when I get the courage to peer in at him, rage is written all over his face.
I’m stiff as I reach out and click open the door. Rain has come in on the passenger-side seat, so I’m not worried about dripping all over the leather as I climb in. Kennedy puts up the window from his side, and then I sit and wait for him to either keep driving or to yell at me.
He doesn’t do either.
“Shit, you worried me. Why the hell did you run off like that?”
It takes a full minute of silence before I realize he’s actually waiting on an answer. Staring at my lap, I shake my head.
“Look at me.”
That’s the last thing I want to do. My chest is squeezing too tight, my throat trying to close over, and this whole night feels like an out-of-body experience. Nothing about this is normal, and adding a pissed-off Kennedy to that only sharpens the experience.
I hate the way he sighs.
“I checked the weather, and this storm is supposed to be here for another few hours. I’m not driving back in this.”
That’s fine since I was prepared to walk all the way back anyway.
When it’s clear to him that I’m not planning on answering, he pulls back onto the road. We’re only driving for a minute or two before he turns into another parking lot.
I squint through the window at the glowing sign, blurred by the rain.
“We’re staying here tonight. I’ll book us a room.” He unclips his seat belt and sets his hand on the door to open it when he pauses. Kennedy turns serious eyes on me. “Be here when I get back. Understand?”
As much as I want to bolt again, I’m shivering, soaked through, and wanting nothing more than to make Kennedy happy. So I stay while he ducks inside, dreading whatever comes next.