“Never mind,” I hiss and shove them back in the box.
“What?”
“You want to ask things of me that I can’t give you, but you don’t even want to take the time to understand why. It seems like the same old Dalton to me.”
“Wait.” He places his hand on top of mine, preventing me from folding the box flaps down. “I only asked you to explain them because my head kills me from the accident. Reading is one of the main triggers.”
I know he’s telling the truth because it was the same for me the first couple of weeks. I can only imagine how bad his head hurts, considering how extensive his injuries were.
“No big deal.” I shrug my shoulder as I jerk my hand out from under his. The contact is too much. His fingers are too warm, not cold and calculating like I always imagined they would be.
Tell me you’re mine.
I step away as the memory from the other night in my hallway hits me full force. I don’t need to think of his masculine scent or how perfect he felt against me in the hallway. Those things will only lead to more trouble. Trusting him or even believing that he has changed will only make things ten times worse when he reverts right back to the old Dalton.
“I’ll read them. It may take me a century to get through them, though.”
Against my better judgment, I pull a stack of journals from the box and hand them over.
“Now, please leave.”
Instead of arguing, Dalton turns around and walks out of my room. I don’t breathe easily until the sound of the front door closing echoes through my house.Chapter 13Dalton“This is great,” I lie as I shovel another bite of dry chicken into my mouth.
Mom smiles at the compliment, but Peyton snorts. I cut my eyes to hers, but all of her attention is focused on moving her food around on her plate. She hasn’t eaten much, and I can tell by Preston’s lack of enthusiasm from being pulled away from his video games that family dinner time isn’t part of the norm for us.
Do my parents think that changing things up will make me remember faster? I want to open my mouth and remind them that the doctors told me to get back to my normal life, but I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
“Is it okay if I have a few friends over to swim in the pool on Friday?”
My dad nearly chokes, and I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t like the idea or if the dry chicken got lodged. Peyton raises her eyes to glare at me, but I keep my eyes on the head of the table. When Dad takes a sip of wine, attempting to get rid of the stuck food, his eyes dart to my mom.
“Friends?” Mom asks cautiously. “Do you remember the kids from school?”
Sadness fills her eyes, and I know she thinks that I remember them when I haven’t shown any signs of remembering my family.
“No,” I answer honestly, “but Kyle suggested it when I saw him earlier this week. I’m hoping it will trigger something.”
“I don’t like that boy,” Dad grumbles.
“He mentioned a party Saturday night, but I figured staying close to home would be a better idea, considering what happened the last time I went to a party.”
It’s a low blow, and I’m well aware of the manipulation, but I’m a teenager after all, and using everything I have in my arsenal to get my way is just second nature.
“You’re no longer allowed to go to parties,” Mom says, but her tone suggests that she’s gearing up to argue over laying down this rule.
I feel Peyton’s eyes burning a hole in the side of my head, and even Preston seems tense like he’s waiting for me to lose my shit. I don’t. The thought doesn’t even cross my mind. The last thing I want to do is go to a party. Not counting the fact that I’m certain I don’t even like the people who call themselves my friends, I don’t relish the idea of being away from home. Here, Piper is next door, and I know I’m safe.
“It’s just a couple of friends. I’ll make sure to clean up after,” I barter.
“Just a couple of friends,” Dad agrees. “But no alcohol.”
“Of course not,” I agree.
Dinner is even more tense after my parents agree to let me host a few friends, but they don’t take back the offer. To make things easier to accept, I help Mom with the dishes and carry on a conversation with my dad about the car. I haven’t seen the wreckage, but he seems to think that the body will be salvageable. I don’t bother to tell him that I have no interest in the car.