“No,” I sighed at last, staring down at my slippers for another second before my embarrassment melted into a giggle. “Just give me a second.”
“Anything for you, Yellow,” Austin winked, and the familiar tingles flared again, settling warmly under my skin.
After I changed into actual shoes, Austin led me to his car. The strange energy he’d shown up with that morning had faded, mostly, but something was still off. He wasn’t looking at me the way he usually did. It was subtle, but noticeable all the same. He seemed restless as he started the engine, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in a way that felt almost nervous.
“Actually,” I said carefully, “do you mind taking me to The Pitt?”
“What?” Austin glanced briefly at me before returning his eyes to the road. “You want to eat where you work?”
“No,” I shook my head. “I left my car there last night.”
“Oh.” He nodded once, still not looking at me. “Of course.”
Silence filled the car. Austin focused on driving with an intensity I hadn’t seen before, hands tight on the wheel, jaw set. I shifted in my seat, my thoughts starting to spiral despite my best efforts to stop them. Maybe I was reading too much into it. That was something I was good at, something I’d learned the hard way. Living with Holden’s addiction had trained me to notice the things most people ignored. Body language. Speech patterns. Fidgeting. Avoiding eye contact. All the things Austin was doing now.
“Yellow,” he said, pulling me out of my thoughts. I realized then that I’d been staring at him, really staring, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when he noticed. “I, uh… I have to admit something. I didn’t come to your house just to take you to breakfast.”
“Oh?” I said. My stomach clenched anyway, irrational and automatic. I had been trained to expect the worst from confessions. From pauses. From the space between words.
“Yeah,” Austin nodded once. “The truth is… I saw your brother last night.” I went still. I’d already assumed that much. It explained the tension, the pacing, the way he’d shown up looking like he hadn’t slept. But it didn’t explain this.
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “He got home from rehab yesterday.” My voice trailed off on purpose, leaving the door open.
“Right,” he said, finally looking at me. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. It was the same look he’d given me when Cherry was drugged. Careful. Measured. Like he was bracing himself for me to fall apart. Why?
“Look,” Austin said, his voice dropping. “I need to be honest with you about something.” The seriousness in his tone made my chest tighten. “I kind of…” He hesitated, exhaling through his nose. “I kind of know Holden.” My brows pulled together, but I stayed quiet. I waited. “We weren’t friends,” he continued quickly, like he needed to clarify that part immediately. “But we used to… run in the same circles. Hang around the same people.” He said it like a confession. Like he was standing in front of me barehanded, waiting to see what I’d do with the truth.
“Okay,” I said, even though something cold was already forming in my gut. Holden’s voice echoed in my head from the night before.Don’t ever let anyone change your mind.
“And you know how I told you I’ve done things in my past,” Austin went on. “Things I’m not proud of.” He glanced away again, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. The air in the car felt heavier now. Like we’d crossed some invisible line where pretending wasn’t possible anymore. I didn’t interrupt him. I was afraid of what would happen if I did.
“Do you do drugs?” I interrupted him, watching his face carefully, because I needed to know the answer.
“What?” Austin looked startled, his eyes darting between the road and me. “No. I just smoke weed, and you know I don’t even do it that often any—”
“Did you do drugs?” I cut in again, firmer this time. I needed the truth. Not reassurance. Not tone. Truth.
I realized then that I had asked him this same question the night Cherry was drugged. But now, with everything he’d just told me, the answer mattered in a way it hadn’t before. To me, an addict was an addict. Always. Recovery didn’t erase the past. It was a lifelong thing. A path I had already walked beside once. And I would not do it again.
“No, Yellow,” Austin said, frowning now, the shift in my voice clearly unsettling him. “That’s not what I’m telling you.” He pulled into The Pitt’s parking lot, the car slowing until it came to a stop. I took a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Austin unbuckled his seatbelt and turned toward me fully. He looked nervous. I could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his hands hovered like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“I just need to hear this,” I said quietly. “Were you ever an addict? I don’t care if it was a year ago or five. Have you ever been addicted to anything?”
He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, the same way he had on my porch that morning. “No,” he said. “I’ve never been addicted to anything, Yellow. But—”
“Then I don’t care,” I said immediately. The knot in my stomach finally loosened, unspooling all at once. Relief flooded in so fast it almost made me dizzy.
“Yellow—”
I shook my head, cutting him off. “Austin, do you think I have some kind of illusion about who you are?” He blinked, caught off guard. “I know you’re not…,” I paused, searching for words that wouldn’t land like an accusation. “I know we’re different. I run away from trouble. I don’t think you do. I met you at a drug house, after all.” Austin looked shocked by my words, so I answered for him. “You tried to save me from what washappening in that house,” I said quietly. “I could’ve met anyone outside of that place. But most of the people inside it, most of the people who were lost and reckless and wrong, wouldn’t have done what you did. I care about who you are now, not the version you’re punishing yourself for.”
He searched my face, genuinely confused. “What did I do, Yellow?”
“You tried to protect me from a hell I’ve already been through,” I told him. “And you didn’t even know me.” His hand reached for mine, tentative at first, before his fingers wrapped around my skin. He held me carefully, like I was something fragile. Like he knew I could break if handled the wrong way. His thumb brushed over my knuckles, slow and deliberate. “So maybe,” I continued softly, “you used to be someone you’re not proud of.” His eyes stayed locked on mine. “But you can be proud of who you’ve been with me.”
Austin didn’t say anything. He just stared at me. He looked at me in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever been looked at before. Like the words I’d given him were air, freely offered, just as he was drowning. Like they filled his lungs only moments before he sank again, dragged under by the weight of something heavier than relief. And at the same time, he looked like he hated it. Like he hated the words. Like he hated what they gave him. And I had no idea why.
“Yellow,” he said at last, barely whispering the name like it might disappear if he spoke it too loudly. “We’re going to have to tell each other our secrets one day. If we plan on being in each other’s lives, we need to.” He swallowed. “And I plan on being in your life. As long as you’ll let me.”
