along. For a brief second I wonder where we’re heading. Then I realize: He’s taking me to his room.
I don’t put up a fight, thankful at least I’m not alone. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me.
I step around him and hear the door close behind us. All at once he’s pulling me into his arms, folding me into his embrace. I lay my head on his chest, letting myself fall into him completely, balling my hands in his shirt. It’s only then I let the tears come.
We stand like that for I don’t know how long. Colt doesn’t press for details, or ask any questions. He just holds me, rubbing my back while I sob into his neck.
After a little while, I lean back and meet his eyes, wondering why he’s being so nice to me, why he’s taking care of me right now.
When he meets my eyes, his hardened angry look falls away revealing his concern and worry.
“Are you okay? Talk to me,” he pleads. He takes my face in his palms, wiping the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs.
“I did that.” I sniff. “That ship. That was m-my fault.” A fresh wave of emotion hits me, racking my chest with sobs.
“Shhh.” He pulls me to him again, patting my back. “That was not your fault.”
“Yes it was!” I shout, pulling back from him.
He drops his hands, confusion all over his face.
“I need to go to the lab. I need my computer.” I wipe at my face with my shirt hem, knowing I look a mess.
“I’ll get it for you. Stay here.”
I blink up at him.
“I’ll be right back.” He turns and leaves me alone in his room.
I know it’s irrational. I know it’s too late to stop the commands I released, but I need my computer. I need to do something.
I pace Colt’s room, convincing my pounding heart to slow, and eventually coaxing my tears to stop. I find a box of tissues beside Colt’s bed blow my nose, and wipe my eyes dry.
When I’m slightly calmer, I sit down in the center of his bed and scan my surroundings.
The room is larger than I expected, I don’t know why but I was expecting a tiny dorm room with cement walls and a narrow twin bed.
His bed is large and at the far end of the room with his dresser and a small table, both in rich wood. The bed is neatly made in rich navy and crisp white bedding. I bet if my nose wasn’t so stuffy it would smell deliciously like him.
On the other end of the room, closer to the door is a seating area with a small couch and a desk with Colt’s laptop and files. A narrow book shelf leans against one wall with a few books – mostly textbooks stacked messily on the shelves. On the center shelf, at eye-level is a photo in a silver frame. The one personal artifact in his room. I walk closer to inspect it.
The boy – no more than eleven or twelve is clearly Colt. Messy, dark hair, a smile like he knows something the rest of us don’t and he’s tall, nearly as tall as the woman beside him. She must be his mother. She’s striking, and way too young to be gone. I can see where he gets his full, dark eyelashes.
Colt comes through the door with my laptop and stops when he sees me holding the picture of his mother.
He swallows and steps closer to me, slowly, tentatively. He holds a hand out for the picture frame, offering me the laptop instead.
“What’s her name?” I ask before parting with it.
“Elaina.”
I hand it over.
Once I have my laptop, I go back to Colt’s bed and sink against his pillows, propping the computer across my lap.
Chapter 39
I watch Taylor move around my room. She sits down in the center of my bed, scooting up until she can lean back against the pillows. She opens her laptop and begins typing furiously as she studies the screen. Fresh tears spring to her eyes, and she presses her lips together, forcing them away.
I watch her work for a few minutes, unsure of what to do. In this moment the only thing I know for certain is that she is beautiful, and that I hate my father even more than I thought.
I could quite literally kill him right now. I’m itching to track him down and raise hell, but the only thing keeping me here is Taylor. The look on her face when she saw that news footage felt like someone had punched me in the gut. I hate to see her cry.
I’m not sure what made me follow her out into the hall and drag her up here, I just didn’t like the thought of her alone and crying in the hall. It reminds me of that time with Samantha. I still feel guilty as hell over her catching me with another girl, the same night I asked her to hang out. Guilt was a strange feeling. New for me. Taylor was invoking all kinds of new feelings in me. I both liked it and didn’t.
I set the picture of my mom back on the shelf. If anyone else had touched this, it would have bugged me. But not her. I look over at her and watch her sink back against my pillows. Something tugs in my chest. I take a breath, flexing my forearms and move closer to her. Confusion, anger and something else I can’t identify swirl around inside me.
I sit down beside her, the bed dipping under my weight. “I told Tate you wouldn’t be in class this afternoon.”
She looks up meeting my eyes.
“What else can I do?” All my concentration is on her. Making her feel better. Helping her. Just like at our last assignment gone wrong. I remember getting her in the bath, feeding her, kissing her. My head swims with the memory.
She turns away from the screen, momentarily at a loss for words. “Why did you bring me here? Why do you even care?”
Her words sting, but given my track record, I suppose it’s a fair question. “I thought I made that clear. We’re friends Taylor. And I know better than anyone the shit McAllister is capable of.”
“Friends?” she chides. “Friends who go on dates and kiss and then run away from each other?”
My palms itch. Why do I have the urge to hit something? Damn, this girl challenges everything I do. I release a breath slowly through my teeth. “I thought I explained why I ended that date.”
She blinks up at me.
I sigh and run my hands through my hair.
She bites her lip, still waiting, still blinking up at me with those big blue eyes that are at least no longer wet with tears.
“Let’s not get into this right now.” I meet her eyes, my voice firm.
Her face tightens, her forehead creasing.
“We have more pressing things to figure out, don’t you think?”
I resist the urge to reach out and touch her, to comfort her again. She seems to be doing okay now – which means I need to keep my hands to myself.
She nods in agreement, letting me off the hook. For now.
“What have you found?” I nod to her computer.
She turns it to me, setting it on the bed between us then presses play on a news video.
We listen in silence to the segment, which doesn’t offer up many new details. But she breathes a sigh of relief and her shoulders visibly relax when she hears there were no causalities and the crew made it safely off the
