I have to figure out how to do it in measured doses, because I’m pretty sure if you want to keep a person, you have to let them know you just a little.
I just need to make sure he doesn’t see all the darkest parts of me, or he’ll end up running.
“I have an hour or so before I have to be at the rink.” He’s smiling when he grabs his keys and joins me, pulling the hood of my stolen jacket up over my ears. “I can take you.”
“Good.” And then with a wince, I add. “Thanks.”
That sounds a little better.
We make it down to his car before he starts asking questions.
“What class are you in this morning?”
I frown, and then blow out a breath. Measured doses. I can do this. “Psychology.”
I don’t miss the sidelong glance he gives me as he pulls out of the parking lot. His apartment is actually only a few minutes from my school, so this is convenient.
“I thought you were doing art things.”
I’m silent, and after a few seconds of no answer, he cuts me another glance. This one is a little guarded. A little…
Wounded.
Shit.
What I’m doing… what I want to do with my life… the reasons why are mine. I don’t talk to anyone about them. I don’t have friends in class. I’m not casual with my professors. But Donovan…
Donovan wants to know.
And he’s just sweet enough that he doesn’t ask as he pulls onto campus a few minutes later, even though he looks at me again as he parks his car alongside the curb in front of the building I point to.
I’m going to fuck this up before it’s even started if I don’t give himsomething. I remember the arena after he kissed me—the way he asked for something real. Somethinghonestabout me. If I want him, that’s what I have to give him, isn’t it?
And fuck me… Iwanthim.
I bite my lower lip. “Whatever this is, I like it. I still think you have no self-preservation, but I don’t want to stop.” And then, like each word is coming up on jagged, broken edges, I do the one thing I’ve never done for another person. I lean forward and press my lips to his as he puts the car in park. “Art therapy.”
Donovan moans against my mouth, kissing me back like he’s discovered sugar for the first time and he’s addicted to the flavor on his tongue. When he pulls back, it takes him a second to gather his thoughts. “What?”
“That’s why psychology. Art therapy degree.”
I don’t give parts of myself to people. I don’t want people to know me… but as I unbuckle and hop out of the car, half tempted to stay just for the sweet, curious look on Donovan’s face… I realize Iwanthim to know me.
I want him to see me.
And that might make him more dangerous to me than I am to him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DONOVAN
The flowers are fuckingme up today.
I keep opening the text message with the picture, staring at the blue blossoms where they sit against the backdrop of silvery granite that her headstone is carved from. I sent a response and a repayment to Oakley’s step-mom for placing them there for me earlier this morning, but it doesn’t feel like enough today.
It’s been six years now without her.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it anymore. All throughout practice earlier, I felt disconnected, but now that I’m home I don’t quite know what to do with myself. Grief comes and goes in waves, and this day doesn’t have a tight hold on me anymore, but I still feel like I’m supposed to be crying or something. I would have been if this were last year. Five felt like a monumental number and I ended up crying in the shower by myself until the water went cold. Isn’t that the expected reaction on the anniversary of the death of someone’s only parent, though? Tears and sadness? Immeasurable grief knowing it’s been so long without her?
