“You don’t have to worry about me, Quinn.” He inhales deeply, like he’s settling into sleep. “I’ll be wherever you want me.”
The words settle into the quiet space of the van like a vow, and for a second, the itinerary on my screen blurs into nothingness. I want to reach out. I want to anchor him to that promise. But Logan and Coop are two feet behind us, and any move I make is a target.
I don’t know if Lucas feels the shift in my pulse or if he just has a sixth sense, but without opening his eyes, his hand moves. He doesn’t reach for me; he reaches for the cord of his earbuds. With a slow, confident motion, he holds one out to me in the small gap between our legs.
It’s on his side of the chair, right at the line in the leather between us.
I hesitate for a single, suspended moment before my fingers find his. The static shock of the contact zips through me, but I take the earbud. To make the short wire reach, I have to angle my head toward his.
I slide the bud into my ear.
The chatter of the van and the roar of the Arizona highway quiet as a soft, melancholic acoustic track plays over the earbud. With only one earbud in, I feel like I’m half in the real world, half in ours.
Logan says something behind us, and although I should be nervous about him getting suspicious, I can’t seem to care. I can explain this away if I have to.
Right now, I don’t have to.
I close my eyes and match my breathing to the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of Lucas’s chest. For these last few miles, the world is loud, but we are quiet.
I don’t pull out my laptop. I don’t check my phone. I just stay.
He said he’d be wherever I wanted him, and right now, this is as good as it gets.
***
When we pull up to the school, I return the earbud to the seat while Lucas keeps pretending to sleep, and I help Gabriela get everyone situated inside. It isn’t until I’m smiling at Logan and Coop passing me on the way into the gym that I realize he never got off the van.
“Lucas?” I say, climbing up the steps and leaning close enough to see the faint shadow under his eyes and the stubble on his face I didn’t let myself notice earlier.
“Lucas?”
I shake his shoulders.
And then his arms come around me.
They slide around my waist and pull me forward, tipping me enough that I have to brace my hands against his chest.
My face presses against the warm skin of his neck, and I feel the uneven, heavy rise and fall of his breath.
He exhales like he’s been holding it in all morning, and his cheek settles against my head. One hand spreads across the small of my back, while the other pulls me closer, holding me as close as he can.
This is not some quick, stolen hug.
And it’s definitely not safe.
“I miss you,” he whispers into my hair.
“I miss you, too,” I say, and my voice is already breaking. “This isn’t enough.”
Not the van, not the texts, and not the constant almosts that have my heart in my throat every time he looks at me.
“Not even close,” I say, because I need him to understand the scale of how much more I want with him.
His fingers flex against my back.
“Tell me where the line is, Quinn.” His voice is low, rougher than I’ve heard it. “I’ll crawl to it. I’ll live on it. Just tell me where the line is.”
The plea in that almost undoes me, because I don’t know anymore.
