I eye his hand like it’s the devil, because that’s what hands can be; they can own you, pin you down, touch you without permission. Biting my lip, I shake my head. “I can do it on my own. I was just thrown off for a moment.”
He sighs and the muscles in his arm relax. “You’re afraid of heights, aren’t you?”
I lean inward until my body is pressed against the jagged rocks. “Slightly.”
“Give me your hand,” he repeats, his voice is soft, but his eyes are demanding. “And I’ll help you to the top.”
The wind increases and dust stings at my cheeks. My body heats with my nerves as I shut my eyes and place my hand into his. Our fingers entwine, a shock zips through my arm, and my eyes lift up to him.
Tightening his grip, Kayden hoist me up, the muscles of his arms flexing until I’m on the next stair. I plant my shoes against it and he gives me a moment before tugging on my arm again and lifting me to the next one. When he reaches the top, he lets go, but only to heave himself up. Then he extends his hand over the ledge and I grab it, trusting him again as he pulls me up. I stumble and my shoes scuff against the dirt as I work to regain my steadiness.
His hand comes around my back and touches me just above the waist to steady me. My body stiffens as a mixture of emotions gust through me. I like that he’s touching me, the gentleness of his fingers, and the warmth of his nearness. But then my mind flashes back to a big hand shoving at my back until I land on a bed.
I whirl around with my eyes amplified as strands of my hair float in front of my face. “Don’t touch me, please.”
“It’s okay,” he says with his hands out in front of him and a cautious look on his face. “I was just helping you get your balance.”
I reach up to secure the elastic in my hair. “I’m sorry… it’s just that… that had nothing to do with you, I swear. I just have issues.”
He lowers his hands to his side and watches me for the longest time. “I don’t want to be pushy, but you seem kind of jumpy. Can I… Do you care if I ask why?”
I aim my gaze to the view over his shoulder. “I’d rather you not.”
“Okay,” he says simply and faces the opening of the cliff.
I move up beside to him, leaving a small gap between us. The hills roll for miles; green, flourishing, dotted with trees and hikers. The blue sky is endless and the sun illuminates through the thin white clouds. There’s a breeze coming upward and also across and as they collide it makes me feel as if I’m flying.
“It kind of reminds me of that painting Mr. Garibaldi had on his wall.” Kayden rubs his scruffy chin thoughtfully.
“The one he was so proud of? And talked about all the time?” I leave my hands at my hips but bring them out a little and put my palms flat as I imagine what it’s like to be a bird, flying up high and free.
He laughs and his head falls forward, his hair falling across his forehead. “Did he tell that story to every class?”
I roll my tongue around in my mouth as I restrain a smile. “I think it was a tradition. It was his way of bragging that there was a time in his life where he wasn’t stuck in a classroom.”
He raises his head back up and exhales gradually. “How long do you want to stay up here?”
I shrug and turn for the ledge. “We can go back, if you want.”
“I don’t want to go back,” he says and I pause. “Unless you do?”
I glance back out at the hills. “I’d like to stay here longer if that’s okay?”
“It’s perfectly okay.” He sits down in the dirt and crosses his legs as he stretches them out in front of him. Then he pats the spot next to him.
I stare at it for a long time before I drop to the ground and cross my legs too. My muscles constrict at the fact that our legs are so close, but I don’t move over.
“I kind of hate football,” he reveals as he pulls one of his legs up and drapes his arm on top of his knee.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, startled. “How come?”
His finger trails along the scar that runs down half his cheekbone. “The violence sometimes gets to me.”
I rest back on the palms of my hands. “I don’t like football either. There’s only one purpose and that’s to dominate.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I get your point. I’m the quarterback, though, so all I really do is throw the ball.”
I drag my pinkie back and forth in the dirt. “I know what position you play and what a quarterback does. My father’s a coach and therefore I got to listen to a recap of every game and practice when we were eating dinner.”
“Your dad’s a nice guy, though,” he states, cutting me a sideways glance. “I like him.”
I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help it. It’s been bothering me for months that I just left him after he’d been beaten up. I never really believed that it was the only time his dad hit him. That much rage doesn’t just come once and then dissolve.
“Kayden, what happened that night? That night I was at your house… and your dad, well, when he hit you. Did that ever happen before?”
“I think it’s your turn to tell me something about you,” he evades the question, his hands balling into fists, and his knuckles are so white the scars on them blend away.
“I don’t have much to say about myself.” I refuse to look at him as I shrug. “Nothing particularly interesting anyway.”