In Between the Lines

Chapter 10: Poorly Injected Lips

His expression faltered until I added, "There's nothing to forgive, Dez. You were put in a really awful position, and you did everything you could to fix it. You had no obligation to me, and yet you saved me from Evan. If anything, I'm the one who should be asking for your forgiveness. I've been nothing but nasty towards you, assuming the worst about you all this time."

"That was the point. You were supposed to hate me."

"Regardless—I'm sorry," I said. And I meant it.

Dez nodded, silently accepting the apology as he shrugged on his jacket, a deep burgundy color that made his eyes glow fiercer against his tanned skin. I waited until he was done putting it on before I slid out from the booth.

We walked to the front of the diner together, stopping to face each other only when we stepped outside. The breeze was cool but comfortable, and I didn't quite know how to explain it, but as I looked over at Dez, somehow breathing felt . . . easier. Lighter.

He turned to me. "So."

"So," I echoed, tilting my head to look up at him.

"There's one more thing we still need to talk about."

My brows furrowed.

"Jeremy," Dez clarified, running a hand through his hair. It had since dried from its earlier dampness, leaving the ruffled tresses looking soft—like silky, dark chocolate. "I'm sure you still think I'm a monster after what you heard."

I peeled my eyes away from his hair to meet his gaze. I recalled what Reed had said about him, how Dez had pushed Jeremy against a locker and shouted at him, how the things he said were so vicious that it made the seventeen-year-old boy wet his pants.

"I thought about it," I said hoarsely, pushing that image of Jeremy out of my mind.

"And?"

I shrugged. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"But I want to." Dez took a step closer, his hands lifting as if they might reach for mine—before they fell back to his sides. He clenched his fists. "I want you to know what you might be getting yourself into."

"Getting myself into?"

"You know." He half-smiled. "If you decide you still want me around after today."

I didn't tell him what I'd already decided the moment I saw the bruises on his hands.

"I like that you don't care who I am," he said, as if he felt the need to explain. "You don't care that I'm captain of the baseball team or any of that. You're the only person other than Lewis who's ever been honest with me. That's why he's my best friend. He tells me when I'm being an idiot. Everyone else—they just tell me what they think I want to hear. I need more people in my life to keep me grounded, and that day in the woods? When you said all those things about me being entitled and arrogant? You were right. I was angry not because of what you said but because you were able to see through me so thoroughly, it freaked me the hell out." 

A weight pressed onto my chest as I recalled the horrible things I said to him. "I said those things before I knew you."

"But you weren't wrong." His smile held no bitterness. "I try to be a good person when I can, but that doesn't mean I don't forget to tone down the whole 'jerk' thing sometimes. It doesn't mean I don't let things get to my head, because I do. I mean, I was so confident I'd get the guys on the team to think I didn't care about you and for you to hate me so much you didn't come to the bonfire—and look what happened." Remnants of guilt flashed in his eyes before it was gone again.