Page 43 of Crazy for You
“Georgia told me you rescued me before I dove into the ocean that night.”
That muscle in his jaw was still jumping. I had no doubt he was thinking of his brother. And while I knew little about his brother’s death except that he’d drowned, my gut was telling me Colton had been there when the ocean swallowed up Josh.
We stood together in the quiet of the landscape with only the sound of the restless trees.
My hand was on the move before my brain thought about what to say next. When my small palm was in his larger one, he squeezed with all he had.
Pain zipped up my arm, but I wasn’t about to complain. He needed a friend, and I was more than happy to help, to allow him to shed some grief. In a weird sort of way, I believed our souls were tangled together, maybe because we were the only ones standing among the dead. I mean, the wind blew that letter out of my hands for a reason—to help Colton.
The longer we were tethered together, the more my pulse sprinted like a runner who was primed to win an Olympic gold medal.
“My mom died in a car accident,” I whispered. I’d told him I’d lost my mom, but I didn’t remember if I’d mentioned how she died.
His grip grew tighter, if that was possible. Still, I didn’t flinch or make a sound. Instead, my heart bloomed with warmth.
“I shouldn’t have come home,” he said so quietly that I wasn’t sure I’d heard him. “I should’ve stayed away.” That time, his voice was a rumble louder, the circulation in my hand nonexistent.
I winced, letting out a weak grunt.
He dropped my hand quicker than I could track. Then he roughed his fingers through his wavy locks, something he did when his emotions were tearing him apart. “Stay away from me, Skyler. I’m not a good person.”
I barely shook off the proverbial bucket of cold water that had been dumped on my head when he pivoted on his heels and stormed away.
I wanted to tell him he was a great guy. I wanted to tell him that things would get better, that his loss would not hurt as much in time. But that would’ve been a lie. Mom’s death still gutted me as strongly as when she’d died three years ago. “Colton.”
He stopped next to a black marble headstone half his size, his shoulders rising so high they almost reached above his ears.
“What if I don’t want to stay away from you?” The words tumbled free, and I felt a little lighter for finally speaking my mind.
“You have no choice,” he tossed out. “I’m not interested in you.”
His words punched me in the stomach, knocking out whatever air I had remaining in my lungs. “I meant as a friend.”Liar.
“I don’t need a friend.” He marched off, leaving me with my mouth hanging open and my ego black and blue.
My phone beeped, reminding me that someone had called me earlier. I imagined it was Georgia, or maybe Nan. Then the thought that something had happened to Dad briefly cleared any remnants of Colton.
I fumbled to answer it, careful not to let the letter fly off again. “Nan, is Dad okay?” He’d been fine when I left, but that didn’t mean a thing.
“Calm down. He’s watching TV,” she said. “But he’s asking when you’ll be home. I’m sure he wants to see if you’re okay too. What he told you is a lot to take in.”
The breath that escaped was one of complete relief. “I’m good.” In part I was, except Colton was occupying my thoughts again. “I’m headed home now.”
I followed Colton’s path, but by the time I reached the road where my car was parked, he was nowhere in sight. Probably for the best, even though my body was protesting along with my hurt ego.
17
Icouldn’t sleep. Thrashing around and kicking the covers off me as my mind spun out of control was becoming a habit.
I hadn’t had a chance to dwell on my birth parents. Sure, the whole idea of being adopted wasn’t going away, but no matter how I picked apart the questions I had, I wouldn’t get any answers unless I contacted my birth mom. Even then, I had no guarantees that she would want to talk to me. Besides, Mr. Wilson, Dad’s lawyer, hadn’t located her yet.
I had plenty to ponder as I lay in bed, staring at the time on my ceiling and trying to make sense of the boy next door who had hijacked my brain for most of the night. He had a way of pushing all my other problems aside and saying, “Here I am.”
At three in the morning, I was analyzing our conversation in the cemetery.
“I don’t need friends. I’m not interested in you.”
The latter stuck like superglue, and I wondered what was wrong with me. I considered myself to be in great shape. Nice chest—not huge, but the right size for my body. He probably agreed with Grady that I looked like a boy.
