“And then?”
“And then I stayed in the valley. I didn’t go to college.”
His blond brows furrowed. “Why not? You’re articulate, smart, scary as hell. You could have given the professors a run for their money.”
“Well, that’s just it,” I told him. “We didn’t really have the money. I made really good grades, scored high on those college aptitude tests. Cooper tried to get me to sign up for scholarship programs and grants. But I wasn’t interested.”
“Wasn’t interested” was a major understatement. Cooper’s attempts to force me into leaving the valley to go to the University of Alaska led to one of our legendary brawls. He’d lost three fingertips and part of an ear. But I didn’t think that was the sort of thing I should share.
Nick and I talked for hours, until my throat was dry and my tongue felt swollen. It was hard, editing myself. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him what it was like growing up in what was more of a wrestling league than a family. I wanted to tell him that I’d never reacted to anyone the way I reacted to him. I wanted to tell him about the mating urge and how it made me crazy for him, how I was expected to marry another wolf.
But every time I was on the verge of telling him, I’d get quiet and let him talk for a while about the places he’d grown up. Florida, Arizona, Texas, Georgia, California. I couldn’t imagine seeing so many places—the desert, the mountains, the beach. I envied him that, but at the same time, it broke my heart that he’d never had a real home. I couldn’t imagine living without a place to run back to, without people who—as much as they annoyed and needled me—loved me and accepted me for what I was. How did he live like that?
“China is like a hundred different countries in one. Crowded cities, sweeping mountains, huge, vast open plains, Scotland, India. India is so hot that you can actually taste the air, like spicy cotton candy,” he said. “Scotland was nice; the people were friendly. I’m pretty sure that’s where I ended up getting the tattoo, which just goes to show you that you shouldn’t get into drinking contests with people who have their own class of whiskey named after them.” He turned his back and pulled up the hem of his shirt to reveal a red lion on his shoulder, the kind you might see on some old English battle flag.
I thought maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to see those places. I wouldn’t ever want to live anywhere but the valley. But it might be interesting to go where Nick had gone, to see what he’d seen. But my opinion was probably being swayed by the fact that he was practically shirtless.>“Feels like there’s a drunk marching band in there,” I said, gingerly rubbing my temple. “And the tubas are way off-key.”
“Well, your pupils look good, but we should probably keep you awake for a while, just in case you have a concussion,” he said. “Talk to me. Why’d you run off like that earlier?”
“You couldn’t think of something a little more small-talkish before diving right into the deep end?” I griped.
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.
“Blue.” I sighed, staring up into his eyes and hating myself for being such a sappy masochist.
“What do you think of the Red Wings’ chances this season?”
“They’ll be fine until the Avalanche take the ice,” I muttered, biting off another hunk of protein bar.
He snorted. “OK, then, why did you run off earlier?”
“I don’t like how you make me feel,” I said, my lips somewhat loosened by exhaustion, warm dry clothes, and the weight of the protein bar in my belly.
His eyes widened in alarm. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean—”
“No, I mean I like you, too much. You make me forget. You make me feel like you’re more important than anything, and I can’t let that be.”
“Why not?” he asked, pushing my hair behind my ears.
“I have to take care of everybody,” I said, yawning.
“And who takes care of you?”
I smiled at him. “Me.”
“Nobody takes care of themselves all the time.”
“Who takes care of you?” I asked.
He grinned suddenly. “Me.”
“There you go.” I blinked again, letting my eyes droop closed.
“No, no,” he said, pinching my arm lightly. “Stay awake.”
“Ow,” I grumbled, swatting at his hand. “OK, fine. Tell me something. Anything. Tell me anything. Where are you from?”
“I’m from Reno, originally,” he said, tucking a blanket around my shoulders. “My mom ran out on us when I was five or six. Didn’t give much of a reason, but she’d made it clear that she didn’t like being a mom nearly as much as she liked getting loaded or going to the casino with her friends.”