Wes touches my thigh under the breakfast table, though, and it’s a tiny reminder that there’s at least one thing I don’t hate right now.
Fancy that.
The person who used to be the biggest problem is now the only one who can keep me sane.
I retrieve my grandfather’s watch for Wes before we go. He slides it on and it fits him well, and all I want to do is go back to last night and freeze time there.
I liked spending the night with someone.
Withouteven having sex.
And I’d probably feel a lot weirder about that if I didn’t have a fucking fire to put out back on campus right now.
We all pack up and I tell Mom that she has to call me anytime she’s feeling even slightly lonely. But I trust her, now. I trust that things are better for her. If I were to be expelled from Crimson College, that would seriously disappoint her, but… I’m not going to let that happen.
“Good luck on your project, sweetheart,” she tells me as she hugs me outside. “I know you’re going to get first place. You’re good at building cars, big or small.”
After everyone says their goodbyes, I slide into the driver’s side of my Mustang and Weston gets into the passenger seat.
“What project is she talking about?”
“Hm?” I ask. “Oh. It’s a dumb engineering competition. I’m making a small air-powered little car.”
“That sounds cool.”
“It’s nothing. My advanced mech professor pushed me to enter the competition, but it’s a pain in my ass, honestly.”
“Is there going to be a prize?”
“We have to present our projects on stage, and there will be judges. Like I said, I don’t really care.”
His eyes widen a little, though, when I glance over at him after putting the key in the ignition.
“I want to go watch the competition,” he says. “Whenever it happens. I’m sure all the guys would love to see what you built.”
“It’s boring shit, Wes. Trust me. And I’m pretty sure your Onyx friends aren’t going to want anything to do with me after what happened.”
As we start the drive, I tell Weston everything Kieran texted me.
He’s just as concerned as I am. Maybe more.
For some reason Wes seems to think this is his fault, even though it has nothing to do with him, and he does that thing where he acts like he has to be the one to swoop in and handle it for everyone else.
We’re silent for a while near the end of the trip, listening to the low sound of the radio in the car.
“I don’t want anyone getting hurt anymore,” Wes says when we’re easing off the highway and close to campus.
“I know you don’t. And no one will be hurt. Okay?”
He doesn’t seem convinced. I pull up to a red light and glance over at him.
“I hope so,” he says softly.
It pains me to see that look on his face.
The somber expression that I used to always think was a detached smugness doesn’t seem anything like that to me, now.
I know Weston’s trauma better now.