Gabriel followed her straight out the doors. “You won’t even hear me out?”
“No.” If she stopped to turn around, he’d see how red her cheeks were. Had he heard Kara’s little chant?
“Why not?” He sounded honestly perplexed.
“Because you’re the kind of guy who apologizes because you’re supposed to, not because you truly give a crap.”
“All right, look.” He caught her arm and spun her around.
She gasped and stared up at him—and the dim school hallway seemed to collapse around her. She had to take a step back, and her shoulders ran into a row of lockers.
The hallway was empty. Kara hadn’t followed them.
Just her and Gabriel. She had to stop staring into his eyes or she was going to forgive him for everything, always.
“What?” she demanded.
“I’m not sorry for what I said to your father.”
“Well, you should be.” She bit the words out, and it helped. “Mentioning condoms? Are you insane?”
“He was a dick to start with.” Gabriel’s blue eyes were intense and almost frightening. “And I’m not real crazy about getting accused of rape in the first thirty seconds I meet someone.”
“Wow, you’re really good at this apology stuff.”
He took a long breath and didn’t look away—like he was gathering his temper, or his mettle, or . . . something.
“I am sorry,” he said, “for upsetting you.”
He meant it. She could feel it. It cost him something to say it, and the little tugs in her chest were begging her to nod, to forgive him, to acknowledge that there were many things unsaid, on both sides of this conversation.
She didn’t move.
Gabriel moved a bit closer. “I’m sorry, Layne. Really.”
His voice was low and rough, and this close, she could make out each individual eyelash, the line of his cheekbone, the bare start of shadow across his jaw. She felt ready to slide down the lockers and melt into a puddle at his feet.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about her father’s warnings last night, about an outlet. Her dad was right. Falling for a guy like Gabriel would end up with her hurt and her secrets all over school.
“So,” she said, feeling her throat close up, “is this when girls usually fall all over you and forgive you for everything?”
He jerked back like she’d hit him.
God, she regretted it immediately. His eyes went dark, walled off. Closed. A second ago, the distance between them had felt like an inch; now it felt like a mile.
But then he glanced down the hallway and back at her. He almost had a small smile on his face. “A friend just told me I pick a fight every time someone gets close to figuring me out.”
She swallowed.
Gabriel leaned in again, putting a hand on the locker beside her head. “What’re your secrets, Layne?”
She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe.
He held there for a moment.
Then he reached around her and jerked a yellow notebook out of her open backpack—the one she used to keep assignments in order. A pen was still attached to the spiral, and he pulled it loose.
That was so unexpected that she faltered. “My . . . what . . . why . . .”
He’d flipped to the middle and was already writing.
Before her heart could catch up, he shoved it back into her bag. He didn’t even smile, just stepped back. “Call me when you’re ready to cut through the bullshit.”
He’d turned the corner before she could get it together to pull the notebook out of her backpack, to see what he’d written.
There in the middle, scrawled across the page, was a phone number.
And right under it, in his handwriting, even and blocky:
I’m not perfect either.
CHAPTER 15
Gabriel poured Cheerios in a bowl and chased them with milk. Not much of a dinner, but food was food, and he was the only one home.
He had no idea where Nick was. Probably out somewhere with Chris, doing something with Quinn and Becca. Or maybe just out somewhere, doing Quinn. Like Gabriel gave a crap.
He dropped into the kitchen chair and set the bowl beside his textbook. The house was so silent that the sound echoed in the kitchen. Gabriel had his cell on the table, sitting next to the trig book, taunting him by remaining completely silent.
He’d never given a girl his number and walked off. At the time, it seemed like a great idea—put the ball in her court, leave her with a line and ten digits scrawled in her notebook.
Now it was like water torture, knowing she had it, knowing she was making the deliberate decision not to call.
Christ, was this how girls felt?
His pencil had dug trenches in his notebook. One page of questions had been assigned for homework, and he was stuck on the first one.
Find the focal diameter of a parabola with focus (2,4) and directrix y = –1.
It was almost enough to make him call Nick.
And he hated to admit it, but there was a small part of him that wished Nick would call. Or text. Something. Almost twenty-four hours had passed since they’d last spoken. That hadn’t happened . . . ever.
The front door slammed, and his older brother’s work boots clomped down the hallway. When Michael stopped in the kitchen doorway, Gabriel looked up.
Michael was filthy, covered in sweat and dust. Stains streaked across his T-shirt. His expression was puzzled. “What are you doing?”
Gabriel half shrugged. “Homework.”
An eyebrow raised. “Homework? Should I call a doctor?”
Gabriel took a spoonful of Cheerios and gave him the finger.
“That’s better.” Michael walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. “You all right?”
I made my twin brother hate me.
I can’t try out for basketball.
I gave my number to some girl who thinks I’m a thug.
Gabriel looked back at his textbook. “Yeah. Fine.”
Michael turned and walked back down the hall. “Cheerios? Order a pizza or something. I’m starving.”
Since his phone wasn’t doing anything better, Gabriel dialed for pizza. A minute later, he heard the upstairs shower turn on.
He went back to staring at the math problem. Maybe he could Google it.
Victory! He was right in the middle of the fourth question when the doorbell rang. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes was record time for pizza.
He had cash in his hand, but there wasn’t a pizza guy on the porch. A young woman stood there, wearing jeans and a canvas jacket, blond hair spilling across her shoulders. Her eyes looked vaguely familiar, and Gabriel tried to place where he knew her from.
“Hi.” She gave him a gentle smile. “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you.”
His brain engaged. The chick firefighter! She looked smaller without all the gear.
Then he froze, feeling the doorknob go slick under his hand. This had to be about last night. She would have been there, right? She must have recognized him.
But wouldn’t she be here with cops or something?
A little frown creased her mouth. “I’m Hannah. Hannah Faulkner.”
“Yeah.” His breath rattled around in his chest.
“Are you all right?”
He peered past her. No cop cars in the driveway, nothing other than a late-model Jeep Cherokee that was beat to hell, like she’d driven through the outback to get here. “What are you doing here?”
She looked a bit taken aback. “I hoped to talk to you about the other night. The fire in the woods.”
God, it was like he couldn’t breathe. “Yeah, and?”
Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her jacket. “I probably shouldn’t have stopped by without calling, but I was in the neighborhood, and I thought maybe I could say hi to your brother, too.” She shrugged a little, a touch of pink on her cheeks. “You know. If he’s around.”