Page 54 of Love Out Loud

“Are you going to stand there all night, or should I make us some dinner?” I keep my voice carefully unbothered, even as my stomach roils with nerves about what anxiety he’s probably dealing with and what I can do to help.

Lennon huffs, and a little of the tension that had been bracketing his mouth relaxes. His gaze drops to the ground as he shuts the door behind him and falls back against it as if he can’t hold himself up anymore. “I’m sorry, Lark.”

I stand, shaking my head, and close the distance between us. I reach up to cup his jaw, letting his sandy stubble scrape against my palm. He closes his eyes and leans into it.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, his voice raspy. He turns his head to place a kiss against my palm.

“And yet here I am,” I quip.

He winks an eye open and laughs heartily. “Did you mention something about dinner? I’m pretty hungry.”

I tick an eyebrow up. “I bet you are,” I intone.

He huffs again, then leans in to kiss my forehead. “I’ll just…shower?”

“I’ll get started on some food,” I say.

I cook while Lennon freshens up. When he emerges, his eyes are far less red, and as he folds me into a tight hug, he’s back to smelling like big blue skies. We eat and chat. I’m careful not to bring up his parents or his state when he came back to the apartment. He’ll talk when he’s ready. But when we’re standing outside my bedroom door and he hasn’t once brought it up, I can’t help but wonder if he’s pulling away from me like he did when we were kids. It feels particularly cruel, when I’ve finally gotten a taste of him, to stare down a life where I can’t do it again.

We spend a few moments silently studying each other, perhaps each waiting for the other to make a move. Eventually, he leans in to kiss my cheek, then disappears into his bedroom. I get ready for bed, then spend a good hour or so tossing and turning, unable to quiet my mind enough to settle.

My door opens, and Lennon’s dark silhouette fills the doorway. “Can I…” He trails off, and even in the sliver of light coming through the curtains, I can see his biceps rippling as he runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I understand if you want to sleep.”

“I’m not sleeping.” I scoot over to make space for him and fold the comforter back. He wastes no time climbing in and looping his arm around me, drawing me close to his side. I rest my cheek in the crook of his shoulder, half on his chest so I can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath me.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he says into the air between us.

“I’m here.” I squeeze impossibly closer to him. “I’m always here.”

He bends his neck so he can kiss the top of my head. “I know.” He’s silent for a moment before he continues, “I still get so anxious about them when they show up like that.”

“And when they leave,” I suggest gently.

He nods. “It’s stupid. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I insist, not wanting to let on that I was also a little surprised at his reaction to them earlier. He’d be ashamed if I admitted that, and that’s the last thing he needs. “You were a kid when they would randomly disappear. Makes sense those feelings would come back up when you’re reminded of them.”

“I should never have stopped seeing my therapist,” he mutters. “I thought I had some ways to work through that anxiety, but seeing them here with you…”

He doesn’t finish that sentence, so I say, “I don’t want to make it worse for you by being here.”

His arm tightens around my shoulders. His other hand lands on my chin, tilting it up so his lips can meet mine. “You only make things better, Songbird.” He kisses me again, as if once weren’t enough. “Seeing you and them together brought up some shit I regret.”

“Like what?”

“Like getting stoned instead of telling you how I felt back in high school.”

“Hmm,” I hum. “So you went and got stoned again instead of telling me how you feel?”

“It’s not a perfect system,” he jokes. He scrubs his free hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I wanted to feel something different while I sorted out whatever was going on in my head.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me. I don’t have a problem with weed, Lennon. You’re acting like I’ve never smoked and you’re ruining my virginal sensibilities by coming home high.”

He peers down at me in the darkness, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “We’re going to come back to that piece of information.”

I lightly smack his chest. “I have no doubt. But I need you to understand that I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, and I’ve got twenty-five years of friendship to prove it.”

He faces the ceiling again, and my head rises and falls on his chest as he sighs deeply. “But you are leaving,” he whispers, almost as if he can’t bear to say it aloud.