I wish I had a picture of what she looked like that day.

I’d told her not to come, not to get involved, but I didn’t really expect her to listen. It’s like she said to me—we’re a team, and she’s the leader.

There are guys who’d have a problem with that, her asshole ex among them. And, sure, even I threw out a token protest when she said it, but that was mostly to make her smile.

Caroline’s being the leader—it doesn’t mean I’m her flunky. It doesn’t diminish me. It’s just who she is.

I always liked that about her. How she could walk into a classroom with her books, her binder, her pens, and you could see by the way she raised her hand, the questions she asked, the straight column of her spine: She’s the leader.

It’s what makes her so awesome.

So I wish I had a picture of Caroline on the steps of the police station, and it’s not because I’ve forgotten.

Her perfect posture. The way her hair bumped over the collar of her jacket, shiny and smooth.

The look on her face, serious one second and radiant the next.

The light that came into those big brown eyes of hers when she saw me walk through the station door.

I won’t forget. I could never forget what Caroline looked like the first time I saw her after she told me she loved me.

She’s the only person who ever said that to me, other than my mom or Frankie. The only girl to give me her heart, and I hate that she handed it to me right when I was leaving. When I fucked up everything—school, my home situation, the weed, my job. I got fired from the bakery. I missed my midterm, nearly got her arrested, and that’s when she decided it was time to say the words.

I didn’t know what to say back to her. I still don’t.

I love you, too.

She knows it, I think. If she doesn’t, I was doing something wrong all those weeks we had together.

She knows it, but it wouldn’t do either of us any good to have it out in the open. If I’d said it, it would’ve been just another loss for us to carry around.

I thought about saying, You shouldn’t, but I couldn’t bring myself to say that, either.

She shouldn’t. She does. I’m glad.

More than glad, I’m greedy over it. I can’t find any piece of me—a finger bone, a molecule, a single atom—that wants her to feel different.

She’s in love with me.

Thank fucking Christ.

So I wanted that picture. Caroline, standing in the sun with our friends gathered around her. Bridget and Quinn on the steps, listening as she told them something. I’d asked Bridge to take care of her, but seeing Caroline there, I realized she doesn’t need to be taken care of anymore, if she ever did. She had those two arrayed around her and her dad in a car by the curb, awaiting her commands.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16