Page 95 of Torn
Instead, I plant a quick kiss on his mouth and pull away, untangling my legs from around him as he lets out a deep sigh.
“All right,” he says, his voice thick with… disappointment?
Yes. He’s disappointed. In me.
My heart and stomach sink together as I jump off the clothes dryer and he moves away from me.
“You get out of here first and then I’ll leave. I don’t want anyone to see us coming out of here together.”
“Okay,” I say awkwardly, reaching for the doorknob. “Thank you for playing the songs for me, Tor. It was amazing to finally see you and hear you play.”
He nods and runs his hand through his hair before meeting my eyes again. The fire is gone from them now, replaced with their usual shroud of melancholy.
“Happy birthday, Angel.”
I unlock the door and peer outside to make sure no one is milling around in the hallway before I leave the room and go directly upstairs to my own, closing my door behind me before I burst into tears.
I let him down. He gave me a chance to show him how I feel and what I want, and I let my nerves and inexperience get in the way and destroyed the moment.
Once again, that bitch calledrealityis knocking on my door, here to remind me that regardless of how we feel, I’m still a teenager, and he’s still a grown man. No matter how close we might be sometimes, we are still worlds apart in so many ways.
CHAPTER 22
Kenzi—age five
Tor—age twenty
After strapping the pink helmet onto her head, I hold the handlebars of the small bicycle I bought her for her birthday, waiting for her to get on.
“My wheels are gone,” she says skeptically, touching the seat and blinking up at me.
“You don’t need the training wheels anymore. You can ride it without them now, like we practiced on your old bike.”
Her teeth chew her bottom lip. “Are you sure, Uncle Tor? I don’t want to fall and ruin my new bike.”
I lift her up and gently place her on the seat. “I’m going to run right next to you. I won’t let you fall, Angel, I promise. Do you trust me?”
She smiles at me, the gold flecks in her jade eyes sparkling under the bright summer sun.
“I trust you.”
I wink at her and place my hand on the back of her seat. “Okay, then. Start pedaling.”
She grasps the handlebars with as serious a face as a five-year-old can make and starts to pedal slowly, wobbling a bit. Grasping her seat, I jog next to her as she picks up momentum, and soon she’s pedaling perfectly on two wheels.
“You’re doing it!” I yell as I slow down and let her go ahead of me on her own so I can watch her.
She turns her head to look for me, turning the front tire sharply, and she goes down right in front of the neighbor’s house, arms and legs sprawling on the pavement.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, running to her. “Are you okay?” I ask, helping her stand up.
“You made me fall,” she says tearfully. “I was looking for you and I fell. You promised to stay with me.”
“You’re right. I just wanted to see you do it all by yourself. And you did it. You don’t need me to hold you up, right?” I pick up the bike, glad to see it’s not broken, but her knee is bleeding and her palm is all scraped up. Ember’s going to kill me.
She glares at me and shakes her head, the helmet twisting crookedly on her head.
“It’s better when you hold me up.”