“Tomorrow we figure out how to do this without getting caught.”
“This?”
“Whatever this is.”
I reach for my jersey and pull it on.
“What is this?” I ask.
“I don’t know. But I know I can’t stay away from you.”
“Even though it’s dangerous?”
“Especially because it’s dangerous.”
He pulls on his own shirt, and we both try to make ourselves look presentable. Like we haven’t just blown each other in a supply closet.
“Same time tomorrow?” I ask.
“Too risky. People will notice if we’re both missing at the same time.”
“Then when?”
“I’ll figure something out and text you.”
He heads for the door, but I catch his arm.
“Zane.”
“Yeah?”
“This thing between us... it’s not just physical, is it?”
“No,” he says finally. “It’s not just physical.”
“Good. Because I need you to know that for me, this isn’t just about sex.”
“What’s it about?”
“You. Whatever’s going on with you, whatever trouble you’re in, whatever you’re afraid of, I want to help.”
He lets out a sigh. “You can’t help me.”
“Why not?”
“Because the kind of help I need isn’t something you can give.”
“Try me.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. But I can give you this. Whatever it is, for as long as it lasts.”
“And when it ends?”
He looks at me, resignation swirling in the deep pools of his gaze. “When it ends, you’ll understand why.”
He leaves me standing there with more questions than answers, but somehow that doesn’t matter. Because for the first time in weeks, I feel like I have something real to hold on to.
Even if I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep it.
