Linger

Grace looked away, cheeks colored. I’d never seen her look ashamed, and somehow it heightened how unwell she looked. “I should be home before they get back from the show. Midnight.”

“So now,” Cole said.

For a single, helpless, wordless moment, I thought Grace and I both had the same thought: that we didn’t want this day to end. That we didn’t want to part ways and climb into two cold beds far from each other. But there wasn’t any use saying that out loud, so instead I said, “You do look really tired; you probably should get some sleep.” Which was not at all what I wanted to say. I wanted to take her hand and lead her upstairs to my bedroom and whisper, Stay. Just stay.

But then I would be who her father thought I was, wouldn’t I?

She sighed. “I don’t want to.”

I knelt in front of Grace so that I was eye to eye with her; her cheek was still pressed against the armchair. She looked so young and unguarded; I didn’t realize how accustomed I was to her intense expression until it was gone.

“I don’t want you to, either,” I said, “But I also don’t want you to get in trouble. Are you—okay to drive?”

“I have to be,” Grace said, “I need my car for tomorrow. Oh, right. No school tomorrow; teacher work day. But for the next day.”

She stood up, slowly, uncertainly. I was aware that both Cole and I were just watching her as she found her keys and held them in her hand as if she wasn’t sure what to do with them.

I didn’t want her to go, but more than that, I didn’t want her to drive.

“I’ll drive her car,” Cole said.

I blinked at him.

Cole shrugged. “I’ll drive her car and she can ride with you. You can bring me back or…” He shrugged again.

Grace was giving me a look like she really wanted me to say yes, so I said yes. “Thanks,” Grace told Cole.

“Don’t mention it.”

I was having a hard time believing Cole’s transformation to a nice guy, but as long as he didn’t wreck her car, I was happy to have the few extra moments with Grace and the peace of mind that she’d made it home.

So we went home, Cole a lonely figure in the driver’s seat of Grace’s car behind us, and me with Grace’s hand held tightly in my lap. When we got to her parents’ house, Cole deftly backed her car into the driveway while Grace leaned over and kissed me. It started off as a chaste kiss and then my mouth was parted and Grace’s fingers held my shirt and I wanted to stay, oh God, I wanted to stay—

—and Cole tapped on the window. He was shuddering in the cold wind as I sheepishly rolled down the window.

“You might not want to put your tongue in her mouth; her dad’s looking out the window. Also, you’d better hurry,” he said, looking at Grace, “because in two seconds, I’m going to need you”—now he looked at me—“to pick up my clothes and I don’t think you want a parental audience for that.”

Grace’s eyes got wide. “They’re home?”

Cole jerked his chin toward the other car in the driveway. Grace stared at it, confirming my earlier suspicions about our visit being unapproved. “They said they’d be late. It’s always after midnight for this show.”

“I’ll come in with you,” I said, though I thought I’d rather hang myself. Cole was looking at me as if he was reading my thoughts.

She shook her head. “No. It’ll be easier without you there. I don’t want them yelling at you.”

“Grace,” I said.

“No,” she said. “I’m not changing my mind. I can handle it. This needs to happen.”

And that was my life, in a nutshell. Kissing Grace hurriedly good-bye, wishing her luck, letting her go, and then opening my car door to shield Cole’s shift from prying neighborhood eyes.

Cole crouched on the asphalt, shaking, looking up at me. “Why’s she grounded?”

I glanced at him and then returned my eyes to the house, making sure that no one was watching us. “Because her absentee parents decided they hated me. Probably because I was sleeping in her bed.”

Cole spiked his eyebrows without commenting. He considered. He ducked his head while his shoulders shuddered. “Is it true they left her in a car to cook?”

“Yeah. That moment is a metaphor for their entire relationship.”

“Nice,” Cole said. After a moment, he said, “Why is this taking so long? Maybe I was wrong.”

He already smelled of wolf. I shook my head. “It’s because you’re talking to me at the same time. Stop fighting it.”

He was crouched like a runner now, his fingers spread on the asphalt, one knee bent, like he was ready to take off. He said, “Last night—I didn’t think—”

I stopped him. And I said what I should’ve said before. “I was nobody when Beck brought me back, Cole. I was so damaged, I couldn’t function. I barely ate and I used to scream when I heard running water. I don’t remember that at all. I have giant holes in my memory. I’m still damaged, but not as bad as I was. Who am I to question Beck choosing you? Nobody.”

Cole gave me a strange look, and then he threw up on the road. Jerking and shivering, he backed out of his human form, tearing his T-shirt as he thrashed against the side of my car. Cole as a wolf shuddered on the pavement for a long time before I was able to convince him to head toward the woods behind Grace’s house.

After Cole had gone, I lingered by the open door of my car, looking at Grace’s house, waiting for the light to come on in her bedroom and imagining myself there. I missed the sound of her shuffling her homework while I listened to music on her bed. I missed the cold of her feet against my legs when she climbed into bed. I missed the shape of her shadow where it fell across the page of my book. I missed the smell of her hair and the sound of her breath and my Rilke on her nightstand and her wet towel thrown over the back of her desk chair. It felt like I should be sated after having a whole day with her, but it just made me miss her more.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

• GRACE •

It was oddly freeing, knowing that I was walking into trouble. I realized that all day I’d been wondering if I was going to get caught, what would happen, if they would find out later. And now I didn’t have to wonder anymore.

I knew.

I shut the front door behind me and stepped into the hall. At the end of it, I could see my father standing with his arms crossed over his chest. My mother stood a few feet away from him, partially hidden by the door to the kitchen, her posture identical. They didn’t say anything, and I didn’t, either.

I wanted them to scream at me. I was ready for screaming. My whole body felt like it was shaking on the inside.

“Well?” my father asked when I got to the kitchen. That was it. No shouting. Just “Well?” as if he expected me to confess any number of sins.

“How was the show?” I asked.

My father gazed at me.

Mom broke first. “Don’t pretend like nothing happened, Grace!”

“I’m not pretending,” I said. “I’ll say it: You told me not to go out, and I went out.”

Mom’s knuckles were white, pressed into fists at her sides. “You’re acting like you didn’t do anything wrong.”

I felt deadly calm inside. It had been right to tell Sam not to come in; I wouldn’t have been able to be this resolute with him here. “I didn’t. I went to a studio in Duluth with my boyfriend, had dinner, and then came back home before midnight.”

“We told you not to,” Dad said. “That’s what makes it wrong. You’re grounded, and you went out anyway. I cannot believe how deeply you have betrayed our faith in you.”

“You are completely blowing this out of proportion!” I snapped. I expected my voice to sound louder than his, but it sounded thin in comparison; the second wind I’d gotten driving back with Sam was gone. I could feel my pulse in my stomach and throat, hot and sick, but I pushed through it and kept my voice steady. “I’m not doing drugs or failing school or getting any hidden body parts pierced.”

“How about—” He couldn’t even say it.

“Having sex?” Mom finished for him. “In our house? How about being amazingly disrespectful. We’ve given you room to roam and you have—”

Now I found the fuel to be loud. “Room to roam? You’ve given me a planet to myself! I have sat in this house alone for hundreds and hundreds of nights, waiting for you two to come home. I’ve answered the phone a million times to hear ‘Oh, we’ll be late, honey.’ I’ve arranged my own way home from school a thousand times. Room to roam. I finally have someone I’ve chosen for myself, and you guys can’t handle it. You—”

“You’re a teenager,” Dad said dismissively. As if I hadn’t just shouted. I would’ve doubted that I’d even raised my voice if my blood hadn’t been pounding in my ears, punishingly painful. He continued, “What do you know about a responsible relationship? He’s your first boyfriend. If you want us to believe you’re responsible, prove it. And that doesn’t involve underage sex and ignoring a direct order from your parents. Which is what you did.”

“I did,” I said. “I’m not sorry.”

Dad’s face turned red, the color rising from his collar to his hairline. In the light of the kitchen, it made him look very, very tanned. “How about this, then, Grace? You’re never seeing him again. Does that make you sorry?”

“Oh, come on,” I said. His words were starting to sound faraway and unimportant. I needed to sit down—lie down—sleep—something.

Dad’s words were nails in my temples. “No, you come on. I’m not fooling around here. I don’t like the person you are with him. He clearly doesn’t respect us as your parents. I’m not letting you ruin your life for him.”

I crossed my arms over my chest to hide that they were shaking. Part of me was in the kitchen having this conversation and part of me was thinking, What is wrong with me? My cheekbones pinched, warmed. I finally found my voice. “You can’t do that. You can’t keep me from seeing him.”

“Oh, I can,” Dad said. “You’re seventeen and living under my roof, and as long as both those things are true, I absolutely can. When you’re eighteen and out of high school, I can’t tell you what to do, but right now, the entire state of Minnesota is on my side.”

My stomach did something weird, a little twist, like nerves, at the same time that my forehead tingled. I put my finger to my nose, and it came away with a touch of red. I wouldn’t let them see it; put me on the spot even more. Grabbing a tissue from the table and pressing it to my nostrils, I said, “He’s not just a boy.”

Mom turned away, waving her hand in the air like she was just tired of the whole thing. “Right.”

At that moment, I hated her.

Dad said, “Well, for the next four months he is. You’re not seeing him again, as long as I have anything to say about it. We’re not doing more nights like this. And this conversation is over.”