Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(67)

The corner of his mouth turned up softly. For a moment I couldn't look away. I was trapped in the darkness of his eyes. They sifted through me, searching for what haunted me. I pulled away with a blink. "Are you staying up?"

"I'm not quite ready," he admitted, picking up the remote.

"Be careful of the infomercials," I offered, borrowing his words from the first time he'd rescued me from my nightmare. He smiled. "The next thing you know, the sun will be up."

I left him on the couch and slipped back to my room. I didn't sleep much, but it didn't have anything to do with the nightmare. I kept thinking about what I expected from my future, and hoping more than anything that Evan was in it.

Jonathan was still on the couch, asleep, when I got up before dawn to use the bathroom. I thought about waking him to send him to bed, but he was sleeping. And that was, after all, a good thing.





18. Story Time



A soft knock drew my attention to the front door while I was rinsing my oatmeal bowl in the sink. Without allowing me a chance to answer, the door crept open and Evan stepped in.

"Hi." He seemed tentative, not his usual confident self.

"Hi," I returned, taking in his face for any signs of illness. He looked tired and sullen, which only heightened my concern.

He offered a slight smile, but the trouble that flickered in his eyes remained. I approached slowly, preparing myself for the news that he wasn't going to Stanford. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, examining the stressed lines of my face.

I couldn't mask the lack of sleep that hovered under my eyes or the worry that weighed down the corners of my lips.

"Are you?" I asked in return, continuing closer until I was less than a foot in front of him.

"I worry about you," Evan stated, tracing every inch of my face. "Are you really okay?" He ran his hand along my cheek. I closed my eyes, soaking in its warmth.

"I'm okay." That's all I could offer, because on the inside I was a mess. I needed to understand why he was acting so strangely.

Evan leaned in and softly pressed his lips to mine, slightly loosening the knot of worried tension that held me captive since the moment he stepped out of the Art room.

"That's a little better," I murmured when he pulled away. "Are you going to tell me what happened yesterday? Is it Stanford? Did you not get in?"

He looked at me in surprise. Then a smile eased onto his face. "You think yesterday was about Stanford?"

"I don't know what it was about," I continued, not at all relieved by the amused look. "You were supposed to know by now."

"I did get the letter," he admitted.

I stopped breathing, anticipating the next sentence.

"But I don't know if I got in."

"What?" I asked, my shoulders sinking. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, Em," he shook his head. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. My parents don't tell me which college I'm attending until all of the acceptance letters come in. We're still waiting on Yale."

"Does that mean they get to decide for you?" I asked in horror, realizing if Stuart had his say Evan wouldn't be going to any school in California.

"No," Evan chuckled, wrapping his arms around me and holding me against him. "I write down my first three choices, and then my mother reveals which school I'm going to. She makes a big production out of it. We go to a nice restaurant, and then she hands me an envelope with the name of the college inside. Don't panic. You're not losing me, no matter what." He kissed the top of my head.

"Why does she do that?" I asked, completely baffled.

"It's something she came up with for Jared. Jared didn't get his first choice. He picked Dartmouth. So she conjured this celebratory reveal to soften the blow. She thinks it's only right she does the same for me. You'll come to the dinner, right?"

"Of course," I returned. But I quickly reconsidered. I didn't know if I could fake excitement if he wasn't accepted to Stanford.

"Better?" he asked, inspecting me again. I nodded. He leaned down and kissed me gently. "Ready to go?"

"Just need to get my jacket," I answered. He released me so I could go to the closet.

I followed him out the door, and he took my hand after I locked the house behind us.

It occurred to me during our drive to school, he'd never explained what happened to him yesterday. I couldn't keep from trying to read his thoughts as he drove. His eyes lacked the light that usually shone within them. I knew something was still troubling him.

"What's wrong?" I finally asked. "Because I know something is." He exhaled deeply, as if he'd been preparing himself for my question.