“I was just going to?—”
“Stay,” he repeats, softer, tugging me down.
I cave immediately.
Call me a sucker.
We end up tangled under the comforter, his back against my chest, my arm around his waist. The room is dark except for the sliver of streetlight slipping past the blinds.
“Bedtime check-in,” I murmur, nose in his hair.
“Five,” he whispers. “You’re… good white noise.”
“Rude,” I say. “I am very interesting.”
“You’re my favorite static,” he corrects, half-asleep.
I smile into his mess of hair. “That’s better.”
Lying there listening to the quiet, my own thoughts try to creep in, worry about the scout that’s hunting Caleb, about my next session with Dr. Ortega, and about whether I’m doing enough or too much or all the wrong things in all the right ways.
I let them pass.
For now, there’s this, his heartbeat under my palm, the warmth of his back on my chest, and the fact that we made it through midterms, spring break, and a fancy dinner and came out the other side still choosing each other.
The undertow is still there. I can feel it humming under the surface.
But so are we.
“Hey, Miggy?” He mumbles, almost gone.
“Mm?”
“If I do… move in full-time,” he says, words slurring with sleep, “we’re getting a bigger bed. My bones can’t handle being twenty-two on a full.”
I snort softly. “We’ll get you a throne,hermoso,” I whisper. “King-size for my king.”
He hums, pleased. “Okay,” he sighs. “One day at a time.”
“One day at a time,” I echo.
I press a kiss to his shoulder, close my eyes, and let my own brain radio fade down to a manageable volume. Tomorrow will come with its own noise.
Tonight, the only station I care about is the sound of him breathing.
THIRTY-SEVEN
CALEB
Coach
Swing by my office when you get a chance. I’ve got news for you.
Not the pressure I need before a statistics exam but okay.
This exam room smells like dry-erase markers, heavy perfume and straight-up fear. Desks in rows, fluorescent lights buzzing, thirty college students pretending they didn’t all cram for this stats exam at the last possible second. I was still going over my notes as I sat down, trying like fuck to memorize the formulas. The clock over the whiteboard ticks too loud.
I stare at the first page.
