A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Thirty-Five

"When the storm rips you to pieces, you get to decide how to put yourself back together again."

School ended at noon the following day. It was a tradition, to give the graduating class time to prepare for the ceremony. There would be no classes at all the next day, with prom in the evening.

I stood beside Brock's locker, hands empty, heart about to burst from nerves. People eyed me, and the voices inside my head whispered that they were silently judging me. I tried to brush the worry aside. What others thought did not matter. All that mattered was that Brock know I had it in me to forgive him, to move on.

His dark blond hair appeared over the swarms of people. My pulse quickened. There were several possible endings to this scenario, he might agree, or he might tell me it was too late.

Brock stopped when he saw me, blinked. "Claire. Hey. Is something wrong?"

"I—" The urge to cry almost overpowered me. I cleared my throat, and looked him in the eyes. "There are some things I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yeah, anything. Here? Now? Or, do you want to go somewhere more private?"

I bit my lip, noting the curious glances cast our way. "Maybe it would be better if we go somewhere else."

A smile replaced his slight frown, and Brock nodded. "Cool. Just give me a second to put my stuff away, and then we can get out of here. Do you have a ride home?"

"No." The idea of riding in a vehicle alone with him terrified me.

"I can give you one. If that's okay with you."

It was impossible to stop the smile. "Thank you. That would be great."

Shrugging, he walked past me to his locker. The heat that came off him made me shiver. It had been so long since we were this close to each other, since I'd touched him. Our arms were inches away from brushing.

Voices filled the hallway. Elbows jabbed into ribs as people shoved past, desperate to reach an exit. I watched them in silence. Seconds later, Brock closed his locker, and waited for me to follow him out to his car.

Neither of us spoke as we slid in the front seats. I felt awkward, foolish to think that we could remain friends after all we'd been through. Sitting beside him brought back the memories of this vehicle. The back seat would always remind me of the cliff, of the feel of his lips on mine in the dark as we parked on the cliff overlooking the city.

The one small mercy I got was that Brock never tried to force me to speak. He waited until we reached our street before turning to me, the confusion plain on his face.

"What did you want to talk about?"

I chewed on my bottom lip, debating whether I should invite him in the house. It seemed like a horrible idea. Instead, I made myself look back at his face. "I think we should try again." His face lit up. "As friends." Though the smile remained, the joy left his eyes.

"Okay, if that's what you think might be best." His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as they strained against the skin. "It's a good start."

"Did—did you want to come inside? There's more I need to say." I had a feeling I would regret bringing him in the house. The memories there would be worse.

Brock hesitated, glancing at his own house across the street before turning back and nodding. "Sure."

Right now, I wanted to throw all my plans away. I wanted him more than I ever had before.