"Cal?" I cried out, bolting to a sitting position and clutching the sheet to my chin.
He cracked the door. "Did I wake you?"
I exhaled, relieved. "No. Come in." I patted the mattress beside me.
He kept the light off. "Just wanted to make sure you're okay.”
”I'm a little scared, but I feel safe with you."As skilled and determined as Jude was, Calvin had him beat. If Jude found Idlewilde, if he tried to break in, Calvin would stop him. These were the words I told myself.
"No one is getting in,” Calvin assured me, and it comforted me that like old times, he knew how to read my thoughts.
"Do you have an extra gun?" I asked. "Do you think I should carry one, just in case?"
The mattress dipped as he sat beside me. He was wearing a ratty red-and-black Highland High School Rams sweatshirt. I'd borrowed the sweatshirt countless times last year, taking it to bed with me so I could breathe in the warm, salty scent of Calvin while I slept. I hadn't seen Calvin or his sweatshirt since he left for Stanford eight months ago. It struck me as odd that he hadn't replaced the sweatshirt with one from Stanford. Maybe he had and it was in the wash. Or maybe he wasn't ready to let go of the past, and those who'd meant the most to him. It was a comforting thought.
Calvin asked, "Do you know how to use a gun?" "Ian has one, but I've never fired it."
"Then you're better off without it. Britt, I owe you an apology-" He stopped himself, dropping his eyes to his lap and exhaling slowly.
I could have smoothed over the silence with one dismissive or witty remark, but I decided not to jump in and save him. I deserved this. I'd waited a long time to hear these words.
"I'm sorry I hurt you. I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his expression crumpling with emotion. He turned away, hastily swatting away his tears."I know it seemed like I ran off as fast as I could, like I couldn't leave town, and you, fast enough. Believe it or not, I was scared to go to college. My dad put a lot of pressure on me. I was scared of failing. I felt like I had to cut myself off from home and start building my new life right away. I had to impress my dad. I had to show him I deserved the tuition money, and he'd given me a damn thorough checklist to make sure I was measuring up,” he added bitterly. "Do you know what his last words to me were before I left? He said, 'Don't you dare get homesick. Only pussies look back. 'He meant it, Britt. That's why I didn't come home for Thanksgiving or Christmas-to prove I was a man and didn't need to run home when things got tough. That, and I didn't want to see him."
I took Calvin's hand and squeezed it. To cheer him up, I lifted his chin and gave him a mischievous smile. "Remember how we made that voodoo doll when we were kids, and pretended it was your dad, and took turns stabbing a pin into it?"
Calvin snorted, but his voice remained toneless. "I stole one of his socks from his drawer, and we stuffed it with cotton balls and drew his face on it with a black marker. Korbie took the pin from my mom's sewing box."
"I don't even remember what he did that made us so mad." Calvin's jaw clenched. "I missed a free throw during my seventh-grade basketball game. When we got home, he told me to start shooting baskets. He wouldn't let me in the house until I'd made a thousand free throws. It was freezing out, and I only had on my jersey and shorts. You and Korbie watched from the window, crying. When I finished, it was almost bedtime. Four hours,” he murmured to himself despondently. "He let me freeze out there for four hours."
Now I remembered. Calvin had come inside at last, his skin mottled and chafed, his lips blue, his teeth chattering. Four hours, and Mr. Versteeg hadn't once stuck his head out the front door to check on his son. He'd sat in his office clicking away on his laptop, his back to the window that looked out on the hoop in the driveway.
"You'll thank me for this,” Mr. Versteeg had said, clasping Calvin on his frozen shoulder. "Next game, no air balls. You'll see."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
"I'm sorry your dad was so hard on you,” I told Calvin, lacing my fingers through his to show him I was on his side.
He hadn't moved from my bed. Stiff-shouldered, he glared at the wall as if he were seeing his unhappy childhood projected onto it like a movie. The sound of my voice seemed to break his trance, and he shrugged. "Was? He's still hard on me."
"At least you were able to escape to California this year,”
I offered optimistically, with a soft, playful tug on his sleeve. I remembered Calvin once praising me for being able to stir him out of his dark, pensive moods with a simple joke or a kiss. I now felt obligated to show him some things never changed. "The distance must have helped. His beating stick only reaches so far."
"Yeah,” he agreed blandly. "I don't want to talk about my dad. I want things between us to be like they used to be. Not between me and my dad,” he clarified quickly. "Between us. You and me. I want you to trust me again."
His words struck me with unseen force. Our conversation came uncannily close to the one I'd envisioned on the drive up to Idlewilde, days ago, before I knew the danger in store. I'd fantasized that Calvin wanted me back. I'd vowed I wouldn't soften until he'd fully paid for hurting me. But I didn't feel vindictive anymore. I wanted to let him love me. I was tired of games.
Calvin cupped my chin, nudging my face close to his. "I thought about you every night in my dorm. I imagined kissing you. Touching you."
Cal, dreaming about me. Miles away, in some small room I'd never visited. Cal, sharing my secret fantasy. Wasn't this what I'd wanted?
Playfully, he grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and gathered me onto his lap. "It feels right to be with you. I want you, Britt."
Calvin wanted to be with me. It should have been a romantic moment, I should have felt music in my heart, but my mind kept traveling back to everything I'd just gone through. Hours ago, I'd arrived on his doorstep freezing to death. I wasn't fully recovered. Why did he want this now? Wasn't he concerned about me?
"Is this your first time?" Calvin asked. "It only hurts a little." His mouth curved against my cheek. "Or so I'm told."
I had always wanted Calvin to be my first. I'd spent my childhood fantasizing that someday I would walk down the aisle and meet him at the altar. My first time would be on our honeymoon, on the beach, after dark, with the waves tugging at our bodies.
Calvin knew I wanted to wait. So why was he pushing me now?
”Say you want me, Britt,” Calvin murmured.