Page 3 of Don’t Say Mafia

“I don’t know,” he said. “A sign. A map. A different life.”

My chest tightened. “Yeah,” I murmured. “That’d be nice.” I didn’t know why I suddenly had the urge to cry.

The swing slowed, and my toes dragged lines through the dirt.

Ryan’s hand found mine where it rested on the chain, and his fingers laced through as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d always been like that, easy with touch and quick to offer comfort without making a big deal about it. I still blushed, though.

It was stupid for me to act like that. This was Ryan. He’d held my hand crossing streets when we were kids. He’d hugged me whenever I cried. None of this was new.

It still made my heart stutter.

We sat like that, hands linked, the swings barely moving now, the chains clicking softly with each shift of weight. The park was quiet except for the distant hum of the highway and the chorus of insects that never seemed to sleep.

“Someday,” he said suddenly, “I’m getting us out of here.”

I turned to look at him.

“I promise,” he added, his eyes earnest despite the red still lingering there. “I don’t know how yet. But I will. This place doesn’t get to keep us.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to build a whole future out of the promise, to let it carry me somewhere far from thin walls and broken glass and nights that chased me into the dark.

He didn’t let go of my hand when I nodded. If anything, his grip tightened a little, like he was anchoring the promise in place.

“We’ll do everything we’ve ever dreamed,” he continued. “College, a job, something. Anywhere that isn’t this. I don’t care if it takes years. I don’t care if I have to work every shitty job they throw at me. I’m not staying here, and I’m not leaving you behind.”

I swallowed, my throat feeling scratchy.

Ryan didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. He never had. When we were kids and he said he’d meet me at the bus stop, he was there even in the rain. When he said he’d walk me home, he did, even if it meant getting yelled at for being late. When he said he’d come back after his dad took off with him for a week, he showed up with a bruise on his jaw and a grin like nothing in the world could touch him.

He’d never lied to me. Not once . . . and that seemed suddenly dangerous. Because I wanted to believe him so badly it scared me. I wanted to wrap myself around the idea and let it pull me through the years ahead, through the nights like this one where everything felt impossible and permanent.

“You don’t have to save me,” I said, even as the thought of it spread through my chest.

“I know,” he replied. “But I want to.”

The swing creaked softly as we continued to stare at each other. I hadn’t had a lot of luck in my life, but finding a boy who knew every ugly part of me and stayed anyway suddenly seemed like I’d struck it big.

“I swear,” he said, lifting our joined hands slightly. “Someday we’re going to look back on this place and laugh. We’ll have our own place. It will be quiet. No yelling. No broken shit. Just . . . peace.”

My chest ached with it. With the wanting. With the hope I tried so hard not to let take root because hope hurt when it died.

For a second, neither of us moved and the night seemed to hold its breath with us, the swing barely rocking, the chains whispering as if they were being careful not to interrupt something fragile. Then Ryan leaned forward.

The kiss was soft and tentative, over almost as soon as it began, his mouth brushing mine like he was asking a question rather than trying to answer one. There was no rush, no urgency, just a careful press of lips that caught me completely off guard.

I froze, not because it felt wrong, and not because I didn’t want it, but because I hadn’t seen it coming at all.

He pulled back immediately, his brown eyes wide and searching my face, his hand loosening around mine, ready to let go if I needed him to. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” He swallowed, and for the first time I caught a hint of nerves in him. “Is that okay? I mean . . . are you okay?”

My lips still tingled where his had been, and butterflies were moving through me in a stunned rush. A hard, uneven pounding filled my chest, so loud I was sure he could hear it or even feel it through the chain that must have been vibrating faintly beneath my palm.

I stared at him, at the boy who had always been my constant. My safe place. My only good thing.

“I just . . . You surprised me,” I said, shaking my head slightly as I tried to steady myself.

His shoulders relaxed. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That makes sense.”

I huffed out a breath that turned into a small, shaky laugh. “You could’ve warned me.”