“Mom threw herself into her work,” I continue, as if she hadn’t spoken. “She pushed every thought of Sam away. She didn’t care when Dad complained about my ballet. Or when he tried to force me to go to Harvard. She just... stopped being interested in me. Last year, she paid my tuition. Not because she actually wanted to support me, but because she hoped that I would see for myself that ballet wasn’t my path. But she cared as little as Dad did about what I really wanted.”
“Jase, I...” Zoe stops, shakes her head, and expels her breath in a sigh.
“I think it would be different if I didn’t look like him,” I mumble and squeeze my eyes shut. I see Sam every time I look in a mirror. Maybe that’s my punishment for being lucky enough to avoid the same undiagnosed heart problem that cost my brother his life. Isee him every day, and he’s not here. He’s never coming back. And I will never be like him.
“It doesn’t matter what you look like. You’re you.” She kisses me on the temples, and her lips are warm and soft.
“I’m alone.” Another secret that I never told her.
“No, you’re not.” Another kiss. “I’m with you.”
I want so badly to believe her. But she rejected me once already, and there’s no guarantee she won’t do it again. It’s not fair to compare this to last year; I get it. Everything is different this time. But that doesn’t mean that she’ll stay.
“My parents wish I’d died instead of Sam.” That’s the next secret, but now it’s one she already knows.
She says nothing and doesn’t argue with me because she knows I won’t believe her. Dad was very clear about it tonight. Instead, she holds me so tightly I can barely breathe. I allow myself to lean against her, giving myself permission for this moment of weakness, because it doesn’t matter anymore. She knows. She knows everything, and I feel naked and vulnerable.
Zoe pulls away enough that she can see my face. Her eyes are red, but her gaze is clear as she looks at me. Sheseesme. She sees everything that’s broken beyond repair.
Chapter 43
Jase
I wish I’d told you about Sam before. And I wish that you could have met him.
—Jase
I wake up to someone gently stroking my temples. My eyes flutter open. Zoe is lying close to me, looking at me with a mixture of concern and warmth. Dim light filters through the curtains, bright enough for me to see the guilty expression on her face when she realizes I’m awake.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
I reach for her hand as she tries to pull it back, first kissing it and then returning it to my temple. “That’s all right. It’s a nice way to wake up.” I smile faintly as Zoe strokes my skin again. I’m so exhausted.
“How do you feel?” Her voice is soft and gentle, and my eyes close again of their own accord. I don’t want her to ask me any questions. I want her to keep talking and tell me something so I can listen to her without having to think.
“Hungover,” I reply as the throbbing starts behind my eyes. My stomach is also pretty numb. “Tired. Empty.”
Alone.
But that’s bullshit, isn’t it? I’m not alone. She’s here. She’s here, caressing my skin and running her hands through my hair.
“Jase? Look at me.”
Reluctantly, I open my eyes. This time, there’s something in her gaze that I can’t interpret. Something deep and intense.
“I’m here, okay?” she says, as though she can read my mind. I remember she said the same thing last night, and I didn’t answer.
“Okay,” I reply, because I want her to be here. And I never want her to leave again. This thing between us is the only thing that has made sense in the last few weeks. Fuck, no, in the last year. The only thing that even came close to feeling right. “Don’t push me away again.” The words come out as a soft whisper, a plea, and I want to take them right back because they’re so weak and pathetic. But I am weak, and I’m not strong enough to pretend I’m not.
Her eyes go wide, and a familiar pain flashes in them. “I promise.” She slides closer to me, slipping one leg between mine and burying her face against my chest. “I’m sorry I let you down last year,” she murmurs into my T-shirt.
“And I’m sorry that someone hurt you,” I whisper into her hair.
“I’m sorry that your parents are assholes.”
She looks up, gazing at me with wet eyes, and my throat tightens. I swallow heavily. If she starts to cry, I probably will too. But she doesn’t. She kisses me gently, and it makes me feel safe.
I pull away to look at her. There’s an unspoken question in her eyes. I have one too, and I can’t resist it. Not anymore. “What is this thing between us?”
