The Force of Gravity(58)

“I’ll be here,” he says. His vacant eyes seem to gaze right through me. My heart breaks for him. I guess I’m not the only one on autopilot. “She wants to have dinner with you. I told her you would.”

I clamp my lips in a hard line and stare at him for a moment before walking out the door.



MY GAZE IS glued to my desk as Elijah uses a popcorn metaphor to explain hyperbolas, but I am only half-tuned in. Whenever I find the courage to look his way, his eyes never find mine.

The memory of his shattered face after I handed him the garage door opener continues to haunt me. I’ve hurt him, I know I have. He opened up about his painful past, revealed his feelings for me, and was about to make love to me . . . and I broke it off.

But it’s not like he’s sent me a text, or given me a call—he isn’t exactly fighting for me. I’m not trying to play games or anything, but his actions are as clear as mine. His career is more important than me. And I respect that. I can’t expect him to throw his life away for me. Nor can I throw away my own.

It seems we’ve reached an impasse.

“Put it away!” Elijah shouts, snapping me out of my torturous thoughts. His face is hard, and I follow his callous stare to the back of the room and notice Seth’s crimson face as he slides his phone into his pocket. I turn back to Elijah, and his intimidating glare shifts to my left. He charges down the aisle and snatches a girl’s phone out of her hand. Then he marches to the back and stands before Seth. “Give it to me.”

“I put it away, Slate,” he whines.

Elijah says nothing and the room is dead quiet, except for maybe the pounding of my heart. Seth’s phone is barely out of his pocket when Elijah rips it out of his hand. He brushes past my desk and throws the phones in his desk drawer, slamming it shut.

“The next person I see with their phone out will be sent to the office. The person after that won’t be allowed to take the final.”

“Damn,” someone mutters behind me.

“He can’t do that,” someone else whispers.

“Watch me,” he says sharply, silencing the room.

I study him throughout the rest of the hour. I’ve never seen him this way and realize I can’t leave it like this. As much as I don’t want to make the first move, I need to talk to him. Was I too quick to break it off? Maybe I’m being unreasonable about the whole thing, I don’t know. But one thing I do know is how naïve I was the night I showed up on his doorstep. Even though he tried to warn me, I never predicted it would be this complicated.

This complex.

This . . . confusing.

When class lets out, I make my way to his desk.

“Hey,” I say after the last student leaves the room.

He doesn’t respond to me as he shuffles papers, refusing to make eye contact. An empty feeling swells in the pit of my stomach.

“Look, I know we don’t have much time, so I’m just going to say it,” I say, glancing at the door. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to be so—”

“You were right,” he says, his gaze finally latching onto mine. But his eyes are flat. And his voice is bitter. Like a sharp, frigid wind. “It could never work. You’re too young for me, Kaley. I’m sorry I ever let anything happen.”

His words rip open my poorly-stitched wound, and I try to take shallow breaths to prevent it from bursting open. He’s sorry it ever happened? And instead of saying we could never work, he said it could never work . . . like he’s already detached from us.

“You’re sorry? Like you regr—”

“And I trust you’ll keep everything that did happen to yourself?” He states it like a question. A question wrapped around an unbending, rigid demand.

He can’t mean this. He can’t mean these words. I search his eyes for the warmth I’ve grown accustom to, but all I find is ice-cold forbiddance. A brick wall. The twinkle I’ve loved from the first day we met is nowhere to be found—he looks at me like I am a stranger.

He looks at me like I am a student.

I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is quicksand, trapping my desperate voice, so I give a jerky nod. He rips his gaze from me, leaving me hollow and cold, and goes back to sorting his papers just as the door swings open. I turn away from him and rush out the door.



“I NEED TO get out of the house,” I complain to Emily during lunch.

She listened intently as I caught her up on my parent’s new temporary living arrangements. Having her support and attentiveness feels like a soft, warm blanket around my lacerated heart. I miss her so much.

“I don’t blame you,” she says. “That’s pretty disturbing, Kay. At least it’s only a week.”

“Yeah, we’ll be one big happy family.” I roll my eyes. “I need to get out of the house, though. Like, permanently. I don’t think I can live with my mom.”

“I can’t believe we’re not going to be dorm mates—it feels so wrong. Have you thought any more about transferring to NAU in the spring?” I notice she’s barely touched her food.

“I don’t really want to be that far away.”

“We were planning on moving to Los Angeles for college, Kay. I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

“Well, yeah. But at least it’s warm there.” I ignore her eye roll. “I want to get out of my house, not out of town.”

Even though I know it can’t work with Elijah, I still can’t imagine leaving the area completely. He still holds me down here, whether I like it or not.

“Maybe I’ll just get my own place. Like a little studio or something.” I lean my elbow on the table and rest my chin in my hand. “I need a job.”

“Derek’s brother is hiring.” She elbows Derek in the back to grab his attention.

I sit up straight and raise my eyebrows. “He is?” A little ray of hope glimmers back into my life. “Oh my gosh, that’d be perfect for me. It’s right next to ASU and it’s always packed. I should be able to save up in no time.”

Derek turns in his chair. “You wanna work there?”

“More than you know,” I tell him.

“All right,” he says. “Come by after school.”

A grin stretches across my face. “I’ll be there, thanks.”

“See?” says Emily. “You’ll be out of the house faster than you think.”

I clap my hands enthusiastically and squeal. “You have no idea how happy I am right now!”

Avery’s face lights up as she looks over my shoulder. “Hi, Mr. Slate!”

My heart catapults into my throat, and I whip my head around. Did he hear me say how happy I was? His indignant eyes hold mine a brief moment before he returns a stiff hello to Avery.

“Donovan,” he says in his strict teacher tone.

Donovan stops mid-chew, lowering his pizza slice.

“Sup, Slate,” he says with his mouth full.

“You were supposed to meet me during your lunch to retake your test. You do hope to graduate, yes?”

Donovan’s cheeks flush as he rises from the table. He slogs out of the cafeteria after Slate, and I turn my attention back to the table.

Avery rests her head in her hand and stares off dreamily. “Does anyone else find him extra sexy when he’s angry? He was furious in class today—totally turned me on.”

I glare at her. “I see domestic violence in your future,” I say, without a trace of humor.

Emily’s eyes widen. “Kaley,” she whispers.

Avery doesn’t flinch. “Doubt it. I know how to keep my man satisfied.”

Derek leans forward. “Your man? Or other people’s men?” he shoots back at her.

Avery scowls, and several people at the table laugh. I glance at Tommy for a split second—just long enough to notice him squirming in his seat.

My eyes meet Derek’s, and I mouth “thanks.” His loyalty comforts me.

He gives me a quick nod. “I’ll see you after school, Kay.”



JACE HIRES ME on the spot. I fill out my paperwork in his office as Derek scarfs down a plate of nachos next to me, watching a game on TV.

“I wish you were twenty-one, Kennedy,” says Jace from behind his desk. “I really need a bartender.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” I say as I hand him my completed stack of papers.

He glances at Derek, who is zoned out to the game, and lowers his voice a little. “To tell you the truth, I don’t actually need a server.”

“You don’t?” My shoulders drop. “Then why are you hiring me?”

He smiles. “Don’t worry. It might be hard to give you as many hours as you’d like at first, but I’ll try to hook you up. Besides, someone’s bound to quit sometime. This is the restaurant biz after all.”

I try to summon a smile. So much for burying myself in a job.

“Let me show you around,” he says, rising from his chair.

“She’s been here like a zillion times,” says Derek. He’s finished his nachos, and a commercial break has broken him out of his trance.

“Not in the back, dumbass,” says Jace. “Get this junk out of here.” He gestures to Derek’s greasy plate and pile of wadded up napkins.

“Calm down, dude,” gripes Derek, propping his feet on my chair after I stand up.