“This isn’t a joke, is it?” I ask him. “You’re cool?”
He looks at me thoughtfully. “If Masen’s not there, they’ll have to go through me to get to you.” And then he glances at Manny. “You, too. And believe me. No one likes to go through me.”
I can’t help but smile. He’s a hundred-eighty pounds of future USC football player, and while he’s always been pretty harmless, people know they shouldn’t mess with him.
“Sounds good then. I’d love to.” I turn to Manny. “You?”
“You got a dress?” Ten pipes up, asking him.
Manny frowns, shooting him a dirty look. “Do you?”
Ten smiles, and Manny seems to relax a little.
He doesn’t answer, but I’ll call him later. He doesn’t trust us, and I don’t want to push him right now.
Everyone gets busy eating. J.D. steals food off everyone’s trays, and I take out my phone and go to text Misha. I hope he doesn’t mind getting asked to prom.
But then I think better of it and go to Google to find his Facebook. I’ve read so much about his life, and now I’d like to see it, I think. I’m guessing the last thing he wants to talk about is prom, but I’d like to put it out there sooner rather than later for him to think about at least.
But as I type in Misha Lare Grayson into the search engine and scroll to find what I need, I’m suddenly lost in more information than I can handle.
My stomach sinks, and my heart races.
Oh, my God.
The Cove looms ahead, massive and imposing under the gray clouds. I park next to Misha’s truck and climb out of my Jeep, making my way to the entrance.
Now I know why he stopped writing three months ago.
I should never have let it go as long as I did. It was completely selfish to sit there and wait for him to come around and write me back—assuming his issue was small and insignificant—and that protecting the status quo of our relationship was more important.
Of course he wouldn’t have stopped writing for anything trivial. He’d been committed to me for seven years. Why did I think he’d be so cavalier about dropping me all of a sudden?
And now I know why he’s been hiding out here, away from his dad, too. It all makes sense.
Almost.
Walking into the park, I feel the cool breeze from the downpour yesterday brush my arms. The air is thick and weighted, and the clouds overhead threaten more of the same. I hug myself against the slight chill.
Looking around, I walk past the rides and old gaming booths, spotting the field house ahead. I enter and make my way down the dark stairwell, instantly seeing a light down the corridor.
This place freaks me out. I’d heard some people from Thunder Bay were buying the property and had plans to tear down the old theme park and turn it into a hotel with a golf course and a marina and all that, but it might’ve been just a rumor.
I’d be sad to see the place go, but yeah… I turn corners half-expecting to see death clowns cackling among the decay.
Too many horror movies, I guess.
Misha’s room is lit up, and I see the lamp on the bedside table turned on as well as some candles on another table across the room. He’s lying back on the bed, his feet on the floor and his ears covered with headphones as he taps his thigh with a pencil.
There are a few boxes that look filled with his belongings sitting next to the door, but other than the bed, table, and lamp, everything else is packed away.
I smile softly, unable to tear my eyes away from him. The way his foot is tapping to the beat that I hear playing out of his headphones, the way the ring in his lip makes his mouth look like something to eat, and his dark brown hair—damn near black—wispy like he was just outside in the wind.
My heart aches, my stomach somersaults, and my lungs fill with air that sends a shiver down my spine.
I love him.
Stepping over, I climb on top of him, straddling his waist and planting my hands on either side of his head. He jerks and opens his eyes, his gaze turning gentle and happy when he sees me.
He pulls off his headphones. “Are you okay?”
I know he was probably concerned about leaving me at school around Trey and Lyla without him. I nod.
I’m tempted to tell him about my day. Trey’s threats, Manny in the bathroom, J.D. and Ten at lunch. But no more distractions.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Annie?” I ask him.
His expression turns somber, and he slowly sits up. I move off him, sliding onto the bed and sitting at his side.
“I would’ve,” he says, avoiding my eyes as he turns off his iPod. “I was just waiting for us to calm down.”
I can understand that, but I’m not talking about when he came here as Masen. I’m talking about in his letters.