But my heart is pounding. And I can't stop looking at his mouth, at the curve of his lips, at the small scar on his bottom lip from where it split in the bar fight.
What would it feel like to—
No. I can't think like that. I shouldn't. It's wrong. It has to be wrong.
But I can't stop.
"We should probably head back soon," Jay says. "It's getting late. The sun's going down. You probably want to shower, or rest, or eat something."
"You're probably right," I say, even though I don't want to leave. Even though I want to stay on this ridge forever, watching the sun set, sitting close to Jay.
We stand up and brush off our jeans. The moment is broken, whatever it was. But the feeling lingers, doesn't go away just because we're moving. It stays with me, under my skin, in my heart.
We walk back to the bike in silence. I climb on behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. When he starts the engine and pulls onto the road, I press my face against his shoulder and close my eyes and just allow myself to feel.
The way our bodies move together as the bike curves through the turns. The wind and the engine and the beating of my own heart.
I don't know what I'm feeling or what it means or what I'm supposed to do about it. All I know is that being close to Jay feels right in a way nothing else ever has.
And the thought of letting go, of putting space between us, is killing me.
Chapter 22: Jay
We barely make it back to the motel before sunset. Ivan climbs off first, and I feel the loss of his warmth immediately, like something vital has been taken from me.
I park the Shadow in her usual spot and we walk up to my room, neither of us speaking.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, unlocking the door. "There's a pizza place a few blocks away that delivers. It's not great, but it's food. Better than nothing."
"Pizza sounds great. I never turn down pizza." He follows me inside, and I'm intensely aware of him in the small space. The room feels smaller with both of us in it. More intimate.
I order on my phone while Ivan sits on the edge of the bed, his hands folded between his knees, looking around the room like he's seeing it for the first time. His eyes land on the dresser where the whiskey bottle used to be, and he raises his eyebrows at me.
"I poured it out," I say before he can ask. "This morning. While you were sleeping. Dumped the whole thing down the drain."
Ivan's eyes search my face. "You didn't have to do that. Not for me."
"Yes, I did." I sit down in the chair by the window, needing some distance because if I sit next to him on the bed, I don't know what I'll do. "I saw your face last night when I told you about the drinking. I know what you were thinking."
"Jay—"
"You were thinking about Henderson," I continue, needing to get this out. "About how he was when he drank. About the way his eyes would go mean. And you're right to think about it. I've been—" I stop, rub my hand over my face, feeling the stubble on my jaw. "I've been going down a bad road. I know that. I've known it for a while, if I'm honest with myself. But seeing it through your eyes, seeing you look at me with that fear—"
"I wasn't judging you," Ivan interrupts. "I need you to know that. I wasn't—"
"I know. That's almost worse." I lean back in the chair. "You weren't judging me. Scared for me, scared of what I might become. And I never want you to be scared of me. Not ever. I never want you to look at me and see him."
"I wasn't scared of you. I was scared for you. There's a difference, Jay."
"You said that last night."
"Because it's true and I'll keep saying it." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and his eyes are intense on my face. "I know you're not Henderson. You could never be him. You're nothing like him. But watching someone you care about hurt themselves. That's its own kind of fear."
Someone you care about. The words land somewhere deep in my chest and stay there, burning.
"I've been hurting myself for a long time," I admit. "The drinking, the pills, the bar fight. All of it. I didn't know how else to cope with everything. After we got separated, after everything fell apart—I didn't know how to keep going. I found ways to numb it. To make it bearable. To make the world quiet enough that I could survive it."
"What were you trying to numb?"
