I force myself to suck in a breath as my lungs burn from lack of oxygen. “It’s not?”
“No, I…” Santino tugs lightly on my hoodie. “Can I?”
I peek up at him through the hair falling in my eyes, past the edge of the hood obscuring my face. He looks so earnest, so eager. His golden-brown eyes are filled with so much compassion and hope. He looks like he wants to help me. He looks like he’s afraid I’ll say no. My willpower crumbles.
I push the hood back, feeling like I’m peeling off layers of skin and tissue until I’m exposed, raw and vulnerable. Santino's lips curl in a soft grin as his gaze dances across my face. I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me, but I can’t imagine it’s very attractive.
“So, um, I’m not like, a mental health professional or anything,” he starts, growing a little shy and sheepish as he speaks. “But, um, my mom went through a rough patch when I was in high school. My grandmother died and my mom didn’t take it well. She fell into this depression that was… pretty bad. And like, I don’t want to overstep or anything, so you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but um, you kind of look the way she did back then.”
My brain short-circuits. I stare at Santino, unable to speak, unable to move, unable to even breathe. It feels like my heart stops beating for a couple seconds.
“I’m not saying you’re depressed or anything!” Santino hurries on. “Like I said, I’m not a mental health professional. I’m just saying, you look like you're struggling and like, it doesn’t seem like any of your friends know?”
Everything rushes back at me all at once. Oxygen pours into my lungs, making my head spin. My heart trips over itself trying to make up for lost beats. A million thoughts and emotions ricochet through my mind until it feels like my brain is going to explode.
Santino thinks I’m depressed. He thinks I have depression.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
SANTINO
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Why did I say that? Why did I bring up the D-word? I don’t know if he has depression! I don’t know how to diagnose someone. Maybe he’s just weird! Weird isn’t bad. Weird is okay.
Hayden stares at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind. And honestly, I probably have, because who the fuck goes around telling people they’re depressed?
Except there’s no way I would’ve been able to go into tomorrow pretending everything’s okay. Not when it’s so obvious to me that Hayden’s dealing with some shit. Maybe it’s not depression. Maybe it’s anxiety or panic attacks or I don’t know, whatever. But I’d be a real shitty person if I didn’t at least check.
With his chin to his chest, Hayden inhales and exhales a few times like he’s trying to catch his breath. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles so quietly, I can hardly hear him.
What? He’s apologizing? What the hell for?
“I’ll call Sebastian right away.” He moves to stand, but I grab him and hold him in place.
I feel like we’re having two different conversations. “Why are you calling Sebastian?”
“To ask him to find you another scene partner,” he says matter-of-factly, as if this is something we’ve already decided together.
But that isn’t at all what I was trying to say. “Wait, let’s just—” I tug him backward until he’s settled on the couch again. “I don’t want another scene partner. I want to do the scene with you.” I pause, trying to communicate telepathically how much I want to have him fuck me on camera. “But only ifyouwant to do the scene withme. I’d feel terrible if you felt pressured into something you weren’t up for.”
He blanches a little and almost buries his face in that little space between his chest and his knees. Under my palms, I can feel him tensing up, his shoulder inching up toward his ears.
“Do you want to do the scene with me?” I hold my breath. I’m pretty sure I know the answer and that would be totally fine. If he’s going through something and doesn’t feel ready, then he absolutely shouldn’t. And if it’s just me he doesn’t like, well then, he shouldn’t be forced to fuck me either. But I can’t help a pre-emptive hit of disappointment in my heart.
“I do. I just…” Hayden takes in a shaky breath, sounding like he might be on the verge of tears.
Squashing my disappointment, I shift away from Hayden, pulling my hands away. He doesn’t want to perform with me and that’s fine. It doesn’t matter what his reasons are. I’m not going to force myself on him.
But instead of sighing with relief that I’m finally leaving him alone, he follows me. His hands snap out and grab hold of mine. He kind of looks like he wants to crawl into my lap.
“I do,” he says again, with so much conviction it’s kind of staggering. “You have to believe me. I just…” He drops his gazeto our clasped hands. “My… body… hasn’t been cooperating lately.”
Oh. Ooohhh. I… that wasnotwhat I was expecting him to say.
Hayden draws away from me, curling himself into a ball that should be too small for a man of his size—I mean, height. His face is mostly hidden now that he’s tucked it behind his knees, but the parts I can see are filled with so much pain. Like, sooo much. Which makes me wonder whether this is only about erectile dysfunction or whether that’s just one part of something bigger. Because like, they have pills for stuff like that, right?
I scoot closer again, placing my hand back on his shoulder. He stiffens at first, but then leans into the touch. That small surrender tugs on my heartstrings with way more force than it should. I don’t know if he’s hurting because his junk doesn’t work properly anymore or if it’s because of something else, but the one thing I do know is that Hayden is hurting. And my heart hurts for him.
