TMI (17 page)

Meg shifted and stretched, her eyes popping open when the searing pain in her hand protested her movements. She struggled upright, blinking at her surroundings. Her hand was wrapped in a thick gauze bandage and burned like the time Bailey slipped with the freakin' hair straightener.

The blood.

Chase.

Her mind spun when the day's events came rushing back. She remembered Chase and his dad driving her to the hospital but not much after that. Her hand wasn't the only body part throbbing; her stomach was pissed off that she'd missed lunch and apparently dinner. She scanned the room. It was 1:00 a.m., according to the clock beside the bed.

Not
her bed.

Holy
crap, she was in Chase's bed.

She flung the covers off and froze when her feet hit the floor.

He'd tucked her in. God! Was it even humanly possible for a guy to be this sweet?

She'd never been in his room. She'd seen it from her window, of course. It was a cool room. He liked movies. DVDs spilled from the shelves he had on one wall. His desk was littered with video game components. He had a bunch of controllers, one in pieces, a few handheld games, and even an ancient Game Cube system strewn across his desk. In a pile on the floor beside the desk, he had art books—sketch pads, history texts, boxes of pencils and charcoals. But it was the pictures stuck to the mirror behind his door that grabbed her heart. Pictures of his parents, his grandparents, his brothers—and two of her that she didn't remember taking. The bed smelled like Chase—a mix of his sports-scented body wash and sweat—and she stood up to escape its power only to be clobbered with a pressing need for the bathroom.

She found her battered old canvas shoes next to the bed. She slipped them on but couldn't find her sweatshirt anywhere. Her phone and house key were in the pocket. No matter. She shrugged. She could jog around the block and climb in the bathroom window. With a slow twist of the doorknob, she was at the door to his room but couldn't resist turning back for one last look.

It was the only time she'd see it.

In the dim hallway—they'd left the light on for her—she crept down the stairs to avoid waking up the rest of the family. Tomorrow, she'd bake them brownies to say thanks, but right now, she needed to pee and eat and sleep…in that order. Tiptoeing across the first floor, she'd just reached the front door when a deep voice rasped, “Where the hell do you think you're going?”

She spun with a hand to her mouth to cover her startled shriek. “Chase! Oh, my God, you scared me to death.”

He was stretched out on the sofa in the living room, a thin knit blanket barely covering his lean torso. He tossed it aside, got up, and met her at the door, naked to the waist. Meg tried hard not to notice. He reached for her bandaged hand, examined it from every angle, and muttered, “Yeah, I guess we're even then. You gave us a damn good scare tonight.”

Meg tugged her hand back. “Yeah, about that. Um…thanks.”

Chase frowned down at her. “No problem. Go back to bed.”

Her eyes popped. “What? Here? I can't! I have to go home.”

He was shaking his head before she finished her sentence. “Uh-uh. You heard the doctor. He released you into our care.” He angled his head and slowly ran his eyes up and down her body. “How do you feel? Any headache or nausea?”

“Um, just a little dizzy, but that's because I'm hungry.”

That rallied Chase into action. “Right. Come on.” He grabbed her good hand and walked toward the kitchen, but she dug in her heels.

“Chase, I have to—”

“Eat. You have to eat. Come on. I'll make you something.”

Eat? How could she possibly eat with him wearing nothing but sweatpants and staring at her with stormy green eyes? “Fine. But after that, I have to go home.”

“You're not going anywhere except back upstairs. You try, and I'll wake up the whole house.”

The threat got her feet moving before she could think of a convincing counterargument. She must be more tired than she thought. In the kitchen, he pulled out a chair and practically shoved her down into it while he found bowls, cereal, and milk. Without asking, he grabbed a banana from a huge bowl of fruit on the center of the table and sliced it over Rice Krispies.

“Uh—”

“What?”

“I need to—” She waved a hand around, hoping he'd get the hint.

“Oh! Yeah, sure. It's that door.”

Meg escaped into the small powder room in the hall that led to the kitchen, flipped on the light, and stared at her reflection. Her hair stood on end. Her face was pale and her eyes were all red and puffy. “Kill me.”

With one hand, she fumbled with her jeans and managed to tug them down. That wasn't so bad. Getting them back up after she'd finished and flushed—yeah, so not happening. She tugged and shimmied, and when she let out a frustrated grunt, Chase knocked.

“You need a hand? I'll close my eyes, I promise.”

Meg smirked at the door. He totally would. That was the thing about Chase; he did what he said. She had to admit that she needed the help. “Yeah, keep your eyes shut.” She opened the door, unsurprised to find his eyes clenched.

“Okay, just take my hands, show me…uh, you know, where you—”

“Yeah, I got it.” She directed one of his hands to the waistband of her jeans, currently stalled at hip level. “Can you just maybe pull them up?” In the mirror, her face was a flaming red, and she thanked God he couldn't see.

Chase slipped his fingers through her belt loops, his knuckles grazing her bare skin, and Meg jumped.

“Oh, God, did I hurt you?” He snatched his hands back and covered his eyes.

“No! I'm fine, good. Your hands are just…um, cold.”

“Sorry.” He rubbed them together and reached for the loops again. “Better?”

Better? Meg held her breath and shut her eyes, but that just made it way too easy to imagine Chase sliding his hand lower. She forced her eyes open and managed to mumble a weak “Yeah” and held her breath. If she opened her mouth, if she so much as twitched her lips, they'd fuse to Chase in a kiss that would swallow them both whole.

Chase gave a tug that lifted her jeans and then her to her toes. Before she could say anything, he shifted his hands to her fly, fastened the button, and raised the zipper.

She waited for him to move, but he just stood there, his hands on her waistband, his eyes closed, half a smile on his lips. She could see the pulse pounding under his jaw. A second later, he stopped breathing too. If he'd pull her closer, she would go. If he'd curl his fingers tighter into her pants, she would not stop him. If he'd lower his mouth to hers—

Her stomach growled.

Chase's eyes flew open. His hands fell to his sides and he took a step back.

“Your cereal is getting soggy.”

She shoved her way past him and spooned cereal into her mouth like it was the first time she'd seen food. After a few minutes, Chase did the same. When she'd swallowed the last bit of puffed rice, he poured her a second bowl without a word.

She ate that one too and only then looked up into Chase's furious face.

“Talk,” he demanded.

This time, she arched an eyebrow at his authoritative tone. She didn't take orders, not from anybody, especially not from Chase. As if he read her mind, his face softened and his hand reached to her uninjured one. “I thought we were too late, Megan. I really thought you were dying on me.”

His eyes trapped hers under their spell, and she gasped at the tension rolling off him. He cared. That was obvious. That she cared he cared scared the hell out of her.

“It was a really crappy day, Chase. I was upset. And tired. And hungry. I tried to use an X-Acto knife on an apple instead of walking back downstairs to get the right knife. This is my fault.”

He let go of her hand and pulled away from her. “I get why you didn't call Bailey's grandparents. But you damn well should have called us.” His eyes burned with that same palette of pain and betrayal and disappointment she'd practiced painting for so long.

She straightened her spine. “I didn't think it was that bad.”

His frustrated sigh told her otherwise. “You know, I used to think you were the smartest girl in the world, Megan.”

Her blood simmered. “And now?” she asked before she could feign disinterest.

“And now I think you're the most scared. What I can't figure out is why.”

“I'm outta here.” She bolted from the kitchen table and got about three feet before Chase's strong arms caught her and carefully turned her around.

“Guess again.”

She struggled until she realized Chase was much stronger than she'd imagined, so she gasped in pain, clutching her injured hand. Chase cursed and released her.

“Jesus! Are you okay?”

She darted past him and made it to the living room. This time, he grabbed her and pulled her to the sofa where he'd been sleeping, pinning her there with his own body. She couldn't resist the taunt. “Not bad for the girl who
used
to be the smartest one you knew.”

His lips twitched, but he didn't smile. “You that desperate to get away from me?”

“Okay.” She surrendered. “I'm sorry. Let me up.”

“No, I like it here.” This time, he did smile.

“Chase, I'm serious. Get off me.” She wrestled under his weight and he went still. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes went from green to damn near black in the space of a few heartbeats.

“Megan. Don't move,” he ordered through clenched teeth.

There was tension in his voice, not to mention his body, and after a second or two, she figured out why. In one sudden move, Chase was up and under the blanket, sitting at her feet, his face flushed.

After a moment, she nudged him with her foot. “You okay?”

He shot her a glare. “Awesome. Go back to bed. It's late, and I'm cranky if I don't get enough sleep.”

“I can't sleep here.”

Chase groaned and flung his head back against the sofa cushion. “Megan, you're not going home. You're going back upstairs to my room and going to sleep. You can't even button your own pants! What are you going to do if that starts bleeding again and you're alone?”

“I'll call you. I promise this time, I'll call.”

He shook his head. “Forget it. My dad would kill me.”

Meg blew out a loud a sigh. “Look, Chase, this is so incredibly weird. I can't stay here in your bed—” she snapped her mouth shut before
weird
morphed into
creepy
.

He turned to face her, took her good hand, and held on. Meg's pulse skipped once, twice, and then settled into a fast pace when he circled his thumb over the back of her hand, his eyes peering into her soul. “You feel it. I know you do, so don't bother trying to lie to me. It's intense. It's deep and it's real. Not weird.”

Meg lowered her eyes, stared at their clasped hands, pulled in a slow, careful breath, and prepared to stab deep. “I'm sorry, Chase, but I don't feel that way about you.”

She braced for his reaction. A frown. A sigh. An argument…or something. Instead, his eyes glinted with humor.

He leaned closer.

She pulled back.

He grinned, flashing a smile that was purely predatory, and before she could form any protest, he kissed her. Damn it! She knew what he was trying to do. His lips teased hers. Well, she was not going to play—oh! His fingers skimmed softly down her arms, carefully around her injured hand. No, she was stronger than him—God! His hand reached her thigh and squeezed and she couldn't remember what she wanted to say, couldn't remember her vow until he whispered in her ear.

“Bull.”

Meg opened her eyes, found Chase back on his side of the sofa, looking all smug. In half a second, her scattered thoughts, her erratic breaths, her fluttering belly—it all collided, leaving her someplace halfway between angry and hurt. She tried to get up, to run, but he was ready for that and grabbed her hand.

“Meg, stop lying to me. I want us to be together.” The arrogant grin disappeared, and his grip on her hand tightened. “Why don't you want me? Tell me the truth this time. I think I deserve that much.”

Her eyes burned, her hand throbbed, and her head spun, but damn it, he was right.

He
was
right.

He did deserve the truth. Any guy who'd clean up his room and tuck her in his bed and pull up her jeans (without peeking or copping a feel) and make her Rice Krispies deserved so much more than
her
. She shut her eyes, let her body sag, and blurted out the thing that weighed heaviest on her heart.

“I don't want you stuck having to love me.”

Tuesday morning dawned gray and cold. Bailey had been up for forty minutes already. She quickly finished her morning routine so she could make it over to Chase's house to help Meg get ready for school. She headed downstairs, reached for the granola bars, and changed her mind.

Pop-Tarts. Definitely. Meg loved Pop-Tarts.

She popped one of two different varieties into the toaster and texted Chase while they warmed.

He didn't reply, so she wrapped the hot pastries in paper towels, slung her backpack and her bag of stuff for Meg over her shoulder, and left. Across the street, she paused to examine Meg's front yard. It looked good. No more toilet paper or diapers had appeared during the night. She smiled happily and resumed her walk around the block.

“Bailey. Hi, Bailey!”

Bailey turned and saw Meg's mom frantically waving her over from the front porch. “Hi, Pauline!” Meg's mother hated being called Mrs. Farrell. Her mom also liked being called by her first name, but Bailey couldn't ever remember a time when Meg had said, “Hey, Nicole!”

Meg was funny that way.

Bailey walked back to the steps that led to the porch. “What's up?”

Pauline wore sweats and no makeup and looked like she hadn't slept in a week. “I packed some things for Meg. Could you run them over to her at Chase's house? I have to get a few hours' sleep.”

Bailey took Meg's backpack plus the gym bag Pauline gave her and swung them over her other shoulder. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Bailey made it down the path before Pauline stopped her again. “Is it bad? The cut on her hand? There was so much blood in her room.”

“I didn't see it.” Bailey looked away and shivered. She was a horrible friend who made her best friend cry. It was her fault that Meg got hurt in the first place and had to spend the night with the guy who loved her forever but who she couldn't love back because she was stubborn and…and…just
wrong
.

“So much blood.”

Bailey's head snapped up. “I'm sorry. I'd better go. I don't want Meg to be late.”

“Tell her to call me. If she's in pain. I'll come right away. Tell her please?”

In Pauline's wide brown eyes, Bailey saw exhaustion and worry and bit her lip. “I will.”

With one last wave, Bailey walked quickly down the street and around the corner, juggling four bags and two Pop-Tarts and the weight of her own guilt. She knocked on Chase's front door, waited a moment, and finally heard the scrape of locks turning. Chase opened the door, rumpled, shirtless, and majorly depressed.

“Hey, cutie, what's wrong?”

He didn't answer. He did open the door wider to let her in. Bailey took a few steps inside, dropped all her gear near the staircase, and spotted Meg on the sofa, her hand resting on a throw pillow, a dark brown stain on the bandage that almost swallowed her whole hand.

She gasped. “Oh, God, Chase. It's still bleeding? Is she okay?”

He nodded and yawned. “Bad night. You got this? I'm gonna get dressed.”

“Yeah.”

While Chase climbed the steps, Bailey shook Meg's shoulder. “Meg! Time to wake up.”

Meg woke up with a jolt. “I'm up! I'm—
ow
!
” She clutched her hand to her chest and winced. A few seconds later, her eyes hardened, and she glared at Bailey. “What are
you
doing here? Where's Chase?”

“He's upstairs getting dressed. I came to help you. Look! Pop-Tarts.” She lifted a corner of the paper towel and waved the pastries under Meg's nose.

Meg ignored the Pop-Tarts, flung the blanket off her legs, and stood, cradling her hand. “You did enough.”

Bailey's heart tightened. She put the Pop-Tarts on Chase's coffee table. “I'm sorry about that Facebook thing. I didn't mean for everyone to gang up on you and told them to stop. I came to help, Meg, and I brought a bag your mom sent. Do you want to shower? I brought a plastic bag for your hand if you do.”

Meg stopped and stared at her. “Why? So you can take pictures of me and post those on Facebook? No thanks.”

“Meg, I'm sorry! Really. The Facebook thing was totally uncool, and Ryder—”

Meg flung up her hands, grimacing with pain. “Oh, Ryder! I should have known he had something to do with this.”

Bailey's blood heated when Meg got snarky. “Um…no. He told me to apologize.”

Meg laughed once, but Bailey could tell she didn't really mean it. “Oh! You're sorry because he told you to be. Great.” She picked through the bags Bailey left by the steps and grabbed the one her mother had sent. “You know, all I'm trying to do is make sure you don't get hurt, and somehow, I end up with thirteen stitches.”

Bailey put her hands on her hips and frowned. “I said I was sorry. But maybe you shouldn't have told Ryder that I threw up on Miss Monroe or about the poem. You know I really like this guy, and you told him the most embarrassing stuff you could. What kind of friend does that, Meg?”

Meg paused on her way to the downstairs bathroom. “I didn't tell him that story. I didn't tell
anyone
that story.” Her eyes went hard. “That's why you posted that comment on Facebook? To get back at me for something I didn't even do?” She shook her head with half a laugh. “What kind of friend doesn't believe a friend when she says she didn't do something?”

With narrowed eyes, Bailey stated the facts. “Ryder said you told him I threw up all over the teacher. He knew what grade. He knew the teacher's name.”

Meg waved her unbandaged hand. “So you believe him? You've known this guy for like ten minutes. You haven't even met him in real life. And you've known me since kindergarten, but somehow,
I'm
the liar?” She stalked down the hall and shut herself into Chase's downstairs bathroom with the bag her mother had packed.

Bailey flung herself down on Chase's sofa, grabbed a Pop-Tart, and reconsidered everything that had happened. Ryder wouldn't lie to her—she was sure of it. He knew how much she loved Meg and would have to be smart enough to know that if he said Meg said something she never said, she'd find out about it. Plus, he just moved here, so how would he even know about second grade if Meg didn't tell him?

But if she thought it was for Bailey's own good, which was exactly what she'd said when she'd told her Simon was hanging out with Caitlyn, Meg
would
hurt her.

She stuck out her tongue and aimed it in Meg's direction.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs and Chase was back. “Where's Megan?”

His hair was still wet and he wore a black T-shirt with a gray hoodie, but somehow, those colors only made his eyes
beg
to be stared into, so Bailey did just that until Chase snapped his fingers in her face. “Oh…uh, bathroom.” Bailey ate the second Pop-Tart.

“Alone? I thought you were here to help her.”

“She doesn't want my help.” Bailey crossed her arms and then crossed her legs, tapping the air with her raised foot.

Chase put his hands on his hips. “Bay, what the hell is going on with you two?”

“I apologized for what I put on Facebook. I got up extra early to pack some stuff for her and come over here and do her hair, but she won't apologize for telling Ryder I threw up all over Miss Monroe in second grade!”

Bailey waited for Chase to smile and tell her he'd talk to Meg and make everything all right, but he just stood there, hands on his gorgeous hips, staring at her like she'd forgotten to put on makeup. Wait. Her hands flew to her face. No, she hadn't forgotten her makeup.

A series of thuds on the ceiling overhead made Chase look toward the staircase with a frown. Loud giggles followed by shouts of “Butthead!” made him sigh.

“Look, Bay, in about twenty seconds, I'm gonna have to go separate my brothers. Can you just please try again? I can't help her—” He waved his hands up and down over her hips. “Not like that.”

Bailey made a sound of disgust. If she were Meg, she'd be wrapped around Chase like a silk manicure and pretend her hand hurt so bad that he had to feed her every meal—one bite at a time—and then she'd lick his fingers clean.

“Chase! Come up here and rescue Evan! He's stuck in his pajamas again,” Kelly Gallagher shouted from upstairs.

“Bailey!”

“Fine,” she snapped and headed to the bathroom, where Meg had been locked for the past five minutes, and knocked on the door, even though Meg would probably slam the door in her face.

“What?”

“It's me. Let me in.”

“No.”

Bailey gritted her teeth and almost pounded on the door when she remembered this wasn't her house. When Meg was in a stubborn mood, the only way to get her to listen was to appeal to her logical side. “Megan, come on. We're in everyone's way. Chase's little brothers are up and need help, so he can't help you. I'm it.”

The door clicked open. “Fine,” she snapped, and Bailey wondered if she'd sounded that bitchy a few seconds ago when she'd said the same word to Chase.

She didn't think so.

Bailey squeezed past Meg into the tiny room. Meg had already managed to change shirts and was trying to wrestle a pair of sweatpants on.

“Just pull them up. I can manage the rest.”

Bailey grabbed a handful of material and tugged the pants on. When Meg shut her eyes and turned red, she blinked in confusion. “Relax, Meg. They're on.”

“Oh…right.” She fumbled with the drawstring, waving Bailey off when she reached out to help. “I got it.”

“Shoes we'll do in the other room. What about hair and makeup?”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Forget it.”

Bailey gasped. “Meg, are you crazy? Do you want Chase to see what you really look like in the morning?”

“Bailey, I don't care how I look. I don't care how Chase thinks I look. I just want to get out of here. Are you gonna help or not?”

Bailey scanned Meg's flat hair and pale face and surrendered. “Fine. What's next?”

“I need to brush my teeth. Can you just hold my hair out of the way?”

Bailey nodded, and Meg finished the task in record time.

“Let's go.”

The girls opened the bathroom door and found the entire Gallagher family in the kitchen, all talking at once. Chase poured milk over Dylan's cereal. Connor elbowed Evan who then shoved Ethan. Dave Gallagher was just sipping coffee when the tussle reached him. “Hey, hey, the next kid who makes me spill my coffee gets sold to pay for my new clothes.”

The twins froze in place, and Dave mopped up the spill.

“Hi, girls. Breakfast? Coffee?” Kelly hurried in, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie with her hair pulled up in a ponytail. Nicole wouldn't be caught dead with her hair in a ponytail, but Bailey thought it was sweet and practical. And besides, there was no way Kelly Gallagher looked old enough to have all these kids anyway, so it didn't matter.

“Megan, sit down.” Dave held out a chair.

With her mouth in a tight line, Meg took the chair he offered. She shot Bailey a “help me” look, but Bailey could only shrug.

“Megan, the next time you hurt yourself while you're home alone, you are to call this house immediately. Understood, young lady?”

Wow. Bailey shuddered in sympathy for Meg when her mouth fell open and her eyes popped, but Mr. Gallagher wasn't done.

“I don't care if it's a paper cut or a broken nail. If you're hurt, you call us. You do not tie a towel around a gaping wound and wait for it to stop bleeding, and you damn well do not try to walk to the hospital by yourself in the dark. Are we clear?”

With her eyes pinned to Mr. Gallagher, Meg nodded. Bailey swallowed a giggle. She'd never seen Meg so…so…so stunned before. Who knew it would be so much fun?

“And another thing, Chase tells me you lost your job. Since he's abandoning us for lacrosse,” Mr. Gallagher said with a glare at Chase, “I need help at the store. You can start after school until the stitches come out. Then I'll need you at dawn on Saturdays. It pays ten dollars an hour.”

“Hon, you're scaring the girl,” Mrs. Gallagher said.

“Yeah, well, it takes a village and all that—” he retorted and then searched for Chase. “Chase! Get your girlfriend some juice.”

Bailey almost forgot Chase was there. She followed Mr. Gallagher's gaze and found Chase hiding behind one of the twins, eating cereal out of the box. His head shot up. “She's not—”

But with one look from his dad, Chase snapped his teeth together, opened a cabinet for a glass, and poured Meg some orange juice, which was some kind of code for the twins to unfreeze and return to their breakfast battles. Chase poured cereal for himself. Mrs. Gallagher started the lunch-making assembly line. It was total chaos, and Bailey wanted the Gallaghers to adopt her. For a moment, she indulged herself, imagining how
her
dad would have handled Meg's injury. Of course, Meg would have called her. They'd have rushed right over, driven her to the hospital. Meg would have slept at her place.