He started to smile. She was the one hurt and she’s worried about Max, the dog who had knocked her down? “He’ll follow.”
She started to shake a little, and he held firm, steady. He wasn’t sure if it was the chill or if she was in pain somewhere, or maybe it was from fear.
He wished he could convey to her she didn’t have to worry. He knew trust took time, but right then, he wished there was a way to make her believe. She seemed to need it right now.
Kota guided her two houses down from hers, back toward his garage. He crossed in front of the security light, triggering it to help guide his way into the darker garage. The wind pressed the poncho hood against his head, almost in his face, but he could see enough to get them inside.
Max went to his crate, expectant.
“Not now,” Kota said.
Max sank to the floor, his head dropping.
The security light went out, but Kota was far enough inside to get to the door. “Come on,” he said to her, trying to sound encouraging. If he got her inside quickly enough, maybe she wouldn’t be so scared. He tenderly reached for the arm she cradled, tugging her inside.
Once they were in the downstairs hallway of his house, he released her, and she fell in behind him. He checked over his shoulder. She followed close, her eyes squinting in the dark.
If she really wanted to leave, she probably would have. Kota blew out a breath, crossing his fingers that if she’d come this far, she might actually tell him what was going on.
He thought about taking her into the kitchen, but didn’t want to risk waking Jessica or his mother. He opened a door in the hallway, revealing the staircase that lead to his bedroom above the garage.
He started up, checking again to make sure she was following. She seemed to hesitate at first, but then started climbing. He hurried over to the computer desk in the corner, touching a lamp a couple of times to brighten the place up.
He turned, and seeing her in the better light, he froze. He’d seen her during the day and had tried to determine her age, but worked out that she had to be his own age: sixteen or close to it. Her blond hair was wet, making it darker, and it was pulled back, messy now. Her cheeks and nose were pink from blushing or from chill or both. She was wearing a poncho, and he hadn’t realized it until now. Her jeans and shoes were wet.
Her eyes, light green in the light, really drew his attention. Beautiful, aware, terrified, haunted...and above it all, curious.
He hadn’t been able to get this close to her since she’d moved in. She was stunning from a distance, and more so even now. He tried to smile to show he was friendly, and started counting: ten fingers, two eyes, one, two, three, four...light bruises on her arms but they appeared old. Was that a light scar at her elbow? And then he noticed the bright red scrapes along her arm. He felt a pang of guilt, and even more guilt when he realized that while he was sorry for hurting her, he was entirely relieved that she also wasn’t too injured and managed to trust him enough to follow him. Try looking on the bright side.
“I’m sorry,” she said, jarring him from his thoughts. “I should probably have taken my shoes off. They’re soaked.”
Internally, he was grinning at her concern, but he tried to suppress it a little. “I’m not worried about the carpet right now. One thing at a time.” He took the book bag off his shoulder, and then headed to the bathroom. He wanted to get a good look and bandage her up. “Take that poncho off and let’s look at your arm.”
The bathroom was snug, even for one person. He pressed a palm against his forehead, wiping away some of the remaining drops of rain.
She struggled for a moment with the poncho sticking to her. When she managed to get it off, her shirt was sticking to her body.
He swallowed, urging himself to turn quickly, but he couldn’t help but look. Part of it was expecting some other form of injury, and part of it was her shape and the sudden surprise of seeing it in such a way.
When she tried to fix her shirt, he realized he was staring and focused on the poncho, taking it from her to hang over the curtain rod. Focus, he told himself.
He reached for her arm, trying to turn it enough to check it. There was a gash, and she lightly tugged, wincing.
He looked closer, testing it, and the guilt settled harder into him at seeing the blood. “My god,” he said. “I’m sorry. Really. This was my fault.”
She shook her head. “It was your dog. Not really his fault. He was excited, I guess.”
If only that was how innocent it really had been. He’d meant well, of course, but he wished there had been a better way. “He was excited,” Kota said. He moved quickly to stop the urge to tell her more, worried he might reveal something he shouldn’t. He found the first aid kit, and took out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She didn’t appear to need stitches, but he’d have to clean it up to find out how bad it really was. At the same time, he came up with what he’d prepared for his story, trying not to out and out lie by talking about real things that were technically true. “I’ve noticed the lead was getting thin in the middle for a while. When he smelled or heard you, he took off and it broke.” Okay, small lie. Did he have to explain everything? “He’s not usually that bad. He needed to go out but hates this weather. So, I’m sorry about that. I should have replaced the lead
