Twenty minutes later, Danny stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’d compromised—black T-shirt, regular jeans, no chains except the one attached to his wallet because leaving it felt like surrender.
The guyliner took another ten minutes. Too much looked desperate. Too little and why bother? He settled for just enough to make his eyes pop without looking like he was auditioning for a metal band. Then Danny lifted his shirt to check. The scars didn’t show through the fabric. Good. Nobody needed to see those on a first…whatever this was. Not a date. Just watching a movie. With a guy who looked like he bench-pressed trees and smiled at Danny like he was something worth smiling at.
Stop it.
“You look good.” Isaac appeared in the doorway, holding Danny’s keys. “Like yourself, but dialed down to suburban-acceptable levels.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Isaac stepped closer, and for a second, Danny thought he might cry. His best friend’s arms wrapped around him, surprisingly strong for someone built like a pixie. He smelled like vanilla body spray and the joint he’d definitely smoked on the fire escape earlier.
“You deserve good things,” Isaac murmured against his shoulder. “Even if you don’t believe it yet.”
Danny’s throat closed up. He pulled back before he could do something stupid like actually cry.
“Text me if you need an escape call,” Isaac said, pressing the keys into Danny’s hand. “I’ll fake a medical emergency. Or a fire. I’m flexible.”
“You’re insane.” Danny grinned.
“That’s why you love me.” Isaac nudged him toward the door. “The safe word is glitter. Text that to me and I’ll haul ass to you with a shovel and a bad attitude. Maybe two shovels. That guy is huge.”
With a chuckle, Danny walked out of their apartment.
The drive to Ash’s took twelve minutes according to GPS. Danny made it in twenty, because he’d pulled over twice. Once at the 7-Eleven to buy gum, and once two houses down from the address when his vision started to tunnel.
Not now. Please not now.
But his body didn’t care about his plans. His lungs squeezed tight, refusing to take in enough air. Sweat broke out across his forehead, under his arms, everywhere at once. The car felt too small, the seatbelt too tight, everything closing in.
Brad’s voice echoed in his head. Nobody else is going to want you. Look at you. Pathetic.
Danny pressed his forehead against the steering wheel. The horn gave a short honk that made him jerk back.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Five things he could see. Dashboard, green lawns, streetlight, stop sign, his own hands shaking against his thighs.
Four things he could hear. His own ragged breathing, someone’s TV through an open window, a dog barking, wind through the cracked window.
Three things he could feel. The seat beneath him, still warm from the drive, his wallet chain cold against his hip, sweat rolling down his back.
Two things he could smell. The pine-scented air that came from the mountains, his own deodorant failing.
One thing he could taste. Hope, because for the first time since Brad, Danny was taking a shaky step forward.
He inhaled slowly, counting to four, holding for seven, then exhaling for eight. The way his therapist had taught him before he couldn’t afford therapy anymore. His breathing slowed. His vision cleared. The vise around his ribs loosened enough to let him take a full breath.
You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.
Just a movie. Just watching a movie with a guy who probably invites everyone over to watch movies. Nothing special about it. Nothing special about you.
Except Ash had looked at him. Really looked, not through him or past him but at him, like Danny was worth the effort of focusing.
“Because you are,” he said out loud, mimicking what he knew Isaac would say. “Because you deserve to be seen.” The words came out fragile, barely audible.
He started the car again, inched forward until he saw the mailbox. 723.
A modest house stood back from the street, golden light pouring from windows onto a wide porch that wrapped around one side. The place looked lived-in, cared for, a home rather than just a place to exist.
