All the Little Lights
Page 52

“There’s a keg party at the dam,” Sam began, but I was already shaking my head. “C’mon, Elliott, why not? It’s the best way to get back at Presley and them, anyway. They were hoping Tatum would get some alone time with you, and they could spread another rumor. If we show up with the girls and they find out they rode all the way back with us on the bus? They’ll be livid,” he said, chuckling.
“Catherine has to get home.”
He elbowed me. “We can sneak her out.”
I looked out the window. “Nah, man. You don’t know what she goes through.”
“Her mom’s pretty strict, huh? Well, you can still go. With Madison and me there, at least the Brubitches can’t say you did something you didn’t.” When I shook my head again, Sam frowned. “Why? You haven’t been to a party since school started.”
“And I won’t. Not without her.”
“Then talk her into it. A little guilt trip never hurt no one.”
“I can’t do that, Sam. You don’t know how hard it was for me to win her trust back. I came here with no idea if she’d forgive me or not. I spent two years away from her, and I felt like I was going to suffocate right up until she spoke to me for the first time. We’re just getting back to where we were before I left. Maybe even better. I’m not ruining everything I’ve worked for over a party. It’s not more important to me than Catherine.”
“Is there anything that is? Football?”
“No.”
“Your camera?”
“Nope.”
“What about food?”
I chuckled. “If I had to choose, I’d starve.”
“I mean, I’m crazy in love with Madison, so I get it, but . . . I don’t know about all that.”
I shook my head. “Then you don’t get it.”
“Explain it to me.”
“What’s the point in going to a party if I wouldn’t have fun without her there?” I asked.
“You don’t know that. You haven’t seen Scotty jump over the bonfire.”
“Can he clear it?” I asked.
“Most of the time,” Sam said.
We laughed.
“By the way,” Sam said, “I do get it. Madison can’t go to parties, either. When I go, I’m just wishing the whole time that she’s there.” He looked out the window and shrugged. “But she wants me to go. She doesn’t want to feel like she’s holding me back. If Catherine feels that way, just go for an hour. Hang out with the guys and go home. Then you’ll feel like you bonded with the team, and she doesn’t feel guilty all the time. Maddy knows I’d never do anything to hurt her. She’s my best friend.”
I nodded. Catherine was my everything. If something happened to her while I was at a stupid party, if she came to my house and I wasn’t there, if she was hurt even for a second by some rumor, I’d never forgive myself. But I couldn’t tell Sam any of that.
“Catherine is my best friend, too.” My phone began to buzz. The closer we got to Oak Creek, the more the team texted about the party.
Sam read the messages. “See? It’ll suck if you don’t go.”
“I’ll talk to Catherine,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Catherine
I blinked my eyes just as the buses pulled into the parking lot. I stretched, hearing the football team stir behind us. We filed off the bus. Just as Elliott took my hand, Mrs. Mason stopped us.
“Let me know if your mom wants answers about tonight, okay? I’ll have Mr. Thornton send a letter home. If she’s still unhappy, he can call.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said.
“You’re sure? Catherine, if she’s upset . . .”
“I’m sure. Thanks, Mrs. Mason. Good night.”
Mrs. Mason smiled at me and then Elliott before turning her attention to Coach Peckham.
Elliott walked me straight to his car. The ground was wet from the freezing rain, the parking lot lights glinting off the puddles Elliott lifted me over like I weighed nothing. He was still limping, but not as much.
He started his car, and we waited inside for it to warm up. He took my hands in his, blowing his warm breath on them.
“Madison said there was a party tonight. Did you want to go?”
He shrugged. “I mean, yeah, but it won’t kill me not to.”
“So you want to go?”
“I’ve been to plenty of parties. They’re all the same.”
“But it’s your senior year, and these parties are for you. To celebrate you. You’re the star quarterback. You’ve turned this team around. They love you.”
“I love you.”
I looked down, trying not to blush. “I . . . made you something. It’s stupid,” I said, feeling a disclaimer was necessary.
“You got me something?” he asked, his brows shooting up. His grin widened.
I pulled a stack of cards out of the inside pocket of my coat and handed them to him, watching for his reaction as he read each of the envelopes.
“When you’re lonely,” he read. “When you’re having a bad day,” he said, flipping to the next one. “When you miss me. When we’re fighting. When we just finished a great day. If we break up.” His head popped up, and he frowned. “I’m tearing this one up.”
“Please don’t! It’s four pages long.”
He looked down at the envelopes again. “For now.” He opened the envelope and unfolded the notebook paper, reading over my words.
Dear Elliott,
I don’t have anything else to give you, so I hope this will do. I’m not good at talking about my feelings. I’m not good at talking about anything, really. It’s easier for me to write it down.
Elliott, you make me feel loved and safe in a way no one has in a long time. You’re brave, and you let the horrible things people say roll off your shoulders like nothing can touch you, and then you say things that make me think I’m the only one who can. You make me feel beautiful when you’re the beautiful one. You make me feel strong when you’re the strong one. You’re my best friend, and I also happen to be in love with you, which is just the best thing I could’ve hoped for. So thank you. You’ll never know how much better you make my life just for being in it.
Love,
Catherine
Elliott looked up at me, beaming. “This is the best present anyone has ever given me.”
“Really?” I said, cringing. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of something to make, but . . .”
“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He leaned over to kiss my lips, pecking them twice before finally pulling away. He looked down, his cheeks flushing red. “You’re my best friend, too. I’m glad you wrote that.”
I picked at my nails, already feeling exposed, but my curiosity was stronger than my hatred of feeling vulnerable. “Maddy said . . . she said she knew something you weren’t telling me, but she wouldn’t say what. It has to do with why you came here.”
“Oh. That.” He massaged the top of my hand with his thumb.
“Are you nervous to tell me?”
“A little bit. Yeah.”
I breathed out a laugh. “Why? You weren’t nervous to tell Maddy.” I nudged him. “Tell me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, relaxing as the heater warmed the car. We were one of the last cars out of the parking lot. Everyone else was in a hurry to get to the party.