Dead of Summer - Page 142

“No, God. No,” I moan, eyes closed again. “Can you tell me more about what happened? I asked Kinsley, and she started to tell me, but then I?—”

I barely hear him move. My eyes open just as his face looms in my vision, and his fingers drift against my cheek just before his lips slant against mine sweetly.

It’s not the normal kind of kiss we share. It’s kind and affectionate. There’s no demand between his lips. Nothing urging me to do more. Just…Kayde.

It’s perfect.

When he finally pulls away, it’s just so he can sit and press his forehead to mine. “What were you thinking?” he murmurs, hand cupping my face. “What were you thinking, Summer?” For the first time, I hear the rawness in his voice. The nerves, the exhaustion, and everything else he never lets me hear. For the first time, my heart twists for Kayde and I reach up to press my fingers to his jaw, delighting in the warmth of his skin and the scrape of stubble against my fingers.

“I couldn’t let him hurt Kins and Liza,” I murmur. “Come on, you know that. I had no phone service, but I did have a Melody. It’s not like I did all bad.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d died.” The admission is so raw and genuine that I have to swallow around the lump in my throat before I can even think of an answer.

“This is unhealthy.” The words come out in a soft whisper, and I find I can’t look away from him. “We’re unhealthy. We can’t be this attached, Kayde. I’ve only known you for, what, three weeks?”

“Give or take a few days with you here,” Kayde replies. A smile quirks at his lips, and satisfaction lights up his eyes. “Also, you totally just said we.”

“Don’t push it,” I warn.

“No, you said we. Does that mean?—”

“I’ll cut out your tongue if you say it?—”

“Does that mean you love me, Summer?” Kayde purrs, leaning in closer.

I can’t help it. I kiss him hard, with desperation and sweetness and a demand that had been absent from my lips before. But he meets me with the same energy, hands clutching at my shoulders for a few precious seconds. But he lets me go too quickly, leaving me a panting mess with an increased heart rate that I can hear in the beeping behind me.

“If we do too much more, you’re going to have nurses in here trying to revive you,” Kayde breathes, his voice rough. There’s a brightness in his gaze that I’ve never seen before, and I stroke my fingers along his face, touching him freely for the first time outside of sex.

“If I say it, you have to get me coffee,” I bargain as I settle back in the bed. “Deal?”

Kayde’s grin turns taunting. “No deal,” he replies. “That’s unhealthy for you. Besides.” He leans in again, nose brushing mine. “I don’t actually need you to say it, sweetheart. I can see it all over your face.”

When he moves to pull away again, I reach out to grip his wrists, the smile falling from my lips to be replaced with seriousness. I contemplate this. Us. I study his face, and finally I say, “I love you, you know. It’s weird and fucked up and probably some folie a deux shit going on. But you were right. I’ve probably been in love with you for at least a few days. Depending on how long I’ve been out.”

“Four days and six hours,” Kayde informs me, still grinning. “That’s how long you’ve been here.”

“Tell me you’ve gone home some. Tell me Mom has, too.”

“Of course not, baby.” His fingers curl around mine. “We were never going to leave you.”

Getting the full story of what happened takes another day, due to me falling back asleep at random and being unable to stay up for more than an hour at a time. Though according to Kayde, my record for the first twenty-four hours after waking up is staying awake for approximately forty-seven minutes, not quite an hour.

But I’m on the side of rounding up, for my own pride.

According to Kinsley and Kayde, the cops had taken everyone’s statements, including Darcy’s, and ruled Shawn’s death self defense. None of us are in trouble or under suspicion.

Especially once Emily wakes up and admits to Shawn pushing her.

Both Kinsley and Liza lament that they’ll never know what the hell happened to Shawn, and more than once allude to the wedding they’re sure Kayde and I will be having before Christmas. But it’s Kayde who finally admits to knowing a little more than they do.

“He’s not like me,” Kayde tells me, leaning back in his chair while I curl my legs up under me in my hospital bed. “He’s not like me, or Grey, or Melody. Well, wasn’t, since he’s very dead now.” He glances at me when he says it, like I’ll suddenly grow a conscience about Shawnathon’s death.

But while I replay the image of Kayde kicking his face over and over in my brain, it’s not because I’m disgusted or having a moral crisis.

It’s because he’d gotten what he’d deserved, and Kayde had been a sight that I never want to forget.

“We’re not crazy,” Kayde goes on, explaining what he means. “Sure, we may be messed up. Grey is definitely a psychopath, while Mel is, I think, more like me. But we don’t go on frenzies or do stupid shit just because we snap. I talked to Darcy.”