You have keys, hermoso. For the love of God, use them for their intended purpose.
I stand, grab my bag, and head back out into the hall, my heart still shaking but my feet moving. It feels like everything is falling apart and knitting together at the same time.
And I’m still here.
For tonight, that has to be enough.
TWENTY-FOUR
MIGUEL
The key turns in the lock before I even make it to the door.
Good.He listened.
“Caleb?” I call, wiping my hands on a dish towel as the door swings open. “Sharks game is on, I got popcorn, I?—”
Caleb steps inside and whatever I was going to say dies in my throat.
He looks wrecked.
Not post-game wrecked either. Not “I pulled an all-nighter” wrecked. The other kind, eyes a little too bright, shoulders up by his ears, hoodie zipped all the way to his throat like armor. He closes the door behind him and just stands there with his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Hey,” I say, softer. “C’mere,hermoso.”
Caleb swallows and tries for a smile. It doesn’t make it all the way to his eyes.
“How bad?” I ask.
“I told him,” he says, voice rough. “About… us.”
My chest tightens, and I cross the room in three steps.
“And?” I ask, stepping into his space. “Is he alive? Are you alive? Do we need to send Harrington a fruit basket for being a snitch?”
That gets me the tiniest huff, the ghost of a laugh. Then it cracks and his face crumples.
“Hey,” I murmur, pulling him in. His body hits mine like gravity finally remembered him. He fists his hands in the front of my hoodie and buries his face in my chest. His breath comes fast and shallow, not quite panic-attack territory yet, but close enough to make my own lungs clench in sympathy.
I wrap him up, one hand at the back of his neck, the other spanning his spine. He’s cold from the outside air and hot everywhere else, buzzing under my palms.
“Slow down,” I murmur against his hair. “You’re here. You’re okay. Let’s start there.”
“He knows,” he mumbles into my shirt. “He knows, and he… I don’t… I can’t tell if it’s good or bad, Miggy, I can’t?—”
“Okay, okay.” I steer us sideways until the backs of my legs hit the couch. “Sit with me and tell me. One thing at a time, yeah?”
Shaking his head like if he stops standing, the world will swallow him whole. His fingers tighten in my hoodie.
“Caleb.” I put a little steel in it. “Sit. I’m right here.”
It takes a second, but he lets me maneuver him down. I drop onto the couch and drag him with me so he ends up half in my lap, knees bent, one leg tucked under him, one foot on the floor. He’s still clinging like someone might pry us apart if he loosens his grip.
Fuck.
I tuck his head under my chin and let him breathe for a minute. His heartbeat thuds against my ribs, all out of rhythm. “Okay,” I say when his breathing evens out. “Start wherever you need to. What did he say?”
Caleb lets out a shaky breath that’s almost a laugh.
