Page 21 of The Promposal

“I’m not surprised. You hit him really hard. I’ll take you to my house, and we’ll put some ice on it.”

Earlier he’d told me that he’d wanted to get out of his house tonight. I didn’t want to force him into going back there. “We can go to my house.”

He shook his head. “I’m not taking you home until we fix your hand. I don’t need to deal with a furious father on top of everything else.”

I briefly wondered what the “everything else” part was. But all I could think about was Trent and how blatantly and uncaringly he had betrayed my sister and her loyalty. Her trust.

“I still can’t believe he would cheat on Ella.”

“I can. What do you expect from a refugee fromEdward Scissorhands?” Jake was trying to lighten my mood. To make me smile.

It was working. A little.

As my rage receded, I was shocked at what had just happened. “I can’t believe I hit him. I don’t even like violent movies. I’m not a violent person.”

“Someone should tell that to Trent’s face.”

A few minutes later, we pulled up in front of the place Jake called his house, but it more resembled the palace of a small European kingdom.

“Come on, Muhammad Ali. Let’s get your knuckles iced.”

Scooby waited for us at the door, wagging his tail enthusiastically. He nearly knocked Jake over in his excitement at seeing him again, even though we’d been gone for only half an hour, tops. His mom walked into the front foyer where Jake was petting Scooby and saying he was a good boy. She seemed surprised to see me, even though I came over all the time.

I said hello to her.

“Hello, Mattie. I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” Mrs. Kingston glanced uneasily between me and Jake. Maybe it was because of what had just happened with Trent, but my mind went to the worst place.

What had Jake said to her? About me? What was up with her reaction? She’d always been so welcoming to me in the past.

“If you’ll forgive me, I’m exhausted, and I’m going up to my room. Jake, there’s some cake on the counter if you and Mattie would like dessert.”

It was really early for her to be going to bed. I figured she was just trying to give me and Jake some privacy. Unlike my dad, who would have told us to come watch a game or a movie with him and sat in between us.

Maybe that was the difference between being the parent of a teen boy and a parent of a teen girl.

We told her good night, and now my mind kept going back to the fact that he’d wanted to get out of his house.

Was something happening with the Kingstons?

I followed Jake into his massive kitchen, still cradling my left hand. I really hoped I hadn’t done any permanent damage, or I might not ever be able to draw again and that would destroy me.

Jake got me a glass of water and some extra-strength ibuprofen. I sat down at the island on one of the bar stools. As I swallowed the pills, he dug through the freezer until he found a bag of peas. I hissed in shock and pain when he placed it on top of my hand. He sat down on the bar stool next to me.

“Maybe I should go to the emergency room. What if I’m bleeding internally?”

“You’re not ...” Jake closed his eyes for a second, as if trying to relax. “You can’t bleed internally in your hand. There’s no organs in there.”

“It could be broken,” I insisted stubbornly.

He gently checked the bones in my hand. “If the swelling gets worse or the pain doesn’t go away, I’ll take you for an X-ray.”

I nodded. “I’ve never hit anybody before. Not hitting people is supposed to be one of those things you learn in kindergarten.”

“One”—Jake held up a single finger—“you have hit somebody before, and two, you did not learn in kindergarten that you shouldn’t hit people.”

Confused, I raised my eyebrows at him.

He smiled, as if remembering something that made him happy. “The first day of kindergarten you punched some kid in the face for calling you Silly Tilly.”

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