November 30
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Leaving my warm bedroom and walking through my eerily quiet house, I make it out into the dark and chilly night. Shane's blue navigator stands along the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of the street light that flashes off its polished hood. I hug myself, burying my hands in my armpits and hoping whatever Shane has to tell me isn't worrying. I don't know what to expect from him anymore.
Like last time, I pull open the passenger door and jump into the seat, closing the door behind me. Unlike last time, the inside of the car is dimly lit by the combined light from the lamppost and the full moon sailing leisurely across the black sky.
As soon as my eyes meet Shane's tired one, he smiles faintly.
"Happy birthday," he says.
I stare at him. "What?" I gasp.
He grins, letting out a self-conscious and husky laugh. Color rises in his cheeks as he scratches his temple and smiles sheepishly at me.
"How did you know?" I ask, still caught off guard.
"Sophomore year," he readily answers. "You and your brother threw this huge party at school and he invited everyone. I came too, hoping I'd get to talk to you. You didn't even notice."
I blink, unable to believe what I'm hearing. Not only is it highly surprising that Shane remembers my birthday -- and a party Carter and I threw two years ago -- but I'm dumbfounded that he came to it so he could get my attention. It's unbelievable to me, the confident and charming Shane Gray trying to catch the eye of oblivious ol' me who automatically assumed that he'd been there because he liked parties and didn't want to let anyone down by refusing to accept an invite.
His confession blows my mind.
"I couldn't come last year because Mom and Dad didn't let me but ... I got you something," he blurts out, popping open the dashboard and pulling out a rectangular box. He holds it out to me and I notice how stiff he is, seeming almost awkward.
Taking it from him, I open the box and look away from Shane at last.
"Wow, thanks for ... a pen," I say, frowning in confusion.
"It's not just any pen," Shane says quickly, leaning forward and taking the box from me. "It's an insulin pen."
I lift my gaze to his face and see childish excitement mingling with awkward hesitance.
"You know, how you said you don't like needles?" he asks.
"This is a needle too, Shane," I point out just to spite him.
"Yeah, but it doesn't look like one," Shane argues, trying to convince me of his logic. "It's like a pen and looks like a pen even though it's a needle. You know, so it kind of like fools the brain into thinking it's not a needle. And you don't have to fill it up every time or dispose of it after every injection. And you can carry it around in your pocket and nobody will know it's not a pen."
Shane's wide eyes are hopeful as the corners of his lips tilt upward to give me a cheesy smile. It's so incredibly adorable that I can't help but laugh.
"You're such a dork, Shane," I tell him.
Shane snorts. "Well, you know ..." He shrugs, beaming. "I wanted to get you something nice or romantic or something but ... I saw this and I liked it and I thought it would be something nobody else would think of getting you so ... I don't care if it's dorky, okay? I don't mind being a dork."
His argument is weak as hell but he's cute and I can't help but smile like a creep at him as he rambles on, telling me the specifications of the weird-looking pen and how it's clearly better than syringes because it doesn't look like a needle per se. Sitting next to Shane, I suddenly don't even care how he stumbled in front of his mom yesterday, telling her I'm not his girlfriend or anything.
Maybe being Shane's just-friend isn't so bad either.
"So now you can have this pen that I gave you just as I have --" He reached into the neck of his shirt and pulls out a pendant I'd completely forgotten about. "-- this of yours."
I stare at the pendant, wondering if he's been wearing it all this time or if he just put it on to prove his point to me tonight. The thought that something I had randomly given him in a joke held such value to him makes me feel giddy inside. Not to mention his clear concern for my fear of needles which most people in my life have always laughed at.
Shane truly is incredible.
"You are so weird," I mumble as he hands me the box and the pen and some pamphlets he'd clearly grabbed off some paramedic store counter.
"Does it bother you?"
I nod quickly. "It's not fair," I admit. "People are not supposed to be both charming and dorky at the same time, okay? You shouldn't be so nice and smart and cute and --"
"You think I'm cute?" Shane asks, his eyes two bright stars in the dim lighting.
I roll my eyes and huff. "Stop fishing for compliments," I whine. "It makes me awkward."
Snickering at my failed attempts to seem unaffected by his contagious smile, Shane reaches out and takes my hand in his. I don't pull back, eyeing his fingers as they wind through mine. The memory of him pulling his hand out of mine yesterday and stepping away from me flickers on my mind's eye and I blink it back. The bitterness lingers, though, and Shane probably notices too, his grip loosening on my hand.
"I'm sorry about yesterday," he says, his voice suddenly lower.
"Don't worry about it," I mumble, not meeting his gaze.
"I swear, I don't know what happened," he admits. "I guess I ... freaked out? I know that's no excuse but, I don't know, I panicked. I didn't want Mom to start about not knowing who you are or question you about --"
"Shane, it's okay," I assure him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I get it. Forget what happened. Tell me instead what happened after I left. Is your mom still mad at you? What about your dad?"
My attempt to shift the focus away from what he's saying and to what he's experiencing fails dramatically when Shane refuses to budge. Pursed lips and furrowed brow, he keeps his gaze fixed on me like he's expecting me to realize he's not going to let me change the subject or shake it off this time. He's persistent about having this conversation and I'm having it whether I like it or not.
I sigh.
"Okay, fine," I confess at last. "It felt bad."
"I know it did and I'm sorry," he says without a beat, sincerity dripping from his voice.
"And now you're apologizing," I mumble, cringing. "Stop ruining my mental image of normal boys. I'll be single forever because of you."
"Not while I'm around," Shane counters my joke with a serious answer. "I like you, Tay. Like, really like you. And I want you as my girlfriend but I don't want to create more problems for the two of us --"
"I know," I say quickly, wishing he'd stop talking like that.
"It's not fair to you," he goes on as I didn't interrupt him. "You've got enough problems as it is and trying to juggle this mess is just going to end up hurting us in the long run."
I nod, my lips sealed as I wait for him to get to his point. The happiness I felt moments ago has evaporated in the wake of his words, replaced by an overwhelming sense of regret. To think Shane was telling me how much he likes me just before he started listing all the reasons we shouldn't be together. It's not like I should care. It's not like I like him or anything.
I don't.
At least I'm trying not to.
"Taylor?"
I exhale a deep breath. "I know, Shane, I get it," I say, reassuring him. "I get that we can't be together because you have priorities. You have football, and your parents to keep happy, and college admission, and all of that. I'm not complaining."
"Yeah, but ... I don't know."
I look up at Shane and see him frowning, chewing absentmindedly on his lower lip. His fingers, still wound through mine, are clammy and it's apparent he's having a battle in his own mind.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"I like you," he says.
I snort. "Yeah, that's wrong --"
"That's not what I'm saying."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I like you, Taylor," he says firmly. "I like you and I don't care about all the reasons I shouldn't. Even as I say them, I feel like they're stupid excuses I keep making up to convince myself that this is all a bad idea. I mean, look at me, stalking your house like a total creep and texting you to come out past midnight. It's fucking insane."
"Or romantic, depending on how you see it," I tease.
The corners of his lips twitch. "And you call me weird," he teases back.
I shrug. "We're both weird."
"I like weird." Shane smiles.
"Same." I smile back.
For a few long moments, we just sit there, our hands knotted, our minds whirring. It's strange how quickly the air between us shifts. One minute we're both totally comfortable, the next everything is strained, before it gets calm again. Whatever strange relationship is between us is calm like the wind and yet tumultuous like an ocean. Beautiful but unpredictable.
"I like you," Shane says.
"How many more times will you say that?" I chuckle.
"As many times as it takes for you to say it back."
"I like you," I say, not putting much thought into it.
As soon as the words leave my lips, though, I feel the full force of them weighing down upon me. Heat creeps up my cheeks and it suddenly feels so different sitting next to Shane, holding his hand. I glance at him to see him smiling knowingly. It's like he knew this would happen.
Saying something aloud changes it. Makes it more real. Harder to ignore.
Maybe that's why he feels that way, like he's just making excuses to keep himself away from me. Confessing that I, too, have feelings for him makes me feel the same way. Suddenly, it doesn't matter that there are so many reasons we shouldn't be together. They're outweighed and outnumbered by all the reasons we should.
And no matter how many times I tell myself 'no', my heart says 'yes'.
Exactly like Shane's touch does.
*.*.*.*.*.*
A/N: Thank you TheGirlWithTheCornet for telling me about the insulin pen and giving Shane the idea for this gift. This chapter is for Pike_Power123 who thinks I'm trying to kill her by not updating before May. Lol.
Seriously, though, I wanted to give you some happy Shane and Tay moments. Because, let's face it, we all know I'm going to hurt them lots before the story ends. Is it just me or this story of mine hasn't made anyone cry yet? It's really light-hearted and sweet (aside from some bits about Carter) <3