There was a full moon above the nearly abandoned parking lot. A dozen or so cars from our party were all that were left of bowling night. I marched toward my truck and unlocked the door, still balancing Crosby on one shoulder.
I set her down on her feet at the passenger’s side door. Trapped her against the chrome with my forearm above her head before I leaned in to scold her.
“Don’t mess with me, Crosby. Don’t flirt with douchebags who don’t deserve you.”
“Why are you always so up in my business, Weston? What do you care?”
Crosby was on the verge of tears, her expression pure defiance, and for a second, I was not worried about her at all. This girl can take care of herself—she can handle junior year abroad. I can mind my own business and keep it under wraps, I continued to pep talk myself in my head.
“I care about you, Crosby. More than you know.”
Her arms crossed over her chest in protest of my attentiveness. Did she really want me to leave her alone? Could Crosby only see me as an older-brother type—too overprotective for my own good?
“I’m not a kid anymore, West. Tomorrow I’m leaving for another country all by myself.”
For some reason, those words eviscerated me. I knew she was grown and independent, I knew she was leaving, but I couldn’t turn off the switch that made me a raving lunatic when I was around her—jealous, possessive, fired up enough to hit someone for looking at her the wrong way.
The wind blew, sending delicate strands of strawberry hair across her face. I brushed them away and cupped her cheek with my palm.
Tears of frustration spilled over from her hazel eyes. Her pout was pure teenage rebellion, and I felt like I had one hand in the cookie jar. I took a step back, shoved my hands into my pockets. What would happen if I kissed the hell out of her?
“West? Crosby? There you two are! I get up for a chili dog, and you guys are leaving without me.” Asa came running across the blacktop, holding all three of our jackets. There was a flash of confusion on his face as he scanned Crosby’s expression and then mine. I couldn’t mask the guilt I felt. If I were Asa, I’d punch the lights out of whoever was outside with my sister, pinning her up against a car.
“Everything okay?”
“Weston was just saving me from ever having to go on a date. Thank you very much.”
“Perfect,” Asa said, satisfaction spreading from ear to ear. I couldn’t say anything. The cat permanently ate my tongue the moment I kept the truth from my best friend.
3
Crosby
I was looking forward to going away, I told myself as I smashed clothes and shoes into my suitcase. I did want to spread my wings and get the hell out of Hartford. But then, why did my silly heart ache when I thought of leaving? And why was adrenaline still lingering in my nervous system just from the memory of being caged in his arms?
It was wrong. No doubt about it. Weston was family, and he was way too old for me. But knowing he was downstairs, asleep in the basement on the pullout couch had my heart singing and skipping beats.
My brother would blow a gasket if he knew the sorts of thoughts edging their way into my subconscious. I was blowing a stupid crush out of proportion. There was no way it would be reciprocated; it was like crushing on the lead singer of your favorite boy band. Eye candy, sure. Attainable, think again. I guzzled ice water to combat the two glasses of toxic punch I’d had at the party. In two months, I’d turn seventeen all by myself, alone, in Milan. Yesterday, it felt like a dream come true. Today, it seemed lonely.
I didn’t like how Weston Abernathy made my feelings churn like they were in a blender. Not too long ago, our relationship was clear. I was a baby, and he was, along with Asa, my babysitter. Easy peasy. It was these muddy waters that had my stomach turning somersaults. I decided some herbal tea would help smooth things over. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning, but I’d sleep on the plane. There was no chance in hell my brain would shut down enough to gift me some sleep now.
From our kitchen window, you could see straight into our backyard. There was a small back deck, a shed at the edge of the yard, and a long-neglected swing hanging from the tallest oak. A basketball hoop hung over the garage door at the end of the driveway.
I saw Weston’s silhouette in the silvery light of the full moon.
Fuck the chamomile.
He was looking up at the sky, and I could tell from his posture that he was also having a sleepless night.