“Barring any crazy shit, you’ll have about this much saved bythe end of the summer, yeah?” I say, doing my best to keep the uncertainty out of my voice.
“Um, I don’t...” He closes his eyes for a minute, and his mouth moves silently, as though he’s doing some mental math. “I think so?” he says after a few more seconds. “Each of my paychecks will be about four hundred fifty bucks, maybe. I get paid weekly. So, um, does that math work?”
“Yeah, for three months. That’s a pretty decent chunk, yeah? I mean, you’ll have some expenses here and there over the summer, but we can keep those down as much as possible, with you living here and everything. So you’ll have enough for a deposit and at least a month or more of expenses, and I’ve got—”
“Alex.” He shakes his head again, and he opens his mouth to argue, but I reach over and close the laptop, cutting him off.
“I’ve got about that much money saved too.”
“That’s your money.”
I move the laptop to the coffee table and then turn so I’m facing him on the couch. “Nico,” I start, my voice breaking on the single word. When he turns his head to look at me, his eyes are dark, sunken almost, and an urgency bubbles up in my chest.
I want to see him smile.
Ineedto see him smile.
I hate this hurt and pain. The stress and uncertainty. The anxiety.
Softly, I lift my hand to his cheek, holding his gaze as my fingers brush along his jaw. “Nico,” I say gently, “I care about you.”
“I care about you too,” he counters. “But that doesn’t mean you should waste your savings on me. You’ll need that money. If not right away, then you’ll need it eventually. I can’t take it.”
For a moment, all I hear is his first few words. My brain stutters to a halt on his“I care about you too,”and I just stare at him, the tension in my shoulders fading into hope. My hand is still on hischeek, and I slowly draw him toward me, relieved when he comes willingly. Our lips meet, and a burst of warmth and love and joy rushes through me. It’s a short kiss, because he pulls back after just a second or so, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face now, and I let my thumb brush along his lips as I revel in it. It’s small but beautiful. I love it.
He rolls his eyes at me and sighs. “Did you hearanyof my words after I said I care about you too?” he teases.
I laugh, which feels pretty good, and then I nod and tug him back in for another brief kiss before straightening up again. “Actually, I did.”
“So . . . ?”
I let my hand drop back down to my lap, but I hold his gaze. “So, didn’t you hear whatIsaid too? I care about you. A lot. And Iwantto help you. We can do this together. You don’t have to do it alone, Nico. That’s what I wantyouto hear.”
He doesn’t respond this time, but his whole body tenses, and he shrinks in on himself, his arms gripping his stomach like it hurts, as he shakes his head.
I want to gather him up in my arms and hold him. And I want to kiss him and cuddle with him. Whisper all the wonderful things he is to me as I hug him close. I want him to really know what he means to me. And I want him to believe that he’s worthy of that love.
Is that the problem? He doesn’t think he’s worth it?
Or is it something else? Like maybe he doesn’t believe how much I care?
My heart breaks at the thought as I watch him curl in on himself more and screw his eyes shut. It would make sense. After all, the one person in the whole world who was supposed to love him unconditionally, no matter what, with all her heart—his mom—she abandoned him. Worse than that, actually.She betrayed him, kicked him out, sided with his abuser. Lied to him and manipulated him.
She hurt him so deeply, it’s no wonder he’s having a hard time trusting that this is real.
“Why, um, why don’t you... want me to help you?” I ask, though I’m not sure what type of answer I expect.
And he doesn’t answer right away anyway. His arms tighten around his stomach again, and he shakes his head. “I-I don’t know,” he says, his voice small and uncertain. But then he inhales a slow breath and looks up at me, a battle raging in his eyes. I see it. I see him. He’s fighting for it. For us. Even just being here is hard for him. Not running away, retreating. Not letting his anxiety take over. “I... do want what you do,” he mumbles, every quiet word a struggle. “But I... don’t feel comfortable knowing I might have to rely on your money.”
I nod slowly, and I scoot closer. “It would just be a safety net,” I say softly, reaching out to touch his back. His body shudders as I rub my hand up and down lightly. “Just in case, while you work out your budget and stuff. And we have three months to find you a job. Three months is a long time.”
“I’m not qualified for—”
“Youare, though. You’re smart and resourceful and organized. And you’re a hard worker, too, and a fast learner. And you’re motivated.”
He shakes his head, but I keep going, fueled by the fact that he’s still here and listening.
“You’re honest, reliable. Punctual.”
