The Accidentals

  “Oh! Tomorrow. Wow. But…why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “Because you would have told me not to bother.”

  He has a point. “I just…” I smile up at him. “I can’t believe it’s really you.” He’s gotten a haircut. It makes him look older, more serious. “You look good.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing about you.” He picks me up around the waist and spins me like a child. When my feet touch down again, he takes both of my hands. “What are you doing out here alone anyway? Your hands are cold.”

  I exhale. “I was just running an errand, and it didn’t work out.”

  “So where to?” Haze asks.

  Now there’s a good question. I’m more than a little stunned to see him and don’t know quite what to think. “Let’s walk,” I say, sounding too much like Frederick.

  Damn him.

  “Actually, there’s somewhere I’ve been meaning to walk. But it’s far.”

  “I have time,” Haze says. “Hold my hand.” He hitches his bag a little higher on his shoulder, and off we go.

  * * *

  “There are bells in that tower,” I say as we pass the library. “Music students play songs twice a day, and they pick the strangest things. Last week I heard Queen. “We Will Rock You.”

  “Those crazy prep-school kids,” Haze says, squeezing my hand. “I’m glad I found you,” Haze says. “I was worried that you’d be out somewhere, not answering your phone.”

  “Not this time.”

  “It’s beautiful here. All these old buildings.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I’m walking around in a storybook. Do you want to see the library? It’s kind of cool.”

  “Libraries really aren’t my thing. Where are we headed, anyway?”

  “An address in the next town. My mother lived there when she was in high school. I want to see it.”

  He’s quiet for a second. “She went to your school, right?”

  “Only for senior year.”

  “And then?”

  “She got into U Mass, but she took a gap year. But I was born before she could start college.”

  “So your dad lived here somewhere?”

  “Somewhere.”

  “You don’t know where?”

  I shake my head.

  We walk a while in silence before Haze asks me a question. “Have you found what you were looking for here?”

  Have I? I still don’t know what Frederick is thinking half the time, or why he’s never been in my life. “I’m working on it,” I say.

  He doesn’t call me on it.

  It takes us forty-five minutes to find the house on Armory Street. And when we arrive there isn’t much to see.

  “Kind of needs a paint job,” Haze observes.

  “At least,” I say. It’s a sad old wooden house with a sagging porch. “It must have looked better in 1997.” That would have been the year my mother graduated from Claiborne.

  “I’m sure it did,” Haze says softly. But we both have eyes. This isn’t a nice neighborhood. There’s a rusting boat in the yard across the street.

  If I came to Claiborne seeking my mom, I haven’t found her yet.

  “Let’s go back,” I say.

  * * *

  By the time we make it back to campus, we’re both freezing. “Are you hungry?” I ask. “I already ate. But I could get you something.”

  He squeezes my hand again. “No. And I really just came to see you.”

  When I look up, my old friend is watching me, his gaze so familiar that it makes me ache. “My building is over there.”

  He stops on the sidewalk. “Are you going to get in trouble if I stay over?”

  “Well…” God, I really don’t like breaking rules. But I know the odds of getting caught are negligible. “You’re not allowed to be in my room after ten. But nobody ever checks. And my roommate is away tonight.”

  “Okay then.”

  The courtyard of Habernacker is lit by old-fashioned lanterns. Haze pulls out his phone. “Which room is yours?”

  “That one.” I point. Aurora’s red curtains are visible in the window.

  Haze points the phone at the building and takes a picture. “So I can remember where you are.”

  I look all the way up the facade of our entryway and see someone looking down, a figure silhouetted against a fifth-floor window. Jake. I’m about to raise a hand to wave when he turns away.

  “Lead on,” Haze says.

  I lead him upstairs to my room, where Haze ducks in and looks around. “It’s nice. Old-school.”

  “Literally. Students have been living here for ninety years.”

  He puts his duffel bag down on Aurora’s chair and runs a hand through his hair. “After two days on that bus, I could really use a shower.”

  “Oh. Sure. Let me get you my stuff.” From the bedroom, I fetch my towel and my caddy with soap and shampoo.

  He grins. “Just like summer camp.”

  “Follow me.” I go out into the hall and check the bathroom, which is empty. “Okay, you’re all set. Lock the bathroom door, okay? And I’ll leave the door to my room open.”

  I try reading one of Aurora’s magazines while I wait for him, but it’s no use. I’m excited to see him, but more than a little unsettled.

  When the door opens again, he tiptoes in wearing my pink towel around his waist, his clothes slung over his tattooed arm. I laugh at the sight. “You should see yourself. The badass in the pink skirt.”

  He doesn’t speak until he’d closed the door. “Somebody spotted me,” he says, his voice dropping low. “A guy was giving me the stink-eye in the hallway.”

  “Oh.”

  “Seriously. This guy looked like he was about to go and call security.”

  “Did he have blond hair and black glasses?”

  “Yeah. He did.”

  I feel a pang. “That’s our neighbor. He’s a good guy. I don’t think he’d do that.” But I do owe him an apology.

  “They let guys live here?”

  “We’re on separate floors.”

  Haze goes into the bedroom and closes the door. He comes out wearing his jeans, but no shirt.

  Neither of us says anything when he sits down next to me, but my heart gets a little skittish at the proximity of all that bare skin and muscle. I punch him playfully, connecting with the eagle tattoo on his biceps, then shake out my fist. “Ouch.”

  “You see something you like? It’s a lot easier to get to the gym when you don’t have any homework.”

  “How’s the job?”

  “It’s okay. I’m working in the parking lot right now. They move you around all the time, so you don’t get too bored. But you do anyway.”

  “Did you register for classes yet?” Haze is supposed to start community college sometime this year.

  “Didn’t get around to it,” he says.

  It’s very weird to sit here on our S.L.O. with Haze.

  “You’re staring at me,” he says. “Like you never saw me before.”

  “Maybe if you put on a shirt I wouldn’t stare.” It embarrasses me to say it. But it’s here with us in the room—the question of what will happen between us now.

  Haze picks up my hand from where it lies on the couch, and then he brings it up to his bare chest and holds it there. His eyes lock onto mine. Then he leans toward me, and I watch the approach of his mouth as if in slow motion.

  When his lips connect with the corner of my mine, they’re softer than I remembered. His kiss lingers there, while I feel my heartbeat in my throat.

  “Mmm…” He sighs, and I get chills. Everywhere.

  Nervous, I close my eyes and focus on the warmth in his hands, which are pulling me into his chest.

  “Rae…” His lips move along my jaw to my ear. When I bury my face in his neck, he smells like Haze. He smells like home.

  His big hand lifts my chin, and his mouth fits against mine. His kiss is slow, like he knows I need to warm up to the idea.


  And I do. Soon enough I’m leaning in for more of that affection. As his kisses build, I bask in the steadiness of his arms and the warmth of his body. He pulls me into his lap, and we keep going.

  Until someone knocks on the door.

  I lurch backward as panic sets in. Maybe someone did report Haze’s presence in my dorm room? My eyes fly to the clock. It’s ten thirty. Way past the legal hour for a boy to visit.

  The knock comes again, and Haze eases me off his lap. Then—having more experience breaking rules than I ever will—he stands up and slips stealthily into my bedroom.

  I get up and run to the door, my heart in my mouth. “Who is it?”

  “Jenna from downstairs.”

  Okay, calm down. At least it isn’t the dean standing there. I open the door. “What’s up?”

  My curly-haired neighbor drops her voice. “Do you have a shot glass we could borrow?”

  It takes my freaked-out brain a moment to process the question. “You mean, for alcohol?”

  She gives me the side-eye. “You know another use for it?”

  “Sorry,” I say quickly, feeling like a giant dork. “I don’t have one.”

  “Ah, well. We’re playing quarters if you want to come downstairs.”

  “Thanks, but I’m, uh, really tired. Going to bed.”

  “Suit yourself.” She turns away to look elsewhere for a shot glass.

  I lock the door and breathe a sigh of relief.

  When I go into my bedroom, I expected to find Haze laughing about that bit of drama. But he’s stretched out on my bed looking exhausted.

  “You look beat,” I say, patting his knee. “You should get some sleep.”

  “I haven’t stretched out in two days.”

  “Get comfortable,” I urge him. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

  I take my nightie into the bathroom in the hallway. I change and brush my teeth.

  When I get back to my room, Haze has taken my advice. He’s lying in my bed looking cozy. “Come here,” he says, looking at me with heavily lidded eyes. “Let me hold you.”

  I’d assumed I’d sleep in Aurora’s bed. But I’m not good at saying no. And besides, he looks so inviting lying there. I slide into the bed with him and put my head on his chest. Our bare feet tangle. He’s stripped down to boxers, his body warm and hard under mine.

  “This is why I came,” he says thickly. “To hold you and make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m all right.” Mostly.

  “After my dad died, nothing was all right for a while. Wasn’t sure I’d ever be okay. Didn’t want you to feel that way.”

  My heart gives a happy squeeze, and I snuggle closer, while his arms hold me tightly.

  “Goodnight, honey,” he says. And then he falls asleep.

  * * *

  When morning comes, I can’t wake up. Somehow Haze extracts himself from the bed without dumping me on the floor. And the empty bed becomes so gloriously roomy that I roll over and keep sleeping.

  When Haze returns, he fits his warm body against my back. I’m barely conscious as he begins dropping kisses on my neck. My shoulder. My jaw.

  Wakefulness arrives slowly as his hands began to skim down my hip and around to my belly. His lips are soft and teasing on the tender skin just below my ear.

  “Rae,” he breathes, and I turn my face toward the sound. He kisses me, his tongue minty as it sweeps over mine. I break out in goosebumps as he nudges me to lie flat on the bed, then covers me with his body.

  Those dark eyes look down at me so lovingly. Then they fall closed as he kisses me again.

  A flash of heat washes through me as his mouth connects with mine. We kiss, and for a couple of minutes I let myself enjoy it. But then his hand wanders under my nightie, his fingers skimming my tummy. When they reach the elastic of my panties, Haze tugs them down.

  The next kiss seems to deprive me of too much oxygen. He lowers his hips onto mine, and suddenly everything is way too serious. His erection pokes me in the belly, and I’m not having fun anymore.

  “Haze.” I turn my face away from his to get some air. “We have to stop.”

  “Why?” he asks, his hand skimming up my ribcage, then palming my breast. “Is there someone else?”

  I shake my head. But I don’t say more, because I’m almost as afraid of the conversation as I am of…what he wants from me.

  His fingers slide down again, between my legs. Panicking now, I grab his wrist.

  Haze’s hand goes still, but he doesn’t take it away. Leaning over me, he presses a small kiss onto my belly. “Rachel. Am I not good enough for you? Because I’m not a prep-school boy?”

  My heart bangs away in my chest. “What? That’s not fair.”

  “Isn’t it?” His dark eyes flash. “Who are you saving it for? Who loves you more than me?”

  We both know the answer to that one: nobody. But I still need a time-out. I remove his hand from my crotch.

  He studies me for a moment. Then he begins dropping little kisses onto my neck. It’s kind of shocking, really, how many nerve endings my neck has. The slide of his lips feels much, much better than really seems fair. He teases the corner of my mouth, and then we’re kissing again.

  But then Haze spreads out on top of me again. The view of his muscular shoulders hovering above me is both beautiful and frightening. His kisses pick up steam, and I’m no longer comfortable.

  “Haze…” I try.

  “Yeah,” he whispers.

  I’m about to suggest that we go and find some breakfast. But he sits up and fishes a square packet off the floor—a condom. Then he shucks off his boxers. He’s on top of me even as I’m picking out the words I need to call everything to a halt.

  “Not that,” I say, catching his face in my hands.

  He drops his head to give me one quick kiss. “I know you’re nervous, but I’ll be gentle.”

  “No,” I say forcefully. “It’s not a good idea.” I shift uncomfortably, but I don’t shove his hands off my body like I want to, because I don’t want to freak out at my oldest friend.

  “What better chance will there be for us than this?” His dark eyes beg me. “I would never hurt you.”

  I know he means that. And yet people get hurt all the time, whether you mean it to happen or not. So I take the condom out of his hand. But he only takes it back from me with his teeth, chuckling.

  Once more, I grab it, and this time throw it across the room.

  Haze chuckles down at me. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

  “Listen,” I plead. “My mother wouldn’t want me taking chances.” Not only is this true, but playing the dead-mother card is the best idea I have at the moment.

  His face softens. “Jenny knew this would happen.”

  “What?”

  “She wanted us to be together. She asked me to look after you.”

  “Not like that,” I argue. There are so many things wrong with his statement it’s hard to know where to start. In the first place, there’s a zero percent chance that my mother wanted us to be a couple. She’d called Haze a “lost boy,” and welcomed him to our dinner table.

  If rolling over in graves was really a thing, she’d be doing that right now.

  Haze strokes my cheek. “Jenny was not as straight an arrow as you think. Why do you think she liked me so much?”

  “What?”

  He brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Your mom had a thing for bad boys.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” It’s also beside the point. My mother did not want me to have sex. She said so many times. She was too afraid that I’d repeat her mistakes.

  Haze kisses me again, but I’ve already lost the thread. I’m rigid beneath him as he begins trying to heat me up again. His mouth coasts down my neck and between my breasts, but I’m done here.

  “Honey,” he whispers against my skin. “Love me. It’s okay.”

  “No, it isn’t.” I give him a push. “And if you think it is, then you don
’t know me at all.”

  He looks up quickly, his expression made purely of hurt. “That’s not nice.”

  “But it’s true. Haze, get up.” I feel the inconvenient press of tears at the back of my throat.

  Instead of moving, he only studies me with puppy-dog eyes.

  “I think you need to leave.” Even as I say it, I know it’s true. I can’t keep having this conversation. And he isn’t going to let it go.

  “Rae, you don’t mean that.”

  I give his shoulders a push. “I do mean it.” But he doesn’t move.

  I forget to breathe. Just as I’m feeling lightheaded, he finally swings off me. “I’m going to get dressed, and then we can talk about it.”

  But even with a little breathing room, panic continues to rise like a crescendo in my chest. I’m practically trembling by the time Haze finishes pulling his clothes on. He jams one of his feet into a shoe.

  “Is there a coffee shop around here?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I need to be alone right now.” My head is so scrambled that I’m not standing up for myself well enough. But I’m afraid and he doesn’t seem to care. “You shouldn’t have come,” I tell him. Not if you won’t listen to me.

  His reaction is a predictable mix of hurt and horror. “How can you say that to me? I took a thirty-six-hour bus ride to see you.”

  My throat cracks. “I didn’t ask you to do that.” This is exactly what I’d been trying to avoid. My oldest friend loves me in a way that I can’t return. And I only know one way to make it stop.

  His eyes narrow. “No. But you asked me to be there all the times you needed a ride from school or the group home. But now that you’re at the big fancy school, I’m no good anymore.”

  The tears come then. I can’t hold them back anymore. “It’s not like that.”

  “It’s exactly like that. I’m good enough to play chauffeur, but not to be your guy.”

  “You are my friend,” I sob.

  “Then why are you throwing me out?”

  “Because you won’t listen to me.”

  “I’ve been listening to you since second grade. Don’t throw me out, Rachel. That will be it for us.”