rest my forehead on the steering wheel. I can’t believe he just said that, so simply. No one ever cares if I’m okay. “Everyone thinks I killed him.”
“I don’t.”
For some reason his admission just makes the tears come anew. I purse my eyes tightly, willing them to stop, to disappear. “Why?”
“Because I saw the way you looked at him. You would have done anything to save him.”
For a second, I let the tears fall without wiping them away. I take in deep, unsteady breaths, my eyes shut, concentrating on the feeling of his hand on my shoulder.
It seems as if eternity passes in silence, with Cole’s steady, unwavering presence beside me. None of them know how much they hurt me, but now he does. I turn away from him, finally getting myself under control. Thanks to the fogged-over windows, it now feels like we’re the only two souls left on earth.
“So . . . has it just been one of those days, or what? You’re not the type to break down like this.”
I swallow and turn back to him. I don’t have the energy required to guard my emotions right now; I just look right into his hazel eyes—more green than brown—and try to keep my lips from quivering all over again.
I . . . I just . . .” I choke back the words I want to say, the words that would surely pour out if only I uncorked them. “I can’t afford to fix it, and my grandmother doesn’t have a car so I drive us everywhere and . . .” I let my voice trail off, because I sound pathetic to be so worked up about a car.
He stares at me for a long, pointed moment. He doesn’t believe me, and I know he wants to say so. “Maybe I can fix it,” he says, his voice soft. “I’m not the mechanic Steven was, but I helped him enough to pick up a thing or two.”
I blink rapidly, keeping the tears from swallowing me whole all over again. “Thank you.”
Cole sighs. The sound stretches out and lingers there. “All right. I’ll open the garage door and we can push it inside.”
I nod and look at him again, grateful he isn’t pushing for something I can’t give. “Thank you.”
He nods, his eyes still on mine. Then he pulls away and climbs out of the car, taking all of the air with him as he shuts the door.
I stop myself from calling out after him. Two years of not talking to anyone, and now everything wants to burst out at the first possible chance. But I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t be that person. I can’t invite him in.
I wipe the fog off the window and watch as Cole punches a series of numbers into a keypad. The door slides up, and he jogs back over to me, motions for me to unroll the window. “Put it in neutral and I’ll push you over there.”
I nod and do as he says. A moment later, I’m rolling into the garage. I should look ghastly in the bright lights, my eyes like sandpaper, my nose still sniffly. But I know the truth. I know I probably look just as pretty as ever. The curse of being a siren means I will always be beautiful. Even when I don’t feel it.
Cole shouts at me to pop the hood, so I reach down and hit the lever. It takes him only a second to unhook the latch and get it open. “Go ahead and turn the key,” he says.
I twist the key in the ignition, and just like before, I hear nothing but clicks.
I can’t see Cole, but he’s moving around, looking at things. “Okay, that’s good.”
I let go of the key and it’s silent once again.
He comes around to my side of the car, wiping his hands on a paper towel. I roll down the window but don’t get out. Somehow, having the door between us makes it feel safer. He looks at me with soft, concerned eyes, as if I’m fragile. “I think it might be the battery. Did you leave the lights on?”
I shake my head.
“Why don’t you leave it here, and I’ll drop you off at home? I can try and figure out what it is.”
The panic grows inside my chest. It’s instantaneous, like a dozen balloons trying to expand inside my lungs. “No, I can’t. I need my car. You
“I don’t.”
For some reason his admission just makes the tears come anew. I purse my eyes tightly, willing them to stop, to disappear. “Why?”
“Because I saw the way you looked at him. You would have done anything to save him.”
For a second, I let the tears fall without wiping them away. I take in deep, unsteady breaths, my eyes shut, concentrating on the feeling of his hand on my shoulder.
It seems as if eternity passes in silence, with Cole’s steady, unwavering presence beside me. None of them know how much they hurt me, but now he does. I turn away from him, finally getting myself under control. Thanks to the fogged-over windows, it now feels like we’re the only two souls left on earth.
“So . . . has it just been one of those days, or what? You’re not the type to break down like this.”
I swallow and turn back to him. I don’t have the energy required to guard my emotions right now; I just look right into his hazel eyes—more green than brown—and try to keep my lips from quivering all over again.
I . . . I just . . .” I choke back the words I want to say, the words that would surely pour out if only I uncorked them. “I can’t afford to fix it, and my grandmother doesn’t have a car so I drive us everywhere and . . .” I let my voice trail off, because I sound pathetic to be so worked up about a car.
He stares at me for a long, pointed moment. He doesn’t believe me, and I know he wants to say so. “Maybe I can fix it,” he says, his voice soft. “I’m not the mechanic Steven was, but I helped him enough to pick up a thing or two.”
I blink rapidly, keeping the tears from swallowing me whole all over again. “Thank you.”
Cole sighs. The sound stretches out and lingers there. “All right. I’ll open the garage door and we can push it inside.”
I nod and look at him again, grateful he isn’t pushing for something I can’t give. “Thank you.”
He nods, his eyes still on mine. Then he pulls away and climbs out of the car, taking all of the air with him as he shuts the door.
I stop myself from calling out after him. Two years of not talking to anyone, and now everything wants to burst out at the first possible chance. But I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t be that person. I can’t invite him in.
I wipe the fog off the window and watch as Cole punches a series of numbers into a keypad. The door slides up, and he jogs back over to me, motions for me to unroll the window. “Put it in neutral and I’ll push you over there.”
I nod and do as he says. A moment later, I’m rolling into the garage. I should look ghastly in the bright lights, my eyes like sandpaper, my nose still sniffly. But I know the truth. I know I probably look just as pretty as ever. The curse of being a siren means I will always be beautiful. Even when I don’t feel it.
Cole shouts at me to pop the hood, so I reach down and hit the lever. It takes him only a second to unhook the latch and get it open. “Go ahead and turn the key,” he says.
I twist the key in the ignition, and just like before, I hear nothing but clicks.
I can’t see Cole, but he’s moving around, looking at things. “Okay, that’s good.”
I let go of the key and it’s silent once again.
He comes around to my side of the car, wiping his hands on a paper towel. I roll down the window but don’t get out. Somehow, having the door between us makes it feel safer. He looks at me with soft, concerned eyes, as if I’m fragile. “I think it might be the battery. Did you leave the lights on?”
I shake my head.
“Why don’t you leave it here, and I’ll drop you off at home? I can try and figure out what it is.”
The panic grows inside my chest. It’s instantaneous, like a dozen balloons trying to expand inside my lungs. “No, I can’t. I need my car. You
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