But with the meteor shower, I feel…as close to peaceful as I have in a very long time.
“We should go in,” Jaxon says eventually. “It’s getting colder.”
“I’m okay. I just want another minute or two, if that’s all right.”
He inclines his head in an of course kind of gesture.
There’s so much I want to say to him, so many things he’s done for me in the very short time we’ve known each other. But whenever I try to come up with the words, they don’t sound right in my head. So eventually, I settle for “Thank you.”
He laughs, but it’s a sound completely devoid of humor. I don’t understand why until I look in his eyes and realize they are completely blank again. I don’t like it at all.
“Why do you laugh when I thank you?” I demand.
“Because you don’t ever have to thank me, Grace.”
“Why not? You did something really nice for me—”
“No I didn’t.”
“Um, yeah you did.” Under the blanket, I hold my arms out in the universal gesture of look-at-all-this. “Why don’t you just admit it? Take the compliment and move on.”
“Because I don’t deserve the compliment.” The words seems to burst straight out of him without his permission, and now that they’re hanging there, he looks a little sick. “I’m just doing my…”
“Your what? Your job?” I ask, my stomach clenching at the thought. “Did my uncle ask you to be nice to me or something?”
He laughs, but there’s still no amusement in the sound. No joy. Just a soul-deep cynicism that has my eyes watering all over again but for very different reasons. “I’m the last person Foster would ever ask to be friends with you.”
If I were more polite and less concerned about him, I’d be inclined to drop the subject entirely. But politeness has never been one of my virtues—I’ve got too much curiosity for that—so instead, I call him on his shit. “And why is that exactly?”
“It means I’m not a nice person. I don’t do nice things. Ever. So it’s ridiculous to compliment me on your perception of what I do.”
“Really?” I shoot him a skeptical look. “Because I hate to be the one to break it to you, but cheering up a sad girl is a nice thing to do. So is carrying her back to her dorm when she hurts her ankle and chasing off guys who think pranks that can kill people are funny. So is charming the cook into making an injured girl waffles. All nice things, Jaxon.”
For the first time, he looks uncomfortable, but he still won’t back down. “I didn’t do it for you.”
“Oh yeah? Then who did you do it for?”
He doesn’t have an answer. Of course he doesn’t.
“That’s what I thought.” I grin up at him, all cocky and obnoxious because, on this, I can be. “Looks to me like you’re just going to have to accept the fact that you did something sweet. You won’t burn at the stake, I promise.”
“They only burn witches.”
He sounds so serious that I can’t stop myself from laughing. “Well, I’m pretty sure we’re safe, then.”
“Don’t be too sure about that.”
I start to ask him what he means, but a violent shiver racks me at the same time—blanket or no blanket, it’s freaking cold out here—and Jaxon takes the decision into his own hands. “Come on. Time to get you inside.”
Hard to argue when my teeth are about a minute away from chattering. But when I glance up at the window we came out of, I can’t help wondering, “How exactly are we going to get back in? And by we, I mean me.” Dropping three feet out of a window is one thing. Boosting myself back up is another thing entirely.
But Jaxon just shakes his head. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, Grace.”
Before I can figure out why those words sizzle through me like a lightning bolt, he’s grabbing onto the windowsill and swinging himself inside. The whole move takes about one point four seconds, and I have to admit, I’m impressed. Then again, nearly everything Jaxon does impresses me, whether he means it to or not. He impresses me.
More, he makes me feel not so alone at a time when I’ve never been lonelier.
He’s back in moments, poking his head and upper body out of the window. “Give me your hands.”
I lift my arms up without a second thought, and he grabs onto my forearms, right below the elbow, and pulls. Seconds later, I’m back through the window and standing an inch, maybe two, from Jaxon.