Rafe’s not like that. I bet if he died tomorrow, tons of people would remember him. I mean, all those kids at the Youth Alliance would definitely care. They all seemed crazy about him.
The music in the closing credits is incredibly fucking depressing.
“Hey.” A tentative hand on the back of my neck startles me and I pull away. “What brought that on?”
“Brought what on?” I breathe as quietly as I can, taking shallow sips of air.
“That change in your breathing?”
“Dude,” I say, trying to play it off, “are you listening to me breathe? Sounds like you’re the one with the problem.”
“Mmhmm,” he says, like he’s humoring me.
No one’s ever noticed it before. Okay, so usually it happens when I’m alone, when I have time to think. But it’s definitely happened while I was watching TV with Sam, Brian, and Pop, and none of them ever noticed a thing.
“Um, it’s getting a little late,” I say. As if I’ll be able to sleep anyway. “And I have to work in the morning, so.”
I go to open the door, but before I can, he steps right up next to me, and then that warm hand is back on my neck and he’s so close I can smell my soap, and damn, why does it smell so much better on him?
He leans toward me, and for one panicky second I think… I don’t know what I think. I can feel his breath on my face and see the thick spread of his eyelashes.
“You don’t have to talk to me,” he says, voice low and calm. “But don’t think for one second that I buy your bullshit.” One side of his mouth tenses in what I’m learning is his version of a knowing smile. “And don’t think I don’t know exactly what’s going on here.”
He leans a fraction of an inch closer and strokes my throat with his thumb. I hear my gasp before I’m aware it’s happening.
“Good night, Colin. I’ll see you on Saturday.” He opens the door, then turns back to me. “Sweet dreams.”
“GOD FUCKING—mmmf.” I cradle my right hand, looking around for a cloth and finding none. I dart into the office for some paper towel before I bleed all over the concrete.
“Colin!” Sam’s followed me into the office. “Are you okay?”
It’s not so deep that I need stitches, I don’t think, but it’s bleeding pretty good. It’s the third time in two days that I’ve hurt myself because I wasn’t paying attention. The third time since Rafe left my house the other night after his mysterious pronouncement and goddamned perfect face.
“Jesus, what’s got you so distracted, bro?” Sam asks, his brow furrowed. “You’ve been wandering around like a fucking space cadet all day.”
“Nothing, man. Just an accident.”
“Are you sure? Is it okay? Do you need me to get Pop?” He looks down at my hand. God knows Pop’s bandaged up enough of us over the years to know when it’s bad.
“Nah, I’m fine. I’m almost done anyway.”
I tape the paper towel over my hand and go back to Mrs. Wilson’s truck. She’s only got a broken drive belt, so it shouldn’t take too long to finish. That is, if I can get my head out of my ass long enough to avoid chopping a finger off.
“You’re bleeding all over Mrs. Wilson’s belt, you knucklehead. Get out of there!”
Pop jerks me up by the shoulder and grabs my hand.
“You idiot—did you even clean that?”
“It’s fine, Pop.”
“It’s not fine. Get out of here and take care of it.”
He looks disgusted with my stupidity, but with Pop that disgust is always mixed with a little bit of pride that I’m dedicated enough to my work—well, to his garage—that I’d stay.
I’ve been putting off this moment because I know Pop’ll be mad, but now I’m right down to the wire so I figure I may as well do it while he can see I’m dedicated.
“Uh, hey, Pop, listen. I need to take Saturdays off for a while.”
He gapes at me.
“You’re telling me this on a Thursday afternoon? What’s wrong with you?” The disgust is back, and this time it’s not mixed with anything. “That’s not how we do things, Colin.”
His nostrils are flared the way they usually are when he’s talking to Brian about his incompetence or when Daniel says things that make him sound like a sissy.
“Well,” I try and explain, “I talked to Luther and he says he could use the extra—”
“Do you run this garage, Colin?”
His voice is ice-cold. This is don’t-cross-me territory that I don’t usually stumble into.