“Go?” Dawson’s voice traveled down the hall from the front door, blocking my way. “Where exactly do you think you’re going?” He headed toward me down the now-too-small hallway with AJ at one end, and him at the other. The brewing tension seemed to choke off the oxygen around me, making it hard to breathe.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
“She can’t drive,” AJ argued. “She’s had too much to drink.”
Dawson flashed him a hard look, then returned his stare to me.
“Can I talk to you for a second, Ky?” It wasn’t really a question, so I didn’t bother answering. He indicated the stairs to the basement, and I begrudgingly moved toward them, descending back into the cavern of hostility.
When we reached the bottom, he took me by my arm and pulled me into a nook next to the boiler-room door near the drinking-game side of the basement.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes full of disapproval.
“Escaping this hell. What are you doing?”
“Pretending to want to be here when my mind is fixated on a lab in Columbus.”
“Great! Let’s bail, then.”
From the other side of the room, I heard laughter. The familiar sound of girls cackling at an inside joke. Somehow, I knew I was likely the butt of it.
“Looks like the new kid is getting tired of you already, Kylene.” More laughter. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you can find another guy from two hours away to date when this one runs from you screaming.”
I looked up at Dawson, rage fueling my stare. “I’m going to shank that bitch,” I said, my words little more than a growl. When I went to make a break for it, he stopped me without effort, stepping in my path and guiding me back against the wall. To someone looking on, it would have looked fluid—almost dance-like. Almost sexual. But I felt anything but sexual at that moment. Murderous seemed more fitting.
“She would hardly be worth going to prison for,” he said, his steely stare glancing over to my potential victim and back.
“I’m not so sure about that,” I replied, breathing hard. “Besides, I look pretty good in orange.”
“Nobody looks good in orange. And you can’t let her get to you.”
“I normally don’t. Alcohol seems to lower my tolerance for ignorant bitches.”
“Clearly,” he said dryly. Then he took a deep breath and leaned in closer to me. “She’s needling you because she thinks she can.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, you’re better than her. Better than all of them. Don’t give them what they want.”
“And what is that, exactly?” I asked, still trying to calm down.
“That fiery temper of yours—the one you can’t keep a lid on.”
I wanted to argue, but even in my buzzed state, his words made sense. With the wall at my back and nowhere to go, I looked up at Dawson, doing all I could to hide the frustration I felt. He was right, and I knew it, but I wasn’t willing to show him that.
Punching him in the mouth would have only proved his point, but it was tempting.
“Stop scowling at me,” he said, sweeping my hair to the side of my face. “We’re supposed to be in love, remember?”
“Sometimes you make it really hard to.”
He smiled. It was clear that he delighted in my pain. I had to refrain from kneeing him in the balls so I could delight in his.
“Only sometimes?”
“Always.”
“Don’t pretend you hate me, Danners. We both know that’s not true.”
“Do we?” I asked, staring up at him. His smug smile was reply enough. “If I don’t hate you, then you need to stop pretending you can’t stand me. For someone who doesn’t want to, you spend a lot of time in my presence.”
“We’re both pretending. I’m just better at it than you are.”
I bit my tongue and looked away from him to find Heather glaring at me from across the room. She said something to the kids around her before they all started laughing again. My blood boiled instantly.
Dawson followed my gaze over and frowned.
“Being just like them is starting to look like a really great plan right now, Dawson,” I muttered under my breath. He caught my chin and gently turned my face toward him, breaking my death stare with Heather.
Then his hand fell away.
“Kids like her … they want you to fail because it makes them feel better. They know these are the best years of their lives. They peak at eighteen.”
“Speaking from experience?” I asked, heat in my tone.
Darkness washed over his expression as he leaned in closer to me, his cheek brushing against mine.
“You are not the only person alive to think high school is a special kind of hell.” His breath was light on my ear, and as much as I hated myself for it, my heart started to race. “If you want to beat them—really stick it to them—do the last thing they’d expect you to do right now. Show them that nothing they do can touch you.” He pulled away just enough to pin deadly serious eyes on me, his face still so, so close to mine. “Make them eat shit and thank you for it.” Before I had time to think it over, my hands drifted up to the small of his back, my fingers gripping his waist. “Even if it’s a lie,” he continued, “even if it’s all pretend, don’t ever let them see that they’re getting to you.”
My breath hitched in my throat as his forehead rested against mine.
“The last thing they’d expect…,” I mused as a flicker of mischief pulsed through me. I pulled his body so tight against mine that not a part of us wasn’t touching. His head pulled away from me for a second, his eyes wide. “I bet they didn’t expect this.…”
In a flash, my lips were on his, my tongue deep in his mouth. I ran my hands up his shirt, digging my nails into his back. After a moment’s hesitation, he pressed back against me so hard that I could barely breathe. For a solid ten seconds, we kissed in the basement of AJ Miller’s house.
And nothing about it felt pretend.
FORTY-FIVE
Given my less-than-sober state by the time we left, Dawson drove me home, lecturing me on the perils of teenage drinking, like the responsible law enforcement officer he was. He took Tabby home first, then started off toward my house on the other side of town, which left my car at AJ’s overnight. Apparently, I’d have to figure out how to get that later.
And come up with a nonscandalous reason for it still being there.
I hated seeing Tabby walk up her front steps, tripping on them in classic Tabby style before fumbling her way inside. The second she had exited the car, the tension seemed to double. Dawson and I drove halfway home in silence, neither one of us knowing what to say. When I faked being asleep, he finally spoke.
“So, Danners … about that kiss,” he drawled.
My eyes shot open. “New subject.”
Seeing my instant anxiety, he started in on me.
“Don’t get me wrong, It wasn’t half bad—”
“Not really interested in your feedback—”
“But I’ll admit, I didn’t see it coming.”
“Beer makes me do things. It’s evil and should be destroyed.”
“It makes you do things you don’t have the balls to do when sober.”
“You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?”
“Admit it, you’ve wanted to kiss me for a while now—”
“Please stop—”
“You’ve been dreaming of me at night—”
“Help me, Jesus—”
“Maybe next time will be better if—”
“Next time?”
“Yeah,” he said as though I was the one who’d taken leave of my senses, not him. “The next time we break your PDA rules.”
“Do you have your gun?”
“It could happen, you know. The case isn’t closed yet. We might have to keep this ruse up for a while still.…”
“Please shoot me. I’m begging you.”
He finally cracked a smile, unabl
e to suppress his delight in the knowledge that he’d gotten the better of me.
“Calm down, Danners. I’m just messing with you.” I slumped down in my seat with a mighty exhale. “But seriously, that can’t happen again.”
“Not gonna be a problem, hotshot.”
“It’s not just an age thing … there are too many reasons to count—”
“Shhhhh … it’s quiet time. No more talking. You’re much cuter when you’re not talking.”
“Cuter, huh?” Ugggggh.… Me and my stupid drunk mouth. “You think I’m cute?”
“I think you’re still talking.…”
“Don’t run away from your feelings, Danners.”
“I’m not running, I’m trying to pass out and forget this night ever happened. The only thing I feel right now is nauseous.”
“No puking in the car.”
“Then you’d better drive faster.”
“Are you serious right now? Are you really going to puke?”
“Will it get me home faster if you think I am?” The car slowed at least ten miles per hour. “I’ll take that as a no.”
He grew quiet for a moment, which made me nervous. A quiet Dawson was a thinking Dawson, and little good could possibly come of that.
“Tell me something: Do the kids at your school really hate you that much?”
I let out a mirthless laugh. “Yep.”
He hesitated for a moment. “All because of Donovan?”
“Because of Donovan and my father and the topless picture scandal. And because they’re a bunch of narrow-minded hicks that dream of being prom queen and having eighteen babies before they’re twenty-five. I don’t fit in here.…” I turned my gaze out the window. “I don’t know if I fit in anywhere.”
Silence fell upon us again, but this time, it was less welcome. I don’t know why I’d told Dawson that. He wasn’t exactly a bastion of sympathy. But maybe I hadn’t realized—or been willing to acknowledge before that moment—that it bothered me as much as it did. Without Tabby and Garrett—possibly AJ—I had no clue how I would survive.
“Good,” he said. His voice was firm but softer than normal. I turned to face him, ready to tell him what an asshole thing that was to say, but he cut me off at the pass. “Do you want to fit in with people like that? Derail your track in life to appease them?” My tongue went limp in my mouth. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be the kind of girl capable of clearing her father’s name.”
It felt like my heart stopped for an instant.
“But you still think he’s guilty.”
He nodded. “I do, but I’m slowly becoming convinced that you might just find a way to prove me wrong.”
“If you really believe that, why aren’t you trying to stop me?”
He pulled up at a stop sign about a quarter mile from Gramps’ house and turned to face me. “Because a small part of me wants to see you succeed.”
“So I can prove you wrong about who my father is?”
“No,” he said. “So you can prove me right about who I’m starting to think you are.”
While my swimming mind tried to wrap itself around the subtext of Dawson’s words, he pulled away from the stop and headed toward Gramps’ house. The trip seemed to pass in a blink. He rolled into the driveway, killing the lights while the car idled.
“Thanks for the ride,” I mumbled under my breath as I reached to open the door. My arm felt heavy, like it was resisting my commands. Like something in me wanted to force me to stay—to reply to Dawson’s earlier words.
“Like letting you drive after drinking was ever an option,” he said, a hint of teasing in his tone.
“Yeah. I guess it wasn’t.”
I finally managed to push the passenger door ajar and swing my leg out. Right before I stood up, Dawson caught my arm.
“Do yourself a favor and eat something before you go to bed. A lot of something, actually. You’ll thank me for it in the morning.”
“I’m sure I will.”
His expression tightened as he looked at me across the dimly lit interior of his car, but he let me go a moment later, and I all but bolted away on unsteady legs. And they weren’t weak from drinking. Dawson’s words had shaken me. No matter how I tried to spin them, I couldn’t find a hidden, snarky connotation. Nothing sarcastic underlying them.
I could hear the faint purr of the motor as I made my way up onto the porch and to the front door. It remained until I had the door unlocked and open. The car shifted into reverse and started to pull away, lights still off. I turned to watch Agent Dawson back out of Gramps’ driveway, his expression visible only with the help of the full moon above. Something about it was different. Concern creased its way into the set of his brow—the corners of his eyes. Maybe he was worried that he had said too much in the car. Maybe he felt guilty for what had happened between us at the party. Or maybe something else was brewing inside the hotshot detective that even he didn’t understand, and his inability to comprehend it was what bothered him the most.
FORTY-SIX
I woke up with an uncontrollable desire to hit things. Sadly, it wasn’t an uncommon event, but the party had my head spinning in too many directions to focus. I needed to get my shit together before the DNA results came. If the sex ring shut down, Dawson and I could drop our charade and he could go back home. Because that’s what I wanted. Him gone. Long, long gone.
At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
Confusion, along with the barrage of other emotions I didn’t feel like unpacking at that moment, nagged at me until I was out of bed and getting dressed for the gym. I walked outside to find my car waiting for me. I tried not to think about the person who’d likely brought it home.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and my adrenaline spiked out of reflex. I fished it out to find Meg’s name on the screen.
“Hey, Meg. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to let you know I got the signed papers, and I sent them off.”
“Cool. Do me a favor—let me know when the files arrive. Before you call my dad.”
Silence.
“Why would I need to do that?” she asked, her tone dubious.
“He’s not happy about any of this, Meg. I don’t think we should discuss anything with him until you have something concrete, that’s all.”
I prayed she couldn’t hear my heart beating wildly through the phone.
“You sure that’s why?”
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
“I’ll be in touch, kid.”
I hung up and released the breath I was holding. Meg was no fool; she knew something was up but was smart enough not to press the issue. Plausible deniability for the win.
* * *
The door to Tyson’s gym squeaked loudly as I pushed it open, drawing attention from those already warming up. I got nods from a few, including Mark, who was kneeing one of the heavy bags. I waved, then ran in, kicking my shoes off. My head was already beginning to protest me being there, a headache brewing, but whether or not it was about to explode was beside the point. I still needed to hit something.
“Glad you could drag your ass out of bed in time to only be five minutes late,” Kru Tyson shouted over the music. “You look like hell. Rough night?” I nodded, hating how my head pounded with the movement.
“So rough,” I replied, walking over to grab a jump rope. “Apparently, when you drink too much, you get this thing called a hangover … who knew?”
He laughed at my response. Then he turned the music up louder.
“This’ll help.”
I spent the next thirty minutes wishing I hadn’t been born. Two emergency trips to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach later, though, things were looking up. At least until I heard Tyson greet someone while I whaled on the heavy bag.
“Hey man, can I help you with something?”
“I’m looking for somebody,” Dawson replied. There was a beat of pause in their conversation before Dawson spoke again
. “And there she is.…”
I could practically hear Dawson’s smile in his response.
I looked over my shoulder to find him standing in the small entry area, staring me down.
“You know him?” Kru Tyson asked, shooting me a curious look.
I sighed heavily. It wasn’t an act. “Yep. That one’s mine.”
Tyson’s eyes drifted back to the young fed, dressed in workout clothes, and gave him a thorough once-over. Tyson’s mouth pressed to a thin line; he didn’t seem to be overly impressed.
“Shoes off if you’re coming in,” he said before walking away, shooting me a “do you want me to make him leave?” look. I shook my head as Dawson approached.
You still have to pretend he’s your boyfriend, I repeated to myself over and over under my breath.
“Hey, I’ve been trying to reach you,” he said, coming to stand next to me. Too close to me. I took a step back, and he eyed me curiously. So did Tyson.
“Sorry. I’m smelly. Why are you trying to get a hold of me this early on a Saturday?” The irritated quirk of his eyebrow was answer enough. I took back the space between us that I’d just retreated and lowered my voice. “Did the DNA come back?”
“Danners!” Kru Tyson shouted. “You’re either training or you’re leaving, Your choice.”
“Sorry!” I replied, turning to face the bag. With a jerk of my head, I told Dawson to get behind it. “You hold; I kick. Got it?”
“I can manage that,” he replied, gripping the bag. I uncorked a switch kick on it that got his attention, and he held it tighter. “The test results aren’t in yet. They should be soon though. I just wanted to let you know that as soon as we get the match, I’ll be out of your hair.” He hesitated for a second, staring at me over the bag. “No need for any repeat performances of last night.”
I kicked the bag again.
“Well that’s a relief,” I said, not sounding nearly as relieved as I should have.
Don't Say a Word (Hometown Antihero) Page 25
