All the Little Lights
Page 33

“So you’re just waiting for him? Like a puppy? Oh my God!” Anna Sue said, covering her mouth with her hand.
“We’re friends,” I said.
“You don’t have friends,” Presley snarled.
Elliott jogged up, still wet from his shower, and wrapped his arms around me, twirling me in a circle. I held him tight, as if letting go would let in all the hurt and darkness surrounding us.
He leaned down and planted a kiss on my mouth, so quick I didn’t realize what had happened until it was over.
I blinked, knowing Presley and the clones were gawking at us.
“Let’s go celebrate!” Elliott said with a toothy grin.
“Are you going to the party, Elliott?” Brie asked, nervously twirling her hair between her fingers.
He glanced over at them, seeming to just notice they were there. “The bonfire? Nah. I’m taking my girl out.”
He knew I wouldn’t argue in front of an audience, especially not Presley.
“Oh really?” Presley snapped, finally finding her voice. She smirked at Brie before speaking again. “Kit-Cat just said you weren’t her boyfriend.”
He lifted my hand to his lips and gave it a peck, winking at me. “Her name is Catherine, and . . . not yet. I’m having a good night, though. I think I just might talk her into it.”
Presley rolled her eyes. “Gross. C’mon,” she said, herding her friends to her car.
“Ready?” he asked, opening his door.
I got behind the wheel and scooted to the middle. Elliott sat next to me, but before I could move again, he touched my knee. “Just sit here, would ya?”
“In the middle?”
He nodded, hope in his eyes.
I exhaled, feeling awkward and comfortable at the same time. Elliott made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t since the day he’d left, like I wasn’t trying to survive alone.
He backed out of the parking space and drove toward the lot’s exit, taking off like a rocket down the road to the stop sign, and then again down Main Street. Other members of the team honked at us in excess as they passed, some of their passengers hanging out the window to wave or lift their shirts or other nonsense.
We passed Walmart, where there was a concentration of vehicles parked and high schoolers standing outside in the parking lot, yelling, dancing, and whatever else to stand out. When they recognized Elliott’s Chrysler, they yelled and honked, trying to get him to pull over.
“You can take me home and go back,” I offered.
He shook his head slowly. “No way.”
“I should get home, though.”
“No problem. We’ll go through the drive-through, and you’ll be home in ten. Deal?”
The Chrysler worked hard to reach forty miles per hour on the street that led to Braum’s. Elliott pulled into the drive-through, ordered two cones and two cherry limeades, and then pulled forward.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll pay you back.”
“No, you won’t. My treat.”
“Thanks for the ride home, too. And inviting me to the game. It was fun to watch.”
“Fun to watch me?”
“That was fun, too,” I said, my cheeks flushing.
When we received our cones, Elliott lifted his to toast. “To the Mudcats.”
“And their quarterback,” I said, touching my ice cream gently to his.
Elliott beamed, most of the ice cream top disappearing in his mouth. He kept his cherry limeade between his thighs while he drove me home, using one hand to steer and the other to hold his ice cream.
He talked about the different football plays, why they worked, why they didn’t, the trash talk, and as he pulled next to the curb in front of my house, he sighed with contentment. “I’m gonna miss football.”
“You won’t play in college?”
He shook his head. “Nah. I’d need a scholarship, and I’m not that good.”
“You said you’re considered one of the best in the state.”
He thought about that. “Yeah . . .”
“So you’re good, Elliott. A scholarship is possible. Give yourself some credit.”
He shrugged, blinking. “Wow. I hadn’t let myself believe it, I guess. Maybe I can go to college.”
“You can.”
“You think so?”
I nodded once. “I do.”
“Mom and Aunt Leigh want me to go. I don’t know. I’m sort of tired of school. I have things I want to do. Places I want to see.”
“You could take a gap year to travel. That would be fun. Except my dad use to say that most people who take a gap year never end up enrolling in college. And that might mess with any scholarships.”
He turned in his seat, his face just inches from mine. The seats were scratchy and smelled musty, mixing with Elliott’s sweat and freshly applied deodorant. He seemed nervous, making me nervous.
“I’m good for you,” he said finally. “I know . . . I know you might not trust me yet, but—”
“Elliott,” I blurted out. I sighed. “I lost the two people I cared about most in the same day. He died, and I was alone. With her . . . and you just left me here to drown. It’s not about trust.” I pressed my lips together. “You broke my heart. Even if we could find our way back to the way it use to be . . . that girl you knew . . . she’s gone.”
He shook his head, his eyes glossing over. “You have to know I wouldn’t leave like that by choice. Mom threatened to never let me come back again. She saw how I felt about you. She knew there was nowhere else I’d rather be, and she was right.”
My eyebrows pulled together. “Why? Why do you like me so much? You have all those friends—most of whom don’t like me, by the way. You don’t need me.”
He gazed at me for several long seconds, seeming in awe. “I fell in love with you that summer, Catherine. I’ve loved you ever since.”
It took me several seconds to respond. “I’m not that girl anymore, Elliott.”
“Yeah, you are. I can still see her.”
“That was a long time ago.”
He shrugged, unapologetic. “You never get over your first love.”
I struggled for words, finding none.
His eyebrows pulled together, desperation in his eyes. “Will you give me another chance? Catherine . . . please,” he pleaded. “I promise I’ll never leave you like that again. I swear on my life. I’m not fifteen anymore. I make my own choices now, and I hope to God you choose to forgive me. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t.”
I looked over my shoulder at the Juniper. The windows were dark. The house was sleeping. “I believe you,” I said, looking at him. Before his smile grew wider, I inserted a quick disclaimer. “But Mama’s been worse since Dad died. I have to help her run the bed and breakfast. I barely have time for myself.”
He smiled. “I’ll take what I can get.”
I mirrored his expression, but then it fell away. “You can’t come in, and you can’t ask questions.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
“That’s a question. I like you, and I’d like to try. But I can’t talk about Mama, and you can’t come inside.”
“Catherine,” he said, sliding his fingers between mine, “does she hurt you? Does anyone who stays there hurt you?”
I shook my head. “No. She’s just . . . a very private person.”