We’re silent through the thirty-minute show. I toss Wren my sweatshirt when she starts shivering halfway through, and she yanks it on without saying a word.
I came here to be alone, and it seems like she did too. But no part of me was disappointed to find her here. Wren easily could have made up an excuse to leave if she wanted to. Yet she stayed.
Later, alone in my truck, I pull out my phone and scroll through photos. We got an unexpected snowfall mid-March. I took a photo to send to Mom after waking up repeatedly during the night, unable to sleep after Wren’s call.
I find the photo a minute later and click on the details to check the date.
March 11.
25
He arrives at eleven thirty, almost a full half hour after Gus and his other friends showed up. And he’s not alone. Macie is beaming up at Sawyer like he just told the world’s funniest joke. Highly unlikely since any sense of humor is buried under a whole lot of brooding.
I turn away, refocusing on Aaron. “Wanna go upstairs?”
“Yeah.” He downs the rest of his beer in one hasty gulp. “Upstairs. For sure.”
I grab his hand and pull him toward the staircase. We pass Abby, who winks at me. And Gus, whose expression is impassive. I avoid eye contact with Sawyer’s best friend, even though I’m doing absolutely nothing wrong. It’s just that Gus was the only person who ever seemed supportive of me and Sawyer being … anything, so it feels strange to flaunt how, now, we’re … nothing.
I’ve never been to this house before, but there’s a guest room off the landing that’s easy to navigate to. I pull Aaron inside, shutthe door, and press back against it, my spine flush with the firm wood. The bed would be much more comfortable, but I haven’t decided how far I want this to go. Plus, I don’t know Aaron that well. Easy exit.
Aaron’s chest rises with a deep breath before he steps closer and kisses me.
It’s brief. More of a brush than a kiss. I’ve barely registered the contact before it’s gone.
Aaron is studying me, his head tilted a little to the left. “Huh,” he says, making the word sound like a discovery.
“Huh?” I repeat, sounding … confused.
Effusive praise isn’t necessary, but I’m accustomed to more of a reaction than just a solitary syllable.
Aaron takes a step back, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, I—” He exhales for so long that I’m not sure the sigh will ever stop. “Can I tell you something? Something I’ve never told anyone?”
I say, “Sure,” even though I’m apprehensive.
If he confesses to a murder or something, am I legally obligated to report the crime anyway? I’ll have to ask Rory. As a hypothetical, of course.
“So, I think I might be … gay.”
“Oh,” I reply, relieved. Then I register his nervous expression and immediately add, “That’s cool.”
Aaron wanders away, taking a seat on the end of the bed. “I wasn’t sure … I mean, I thought maybe there was a chance that I—but if kissingyouwasn’t … I think I am.”
I sit down beside him. Not speaking, just listening.
“I also, uh … you know Cap? He works at the marina. I don’t actually”—he chuckles awkwardly—“even know his real name. But he’s … fuck, he makes me nervous. He must think I’m a complete idiot because I can’t focus on anything around him.”
“He is distractingly hot,” I say.
Aaron chuckles. “Yeah, he is.”
“But who cares what he thinks?” I ask, a motto I’m personally striving hard to internalize. I nudge my shoulder against Aaron’s. “How come you’ve never told anyone? If you don’t mind me asking, that is. We don’t have to talk?—”
“No, it’s fine. I just—I wasn’t sure, and there was no one I felt like I could …” He glances at me suddenly. “Don’t—you won’t tell anyone, right? I’m not sure I’m ready for …”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I assure him quickly. “I swear.”
He relaxes. “Thank you.”
