Savannah laughs. “Nah, she’s still looking to get hitched.”
“Oh, good.” I settle facing away from the TV, though I can see its flickering reflection on various framed paintings.
“You big into ranching?” Brayden asks me.
I snort. “Do you think people watch this show for thehorses?”
“I grew up riding,” Savannah says, while Brayden nods like that’s normal.
“Oh same,” I say sarcastically. My head only hurts slightly as I laugh.
“No horses in—” Brayden pauses like he’s trying to remember where I’m from.
“Pittsburgh. And yeah, some people had them. My mom’s a reporter. Not exactlyhorsemoney.”
“And your dad?” Brayden asks.
Despite being tired, my shoulders go involuntarily stiff. “He was mostly a piece of shit.” I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, counting down until my chest loosens. “I haven’t seen him since I was sixteen.” Not since I sat outside my parents’ house—mymom’shouse—with a metal baseball bat andtold him that if he set foot inside again, that’d be the last thing he’d ever do.
For a moment, neither of them says anything, though Savannah is looking at me, unsurprised, forehead pinched in sympathy. She’s smart. I don’t know why I thought I was getting anything by her. I might as well be wearing a sign on my forehead that tells my life story. You can drive all night and still not escape who you are.
“Yeah,” Brayden says after a minute, “I feel that.”
I only saw his parents briefly at that party—mostly, my eyes were on Savannah in that dress and on Brayden seemingly not appreciating her in that dress. They’d seemed normal enough, but growing up with a father like mine teaches you that normal is a suit some people can put on in the morning and take off just as easily when they come home at night. “Anyway, he’s gone.”
“Dead?” Brayden asks.
“I wish.” I shift around, trying to get settled, finding that I can’t. Agitation—at myself for getting hurt, at this concussion for putting me on a shelf for the next few days. I pull out my phone, cue up my meditation app, then immediately clench my eyes shut at its brightness.
“No screen time,” Savannah says.
Of course she’s not wrong. I open my eyes, darken my phone screen. I don’t want them seeing me like this. Tightness returns to my chest. “You should go.”
Savannah gets up. Sits on the couch I’m currently occupying. Places her hand on my cheek.
“We should leave because you don’t want us here?” Sav asks. “Or because you don’t think we want to be here?”
I turn away, scrunching my face into the nearest couch cushion.
“Asher, hey.” Savannah says my name softly, the way I’ve fantasized about her saying it for what feels like an eternity.Just not like this.
I wish I hadn’t said anything about my dad—that whatever was happening between us didn’t feel so much like someone had dug into my body with a sharp spoon. It was one thing to fuck. Another to talk about the things I keep buried inside myself, hoping they never wake up.
Savannah leans, kisses my cheek softly. “If we want to sleep here tonight, is that okay with you?”
We shouldn’t. Mostly because if I sayyesnow, it’ll be worse when they inevitably pull away. “What makes today different from yesterday?” I ask.
She turns to Brayden, who looks like he might be panicking as he decides whether or not to flee.Go back to your room, to your marriage. To your straight lives together without me.
“If you leave now,” I say, “you were just checking on your teammate.” That’s what we’ll be. All that we get to be. Teammates. Possibly friends.
“Yeah.” Brayden gets up. For a moment I think he’s going to gather his things and go. Then he stops in front of the couch Savannah and I are on. He squares his shoulders, plants his feet, and I can’t tell if he’s forcing himself to stay here or working up to forcing himself out the door.
“Last night,” he says. “We shouldn’t have…” He trails off.
Here it comes. He’s going to tell me all the reasons we shouldn’t want what we want.
“We shouldn’t have left like that,” he says, instead, and holds out his hand. “Think we’ll all fit in that bed?”
