The Apple Tree (Sunday Morning, #2) (81)

I nodded.

“In fact, just stop drinking. You’re eighteen, and—”

“Gah!” I clenched my hands into tight fists. “I know! I’m eighteen. I know my age. Everyone knows my age. Would you stop starting every sentence with my age? If it’s such a big deal to you then break up with me. Go be with someone whose age you’re not embarrassed about.”

“I’m bringing up your age because it’s relevant to our conversation about your drinking.”

“Welp,” I said, holding my hands out to the side, “I’m done drinking. I’m not smoking. No drugs. I won’t even vote in the presidential election next year if it makes you happy and takes the burden off bringing up my age in every single conversation. Happy?”

Kyle frowned. “My son’s upstairs with burns all down his arm. Do you think I’m happy?”

Everything hurt, and everything was my fault.

I pushed off the counter and marched to the door, shoving my feet into my sneakers.

“Eve …”

I hurried out the door, pounding my feet along the wood planks, down the stairs and toward the hill.

“Eve?” He followed me.

I picked up my pace.

“Stop, Eve! My fucking arm hurts. I’m not running after you.”

I didn’t want him to run after me. I just wanted to go home and be alone with my feelings and as many sad songs as I could find on the radio.

“Dammit!” he grumbled.

I could hear his footsteps getting closer. He was running.

“Stop!” I yelled when he hooked his fingers into the waist of my jeans. I swung around, arms flailing to get him to let go of me.

“Ouch! Fuck!” He hugged his slinged arm and buckled at the waist after I accidentally hit it.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled behind the hand I cupped at my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re so stubborn and infuriating,” he seethed while standing straight.

Just as I opened my mouth to protest what was probably the truth, he grabbed the back of my head with his right hand, my hair gripped in his fist, and he smashed his mouth to mine.

It was a long kiss. Hard and punishing.

Considering everyone called me stubborn, I melted at his feet every time. I loved his hand in my hair, his tongue in my mouth, and the way he stepped so close to me that his leg wedged between mine.

He ended the kiss as abruptly as it started. “Now you can go home and be mad,” he said, turning one-eighty and making his way up the hill to his house.

After I caught my breath, I sprinted home to call Erin and tell her everything.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO





PATRICK SWAYZE, “SHE’S LIKE THE WIND”





Eve

I wasn’t shocked when Kyle and Josh weren’t at church the following morning, but Erin wasn’t there either. I needed her more than I had ever needed my best friend. After church, Gabby and I picked up Grandma Bonnie for dinner, and I couldn’t tell her, either, because I wasn’t ready for Gabby to know about Josh’s burns.

“Hey,” I said to Kyle and Josh sitting on the sofa while Mom and Gabby set the table for dinner. I didn’t expect to see them since they hadn’t been at church.

They were quite the pair: Kyle with his sling (because of my dad) and Josh with his arm bandaged (because of me). Did they tell my parents that I was responsible for Josh’s injury?

Kyle smiled.

“Eve, you didn’t mention the pizza accident,” Mom said, placing the pot roast in the center of the table.

“Uh …” My eyes ping-ponged between Kyle and my mom.

“I told her how I accidentally bumped you, which made you bump into Josh, and it was all just an unfortunate accident,” Kyle said.

Josh was too busy playing with one of his Matchbox cars, running it along his leg, to dispute the false story.

“Yeah,” I murmured, giving Kyle a thank-you smile.

“Let’s eat, everyone. I just need to grab the bowl of green beans,” Mom said as my family gathered around the table.

I lifted Josh onto his booster seat, then squatted in front of him before pushing his chair in. “I’m so sorry,” I said, getting choked up.

What if the pizza had landed on his face? What if it did leave a permanent scar and he’d always look at it and think of what I did to him.

“I wish I could make your owie all better with a kiss.” I gently pressed my lips to the bandaged area on his arm.

Kyle smiled at me as everyone sat around the table.

Mom held the bowl of green beans, waiting for me to move so she could set them on the table. “Aw, kisses make boo-boos better, don’t they, Josh?” Mom asked as I stood.

Josh nodded. “Like Daddy made Eve’s boo-boo better with a kiss.”

I laughed a little. “What are you talking about, silly?” I stood to scoot in his chair without making eye contact. “I don’t have any boo-boos.” I was a little uneasy, and I felt everyone else’s unease, too, but I brushed it off with a little chuckle and no eye contact.

Then a five-year-old imploded my entire world in ways I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams. It was the most unintentional revenge.

“Daddy kissed your boo-boo right here,” he pointed between his legs, “on the deck.”