The Truth About Kian

15. For some reason I can't explain

:: C H A P T E R  F I F T E E N | FOR SOME REASON I CAN'T EXPLAIN ::

Thankfully, Liam didn't question all of the things I let slip tonight as he drove me over to Jules' house. He knew me well enough to know that I didn't like to be the person answering the questions, and he had the good sense to take what he got.

The silence in the car was unlike the silence that had hung between us on the drive over to Mrs. Daniels' house. It was comfortable. We didn't talk because we were content, not angry.

At first I couldn't really identify what I was feeling; it was too foreign, too strange. And then suddenly, like that difficult math concept that took ages to comprehend, it hit me.

Happiness.

It wasn't the wild kind of happiness that was unrestrained and disappeared as quickly as it appeared, but the sweet and steady kind that lasted until you couldn't remember what sadness felt like anymore.

Liam executed a pathetically crooked parallel parking job in front of Jules' house and jumped out, already coming around to open my door before I'd even unbuckled my seatbelt. He followed me up the path to the front door, and I turned around to glance at him.

"You're coming in?"

"You don't want me to." Hurt flashed across his features as he turned back to his car.

"No!" I grabbed his arm, little shocks of electricity zapping my fingers. "I do, I really do, but Jules is my best friend, and you weren't very nice the last time that you saw him."

He paused, realization dawning on him. "That's why you were angry."

"Maybe you're not so hopeless after all."

"I'm a Sinclair," he shot back. "We're never hopeless."

A giggle rose in my throat, my hand still on his arm although I didn't make a move to remove it. We were like teenagers on our first date — drunk on the sweetness of a new crush. Except for the fact that we weren't on a date. And I didn't have a crush on Liam Sinclair.

Not really knowing what I was doing (because it wasn't like I was a girl who had boys falling over her feet), I stepped closer, and his eyes widened. He hummed my name, his breath coming in ragged bursts as his free hand reached for my face, and my chest constricted when his fingertips brushed my cheeks — so unlike Skylar's bruising grip on my chin that I didn't flinch away. His eyes dropped to my—

Jules whipped open the door. Liam and I jumped apart, glancing at everything but each other. Normally I would've been happy to see my best friend, but right now I kind of sort of wanted to shove him back inside the house and kick the door closed.

"Reed?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"I was wondering if I could stay here tonight?"

"Of course," he said, stepping back to allow us to take our shoes off in the foyer.

"Cool painting," Liam stumbled over the rug, too busy examining the vibrant abstract painting above the shoe rack to pay attention. "Who did that?"

"My mom," Jules explained warily. "She likes to paint."

Liam nodded, humming softly as we followed Jules into the living room. Two flowered armchairs were crammed side by side in front of the television while Enna and Shar squabbled over the remote.

"Knock it off guys" Jules scowled, snatching the remote and tossing it on a side table. "We have company."

"Daddy?" asked Enna hopefully, her black corkscrew curls hanging around her flushed chubby cheeks. She was six, clumsy and cheeky, and eternally hopeful that Jules' dad would come home.