Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2) (3 page)

“Oh…yeah...thanks. I might not go, though,” she says, glancing over her shoulder to give her mom a sign that she’s coming. Her mom waves, and I lift a hand to wave back. I hope she doesn’t know about the Harpers.

I stand there a bit frozen while Emma steps up on the curb, thanking me for the ride. When I move to close the trunk, I glance at my skates again, and take a deep breath before shutting my eyes and blurting something out.

“I could teach you to skate. If…if you want. Sometime. Not tonight, but I was just thinking…I could teach you,” I stammer. I feel like an idiot, and I’m already working out a way to backtrack my words and give her an out when she interrupts my self-doubt.

“Why not tonight?” I look up to meet the silver of her eyes, the small curve of her lips, the smile, the flirting.

“Tonight works too,” I say. “I can pick you up. Say…six?”

“Yeah…” she turns and takes a few more steps toward her house, before glancing back at me over her shoulder. “Six. I’ll be ready.”

With her back to me, I push down to make sure the trunk is latched, then move toward the open driver’s door, watching her meet her mom and little brother at the front of her steps and head inside. I pull away from her house slowly, careful not to stare at the ornate window trim and the many other things that make this house stand out above every other home in Woodstock. It’s sort of fitting that Emma lives there, though. She’s the kind of girl who gets noticed.

It only takes a few minutes to get to our street, and I mentally calculate how easy it would be to bike to her house or to walk or jog. I call Dwayne as soon as I get into our apartment, asking him to use his car again tonight to go to the rink. He doesn’t ask how the ride home went or for any details about my sudden need to play hockey on a Friday night. I think part of him thinks that we’re bonding
over this. Maybe we are.

Dwayne was always closer with Owen, but he didn’t start dating my mom until Owen left for college. I was left with the awkward shit. Dwayne’s come to a few of the hockey scrimmages with me, and he’s helped with a few assignments, but other than that, our conversations have been limited to grocery lists and my mother’s work schedule. Of course, now we can add Emma Burke to the small catalogue of conversation items, too.

I spend most of the time at home alone pacing my room before leaving to pick up Emma, switching out my dark gray T-shirt for a long-sleeved black one and slipping on my gray jeans. I look like Owen when I wear this, and I think there’s a part of me that feels his confidence in my veins when I resemble him.

I leave a note letting Dwayne and my mom know I went to the rink, propping it up in the small bowl for keys and mail that my mom has by the front door, then lock up fast and jog to Dwayne’s car. Within minutes, I’m back in front of her house, the motor idling while I try to find the right thing to say for each possible person who might answer the doorbell once I ring it.

Pulling the keys from the ignition, I push open my door with my foot and step onto the roadway just as Emma is skipping down the front walkway of her house.

“I saw you drive up,” she says, working a large sweatshirt over her hips and slipping her hair through the hoodie on the top. She’s wearing black leggings and a purple sweatshirt, and she looks like a damned princess.

“Wow, I had a whole speech prepared for your parents and everything,” I smirk, opening the door while she slides inside.

“They’re not home,” she says quickly.

I close the door and step around the front of the car. As I open my door, I notice a figure looking out the window at the front of her house, the shadow lingering long enough to let me know that someone’s watching us leave.

I slide into the driver’s seat and start the car again, looking beyond Emma and out her window before shifting the car into drive. She follows my gaze, then looks back to her lap quickly, focusing on her seatbelt and the small purse she’s brought with her. I wait a few extra seconds, hoping she’ll look at me. When she’s still focused on the zipper of her purse, I relent and pull away from her house.

My excitement from a few minutes before was swallowed up by the lie I know she just told. The only thing that makes it okay is I know exactly why she told it. I’m a Harper, and her parents—they don’t like that she’s going out with me tonight. She lied because she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. Wrong or right, the fact that she cares about my feelings sorta makes it okay.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. She knows I know.

“It’s okay. I get it,” I say.

We don’t talk about it any more. I’ve heard the stories her family has probably heard, and when she’s ready, she’ll ask me for the truth, which is somewhere closer to the middle—between rumor and gruesome fact. Of all of us, I’m the one who was probably the most sheltered. Yet, I still get the same rep as the rest of us, buried by the same fallout.

“Hey, we didn’t get to talk much in PE. But…you’re new here, yeah?” I ask, glancing from her to the road and back again. I threw a shitload of gum in my mouth before I left my room, because I didn’t want to have bad breath, and when I’m nervous, I chew gum. Now the chomping is the only fucking thing I can hear, though. I roll down the window and spit the wad out onto the street. When I look back at her, her brow is pinched and her arms are folded.

“Uh, that’s still littering, you know?” she says.

I stare at her trying to decide if she’s fucking with me again, but after a few seconds, I decide she’s serious. I swallow hard and look back to the four-way stop I’ve been sitting at for a solid twenty seconds. “I’m pretty sure I will never spit my gum out again,” I say, thoroughly scolded by the girl who is in
no way
going to kiss me tonight now that I’m a litterer.

“You can spit it out, just not where people step. It’s gross,” she says, her voice growing a little softer.

“No…you’re right,” I say, glancing at her again.

“I…I didn’t mean to sound bossy. I’m bossy sometimes, but I don’t mean…” She’s shaking her head while she’s babbling, and it’s adorable. I reach over and touch her knee with the back of my hand, which has the effect of electroshock therapy on both of us. We straighten in our seats. She tugs at her seatbelt and slides closer to her door as I pick my hand up and promptly put it on the
two
of the
ten and two
of the steering wheel
.

A few long seconds pass in silence, and ironically I wish like hell I had my gum back in my mouth to give it something to do. “You’re not bossy,” I say, smiling as I glance at her sideways. “You were right. It’s gross.”

“Delaware,” she blurts out, and I shrug my shoulders, shaking my head as I squeeze the back of my neck with my left hand.

“Yeah, you lost me. I think I missed the transition,” I chuckle.

“Sorry,” she says. “That’s where I moved here from. I’m from Delaware.”

“Delaware.” I repeat the state, loving that she’s just as damned uncomfortable and awkward as I am now. “That’s my favorite colony.”

I can feel her looking at me, and I notice her start to laugh lightly out of the corner of my eye as I pull into the parking lot of the Ice Palace.

“You’re strange, Andrew Harper. Very strange,” she says through the end of her laugh as we both step from the car.

I move to the trunk, open it, and lift out my skates. “I’m not quite sure what makes me strange, but…I’ll take strange from you.” I grin as I motion toward the front doors to the rink, urging her to walk next to me.

There’s a peewee team on the ice when we enter; a group of maybe fifteen kids puffed up with hockey gear and pads and barely balancing on their skates. I nod to Chad, the guy coaching them. He plays with me on the weekends, and he’s been coaching here for years.

“Oh my god, they’re so cute,” Emma says, stepping close enough to put her hand flat along the glass. She watches as each kid takes a turn skating toward the goal, the only mission stopping before running into the metal. It’s harder than it looks, especially when you’re six. “Was that you when you were little? One of those little round kids wobbling on the ice?”

“No,” I say with a shake of my head. I lead her over to the skate rental counter. “My brothers taught me how to skate by throwing me out on a frozen lake. And we played our own brand of hockey, I guess. Or, they hit me hard and laughed when I fell on my ass…”

“That’s so mean!” Her eyes show genuine sympathy, and it’s sweet as hell.

“Yeah…and no. I mean, they were my older brothers. It’s like…a thing, ya know? And I was the little runt. I loved it as much as I hated it. Size?” I look down at her feet.

“Oh, uhm, sevens probably,” she responds.

“Sevens,” I say to Gary. He pulls out a pair of white blades and slides them along the counter to me, quirking one eyebrow up, his subtle way of giving me shit for being on a date. Am I on a date? I think this is a date.

We both sit on a nearby bench and unlace our shoes, then slip our feet into our skates. I get mine on quickly, then kneel in front of her to help her tie hers tight. Our fingers tangle for a brief second in the laces, and it makes my lip curve up on one side. I keep my gaze low, hiding it.

“So you just played with your brothers. No team or anything?” she says, leaning back and letting me finish working out the knot on her skates.

“Just my brothers,” I say as I take her hand and help her to her feet. She lets go of me as soon as she finds her balance, and I exhale my disappointment. With one step, though, she loses her center and grabs hold of my arm, clutching it with both hands.

“I got you,” I say, careful as I slide one arm around her back, noticing the feel of the curve of her body on my way. Her fingers dig into the fabric of my shirt on my shoulder, and her grip hurts a little, but I don’t care.

“I don’t think I can do this.” Her words come out in a quiet, nervous laugh.

“Sure you can,” I smile. “Look…it’s just ice. And it doesn’t hurt any more than falling on the ground. I promise. We won’t go fast, and I’ll hold you the entire time.”

I will hold you. Please don’t find your balance ever, because I will hold you. This is my job, holding you.

I lead Emma to the edge of the ice, and we pause while the group of young hockey players race up and off the ice, a few of them stumbling onto the carpet, others showing off how comfortable they are on their skates, sliding in sideways just before the wall. Chad nods at me as he follows behind the group of kids.

“See you tomorrow, Drew?” he asks, glancing quickly to Emma.

“Yup,” I nod. “Hey, you think maybe you let me score this time?”

Chad glances back to Emma, whose only focus is on her quivering ankles, then he looks back to me. “Only if you earn it, big man. Only if you earn it,” he chuckles as he glides past me.

Chad’s the same age my father would have been if he were still alive. I have a feeling that he and my father knew each other. I’ve never asked, and he’s never said anything, but there’s just this vibe I get from him. I can’t explain it, only that when most people know my family’s story, they start to treat me with either pity or fear. Chad does neither.

“Okay, are you ready?” I ask, tightening my hold on Emma, bringing her closer to my side. I tell myself it’s to give her confidence, but it’s really just so I can feel her close to me.

“Ready,” she stutters, her eyes still down on her feet.

“Okay, that’s good; look at your feet, and keep your weight forward. You get into trouble when the skates move ahead of you. Falling back—that’s what sucks,” I instruct.

Emma bites her lip and nods quickly.

“Got it, backward sucks,” she says. I laugh.

“Not quite what I said, but that’s okay,” I chuckle. “Okay, you’re just going to glide between me and the wall. No steps, just get used to the feeling of this.”

I push her, but stay at her side, and we move around one end of the rink inches at a time. After a few minutes, I convince her to bend her knees, and when she finally moves one leg, her feet slide around in a panic as she collapses on the ice, taking me with her.

“Damn, I’m sorry. I’m going to end up hurting you. It’s okay. I don’t need to learn this,” she says, looking around for a way to get up, her face painted with disappointment and frustration.

“Stop it. You can’t hurt me,” I say, pulling myself up and holding the wall so I can lift her back to her feet. “The average number of falls for a first timer is something like eight,” I say, completely making up a statistic. “That was just number one, so we’ve got a long way to go.”

When I raise her to her feet, I circle my arms around her, and her eyes are only inches from mine. Her pupils flare with a short-lived rush. If I were Owen, I’d kiss her—
right now.

Instead, I look down, dust off some of the ice crystals from her sleeves, and link my fingers through hers. “Come on, let’s finish our lap,” I say, still wishing I had the guts to kiss her.

I lead her a few more feet at a time around the rink, and we fall, me falling with her, at least a dozen more times. By the time we finish one full lap, though, she’s grown steadier, her ankles finding their strength, and when she feels brave, she lets go of my hand and glides a few feet at a time on her own.

This is when her smile takes over ruling every single thing I do.

“Oh my god, Andrew…” she says, a little breathless and excited. “Oh my god! Look!” She moves one foot slowly, and her steps are choppy and awkward, but with me within an arm’s reach, she manages to scoot her way around a quarter of the rink, leaning forward when we finally make it to the entrance, clutching the gate and collapsing over the side, exhausted.

“Well?” she asks, twisting her body around to face me. “How’d I do?” she asks.

“Better than average,” I smirk, my eyes flitting to her hand, wanting to hold it again. She reaches up and smacks my chest once, but quickly grips the wall again when she feels her balance start to give out.

“You said average was eight falls. I’m pretty sure I fell way more than eight times,” she laughs, holding herself along the railing until she finds a bench to sit at.

“Yeah, but you fell…like…
way
better than most people,” I joke. She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she raises one leg to unlace her skate, and I get a little lost in watching her move. She leans forward to catch the line of my eyesight to bring me back.