Stupid Boy
Page 43
Panic began to close my throat, and although I wanted to hide it from Kane, I couldn’t keep my breath from trying to force its way out of my lungs. My eyes grew wider, and my skin flushed; hot and cold at once. My lips became tingly, numb, and I pushed away, tried to stand, but my knees gave way and I buckled back down.
“Harper, Harper, take it easy,” Kane said, his gentle voice edged with concern. His hand wouldn’t let go of mine; he pulled me to him, but I squirmed back.
“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” he crooned. “It’s okay, you don’t have to go there,” he ducked his head, making me see his eyes. “Look at me, Harper. Focus. Breathe slower, honey. Nice and slow.”
I couldn’t; the breath wanted come fast, faster, but then Kane took my hand, placed it against his chest, and he again ducked his head until our gazes connected. “Feel me breathing, Harper? Feel my nice slow breaths?”
I did, and although I couldn’t say anything, I nodded.
“Good. Make yours do the same as mine. Nice and slow. Be just like me.”
With his hand pressing mine against his chest, I focused on the slow rise and fall as his air moved through. A heavy, faster thump-thump against my palm made me know his heart pounded. His eyes wouldn’t leave mine, though. With him, I slowed my breathing. The panic began to fade. And the second he saw me relax, Kane pulled me into his arms. I went readily, and sagged against him. Tears leaked from my eyes, and shimmers wracked my body.
“Shh, Harper,” he whispered against the top of my head. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s okay, I promise.”
“You can’t say that,” I said, and the sound muffled against the flannel button-up plaid shirt he wore. “You can’t say that. You don’t know.”
For a while, Kane simply sat, with me resting against his chest, his hand stroking my hair. It soothed me, calmed me, and I was surprised by it. No one had ever been able to chase away a panic attack. No one.
“How long have you had them?” he asked gently. He knew I knew what he meant. The attacks. We were that in sync. Maybe he’d had them, too.
“Since I was eight,” I answered. Finally, I sat up, and before I could dry my eyes with the backs of my hand, Kane’s thumb was brushing the tears away. He lifted my chin. “I’ve been able to keep them away because,” I looked away, although he kept my chin in his hand. “No one knows me.” I closed my eyes, then looked at him. “Please don’t tell.” It was only a small facet of my life that Kane had accidentally seen. He didn’t know the rest. Jesus, please don’t let him know…
“Of course I won’t tell anyone,” he assured me. His thumb smoothed my brow. “You’re safe with me, you know?”
Somehow, I really wanted to believe that. There was something incredibly protective about Kane McCarthy. Something, I imagine, from his past that he kept from me. Secrets. So very many secrets. Between the two of us, a bottomless trunk full of them.
“Do you want to get some air?” he asked, inclining his head to the front door. “We could take a walk?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay now.”
His eyes sought mine, and he laced our fingers together once more. “You’re such a contradiction.” His lips moved like feathers against my temple. “You have to trust someone, at some point, Harper.” He kissed the side of my eye. “Take my word for it. If you keep it all bottled up, you’ll combust. And it might be something you can’t control no matter how hard you try. No matter what persona you portray.”
He was right and I knew it, and at that very moment, I wanted to tell him everything. Starting with the Dare. I opened my mouth, but no words would come. Not the right ones, anyway. Only dancing words. Those that danced around the true subject. I’d grown good at that. An expert. “You know how recovering addicts are always instructed never, ever to become involved with another addict?”
I looked at him then, and he was staring back at me, and those brown eyes pulled me in and swamped me.
“Is that us?” I asked. “Do we both have such traumatic childhood issues and secrets that we’re too toxic to be together?”
Kane watched me in silence, and I was entranced by the way his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed. The way his chocolate colored hair shot out in so many directions. And the contrast of his eyes, brows and stubble against that pale skin. “I think my fears and secrets cancel yours out,” he finally said. “And that leaves us reborn. New. Whole.”
I gave a soft laugh. “I’m not sure what we are. Are you?”
He pulled me to his chest then, and the warmth of his body seeped into mine. “No, I’m not,” he admitted. “But it’s the realest thing I’ve ever had.”
Those words struck me; almost as much as the mouth they came out of.
I felt the same way. Only, I didn’t know how to show it. Wasn’t sure if trusting Kane with all of my secrets was the smartest thing to do yet.
“Let’s play it by ear, yeah?” he mouthed against my cheek, and that warm, slightly harsh Boston accent blended with the somber, easy tone of his voice.
I looked up at him. “Will you consider getting a non-illegal job? Or maybe even applying for classes—”
“Harper,” he interrupted, but gently. “Trust me when I tell you this, okay?” He ducked his head again, forcing our gazes to meet. “When I say I can’t quit the numbers, I want you know that I mean it. I’m not just some shady, lazy guy trying to get out of hard day’s work and fair pay. I’m good at the numbers. I’m good at reading people. I make a lot of money doing it. More than I could doing anything else right now. And I need that.”
“Harper, Harper, take it easy,” Kane said, his gentle voice edged with concern. His hand wouldn’t let go of mine; he pulled me to him, but I squirmed back.
“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” he crooned. “It’s okay, you don’t have to go there,” he ducked his head, making me see his eyes. “Look at me, Harper. Focus. Breathe slower, honey. Nice and slow.”
I couldn’t; the breath wanted come fast, faster, but then Kane took my hand, placed it against his chest, and he again ducked his head until our gazes connected. “Feel me breathing, Harper? Feel my nice slow breaths?”
I did, and although I couldn’t say anything, I nodded.
“Good. Make yours do the same as mine. Nice and slow. Be just like me.”
With his hand pressing mine against his chest, I focused on the slow rise and fall as his air moved through. A heavy, faster thump-thump against my palm made me know his heart pounded. His eyes wouldn’t leave mine, though. With him, I slowed my breathing. The panic began to fade. And the second he saw me relax, Kane pulled me into his arms. I went readily, and sagged against him. Tears leaked from my eyes, and shimmers wracked my body.
“Shh, Harper,” he whispered against the top of my head. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s okay, I promise.”
“You can’t say that,” I said, and the sound muffled against the flannel button-up plaid shirt he wore. “You can’t say that. You don’t know.”
For a while, Kane simply sat, with me resting against his chest, his hand stroking my hair. It soothed me, calmed me, and I was surprised by it. No one had ever been able to chase away a panic attack. No one.
“How long have you had them?” he asked gently. He knew I knew what he meant. The attacks. We were that in sync. Maybe he’d had them, too.
“Since I was eight,” I answered. Finally, I sat up, and before I could dry my eyes with the backs of my hand, Kane’s thumb was brushing the tears away. He lifted my chin. “I’ve been able to keep them away because,” I looked away, although he kept my chin in his hand. “No one knows me.” I closed my eyes, then looked at him. “Please don’t tell.” It was only a small facet of my life that Kane had accidentally seen. He didn’t know the rest. Jesus, please don’t let him know…
“Of course I won’t tell anyone,” he assured me. His thumb smoothed my brow. “You’re safe with me, you know?”
Somehow, I really wanted to believe that. There was something incredibly protective about Kane McCarthy. Something, I imagine, from his past that he kept from me. Secrets. So very many secrets. Between the two of us, a bottomless trunk full of them.
“Do you want to get some air?” he asked, inclining his head to the front door. “We could take a walk?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay now.”
His eyes sought mine, and he laced our fingers together once more. “You’re such a contradiction.” His lips moved like feathers against my temple. “You have to trust someone, at some point, Harper.” He kissed the side of my eye. “Take my word for it. If you keep it all bottled up, you’ll combust. And it might be something you can’t control no matter how hard you try. No matter what persona you portray.”
He was right and I knew it, and at that very moment, I wanted to tell him everything. Starting with the Dare. I opened my mouth, but no words would come. Not the right ones, anyway. Only dancing words. Those that danced around the true subject. I’d grown good at that. An expert. “You know how recovering addicts are always instructed never, ever to become involved with another addict?”
I looked at him then, and he was staring back at me, and those brown eyes pulled me in and swamped me.
“Is that us?” I asked. “Do we both have such traumatic childhood issues and secrets that we’re too toxic to be together?”
Kane watched me in silence, and I was entranced by the way his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed. The way his chocolate colored hair shot out in so many directions. And the contrast of his eyes, brows and stubble against that pale skin. “I think my fears and secrets cancel yours out,” he finally said. “And that leaves us reborn. New. Whole.”
I gave a soft laugh. “I’m not sure what we are. Are you?”
He pulled me to his chest then, and the warmth of his body seeped into mine. “No, I’m not,” he admitted. “But it’s the realest thing I’ve ever had.”
Those words struck me; almost as much as the mouth they came out of.
I felt the same way. Only, I didn’t know how to show it. Wasn’t sure if trusting Kane with all of my secrets was the smartest thing to do yet.
“Let’s play it by ear, yeah?” he mouthed against my cheek, and that warm, slightly harsh Boston accent blended with the somber, easy tone of his voice.
I looked up at him. “Will you consider getting a non-illegal job? Or maybe even applying for classes—”
“Harper,” he interrupted, but gently. “Trust me when I tell you this, okay?” He ducked his head again, forcing our gazes to meet. “When I say I can’t quit the numbers, I want you know that I mean it. I’m not just some shady, lazy guy trying to get out of hard day’s work and fair pay. I’m good at the numbers. I’m good at reading people. I make a lot of money doing it. More than I could doing anything else right now. And I need that.”
