Читать книгу Breaking The Rules - Кэти Макгэрри, Katie McGarry - Страница 13

Echo

Colorado Springs is, according to the guy who tried initiating small talk a few seconds ago outside the hotel, unseasonably hot. Hot enough that I’m shocked that people don’t melt the moment they step into the sunlight. The sweater doesn’t help.

I push off the hood of my Honda Civic, twist my hair off my neck and duck into the shadow of a towering fir tree. The stark contrast between Alamosa and Colorado Springs is beyond amazing: desert and flat to green with mountains rising in the distance. The urge to paint and draw overwhelms me as the sights and colors here are a feast for my artistic palate.

I could have joined Noah in the hotel lobby, but then he’d believe he was winning, and he’s so not. We haven’t talked since the café, and he’s dead wrong if he thinks I’m caving. I don’t care how many wicked smiles he flashes in my direction or how many times he “mistakenly” brushes his hand against my cheek or thigh. He can make my head spin and my blood run hot, but I’m strong enough to resist his every temptation.

I haven’t gone this long without kissing Noah since this spring when we broke up for a couple of weeks. I shiver despite the heat. That was one of the darkest periods of my life and, unfortunately, I’m well versed in dark.

Noah exits the lobby, and I’m hypnotized by his confident strut. Even in the heat, he wears jeans and a black T-shirt and never breaks a sweat. Not impervious to hot weather, I blow a couple of curls away from my face.

“You wouldn’t be so hot if you took off your sweater,” he says.

My fingers clutch the ends of the material.

Noah rests a hand on my hip and chuckles when I pull away. “You’re going to have to talk to me sometime.”

I will not crumble. He started this fight, not me. Going around and bullying guys because they called me a name...it’s not okay, especially when it attracts attention to me and leads people to wonder if what they said is true.

He holds up one key card and with a slip of his fingers reveals two. I extend my palm and waggle my fingers for my key, but Noah only grins as he lowers his hand and walks past. Arrogant, conceited, smoking, full of himself...

Without looking back, Noah strolls into the side entrance. I’ve got two options: liquefy from the heat and dissolve into the pavement or follow Noah. I actually weigh the choices. I really, really don’t like admitting he has the upper hand because Noah is a sore winner.

A bead of sweat drips from my scalp and onto my neck. We do sleep in the same bed, and I could smother Noah with a pillow later tonight or toss his pants and boxers onto the front lawn of the hotel. Except the last one would make him smile and me blush.

With an exaggerated sigh, I yank open the door and spot Noah down the hall sliding the key card into a slot. The cool hotel hallway reeks of chlorine, and the farther I walk in the direction of our room, the sound of splashing and children shouting in delight grows.

Noah enters the room and disappears. My agitation reaches a new level as tension builds between my muscles. Is this how he’s going to be? Ignoring me? Not even waiting? My skin tightens until I feel paper-thin and ready to rip.

My hand stings when it pounds into the cracked open door, and a cold blast hits me as the air conditioner roars to life. “Do you seriously think you have the right to treat me this way after what you did this morning?”

All the air rushes out of my body. Roses cover the full-size bed closest to the door. The long-stemmed kind. Noah bought me flowers...for the first time...ever. Despite the anger and hurt from earlier, every romantic notion inside me squeals with excitement.

“I’m not sorry for defending you.” Noah leans against the wall next to the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. “But I am sorry for hurting you, so talk to me, Echo. Or yell. Anything but the silence.”

The door clicks shut behind me, and I become hyperaware. I’m alone with Noah. It’s not the first time, but whenever we enter a room with a bed, in complete isolation, the same strange sensation hums along my body, like a tuning fork being struck.

Speechless, I ease over to the bed and rub the silky petals between my fingers.

This isn’t a swanky room. In fact, it’s modest with two beds that share the same thin multicolored comforter. A two-hundred-pound television sits on a dresser, and the corner contains a particle-board table and chairs.

The air from the conditioner has a musty, this-room-is-older-than-me scent. Heck, this hotel could be older than my dad. But as I stare at the roses, it’s as if the bareness of the room fades, and I’m the princess entering her castle. Noah always has the ability to turn reality into fantasy.

I pick up one of the long stems, and the smooth petals caress my lips as I bring it to my nose. Noah’s kisses always start off soft and gentle. If I face him, would Noah notice the vein pulsing wildly in my neck? If so, he’d know I was imagining him and his kisses and right now, I’m not sure I want to be kissed.

The fragrance of the rose isn’t overwhelming. It’s mild and sweet and perfect, and it must have driven Noah crazy to buy them.

“Come on, baby, you’re killing me here.”

“This had to be expensive.”

I risk a glance at him and catch his eyes before he lowers them. “You’re worth it.”

Noah finds spending money difficult, and I try my best to understand. Until this summer, I never thought about purchasing my morning latte. Then I noticed Noah avoiding breakfast or skipping lunch or dinner. He’s fended for himself for so long that he’s constantly scared of losing what he’s earned, and his pride won’t allow me to pay for his meals. I practically had to arm wrestle him into letting me pay halves on the hotel rooms, which is why we camp, often, at my suggestion.

I lay the rose back on the bed. “I love you.”

He pushes off the wall and snags a belt loop on both sides of my hips, tugging me into him. “You didn’t say you’ve forgiven me.”

The heat of his body surrounding me in the midst of the cold room creates a fluttering in my bloodstream. It’s impossible to hold a steady thought when he’s this close. “So you agree that throwing people into walls isn’t okay?”

“It is when someone fucks with you.”

I attempt to step back, but Noah halts the escape. “I mean it. No one treats you like shit. At least when I’m around. That’s nonnegotiable.”

“You embarrassed me.”

“He hurt you.”

“You hurt me,” I snap, and this time he allows the release. I shake my head trying to expel the memory and the ache building in my chest. “When you told him to apologize and the way he looked at my arms...”

This pain, it was supposed to be over. None of this was supposed to carry out of high school and into normal life.

Noah brushes his fingers along my sweater-covered arm. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

I close my eyes at his intimate touch. It’s a slow movement, not one meant to seduce. It’s one to show how much he loves me, and I flatten my lips, fighting the urge to cry. Noah nudges me toward him and if it wasn’t for his hold, I’d drop like a house of cards.

I fall into him, and Noah wraps me in his arms. “It’s okay, baby. We’re okay.”

I cling tighter to him, because it doesn’t feel okay. For the past two months, life was good and easy and everything I dreamed it could be. Despite my efforts, the muscles at the corner of my mouth tremble. I wanted to be done with tears and with whispered comments thrown in my direction like knives and with this overwhelming sense that I’m less and that I’ll never belong.

“I thought I was past this.” Past caring what people thought. Past people caring about the scars on my arms. Like a diploma somehow gave the world and myself a magical maturity.

“You are.”

“I’m not.” I’ve been living in a delusional bubble. The world hasn’t changed, and neither have I.

“You are. It’s the day.” Meaning like everyone else, he blames my mom. “Just a bad day.”

Noah kisses the top of my head before cradling me to his chest. I love the sensation of my cheek against him, the protective shelter of his arm around my waist and the sound of his steady heart. If I could live here for the rest of my life, I could be happy. But at some point, he’ll have to let go, and then I’ll be back where I started: alone.

“What if this is all I’ll ever be? What if this is only a small taste of what’s waiting for me at home?” I whisper. Chilling adrenaline drips into my body at the rawness of the statement. This week we’ll no longer be heading away, but going back. “What if I’ll always be the person on the outside? The person who doesn’t belong.”

“You belong, Echo,” he says against my temple. “Right here with me.”