Page 98 of Scoring Lessons

“Being open wasn’t part of the agreement,” I said, snappier than I intended, then shut my eyes, already regretting my words.

“You’re right.” His smile turned sad. “I just…thought we were past it. I thought you trusted me.”

My eyes burned, and I sniffed. “I do. I just”—I sighed—“hate talking about it.”

His hand reached for a few strands of my hair, and he lazily played with them. “I’m here when you’re ready to talk. Whenever, Olivia. I mean it.”

I fidgeted with the strings of his oversize hoodie. The small fireplace crackled, filling the silence.

“When did everything change between us?” My question was barely audible, but it had been nagging me as of late.

“I don’t know,” he answered, his tone earnest. His hands reached for my waist and squeezed it in reassurance. “But I’m glad it did. Aren’t you?”

I studied his face, the way the corner of his eyes crinkled, and the way he stared at me like I was the only one worth looking at. “Yeah, I am.”

It was scary how honest those words had been.

What was even scarier? I didn’t know where the line was between friendship and whatever this was becoming. And I didn’t think he did either. It was like we’d been handed something fragile without being told what it was—something we were trying to hold on to and protect with our lives without knowing the outcome.

The tent we had was so fancy that we could lift the roof and expose the star-bright sky.

We’d been lying on one of the beds and staring at the stars in silence after a glass of wine and some cheeses I couldn’t remember the name of (but they were the fancy kind and surprisingly good). The bed was ridiculously small, and between my height and Wesley’s broad body, we barely fit. Yet, there was no other place I’d rather be.

All in all, I had no complaints.

“This is so beautiful,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “It is. It makes you think about how tiny and insignificant we are. How our problems matter very little when there is a whole universe out there we don’t know much about.”

I rested my chin on his chest and looked up at him. Our legs were intertwined like this was all natural. Like we’d done this a million times before. “How are you doing with everything?”

He pursed his lips, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow as he contemplated my question. “Some days are harder than others.”

“Have you”—I hesitated for a beat—“thought about going to therapy?”

“I have. But going makes it feel more…” He sighed as he tried to find the right word. “Real, I guess.”

“That’s because it is,” I said. “Your problems are real. Your feelings are valid. You need someone to teach you how to cope with them.”

“Careful, Livvie. You almost sound like you care.” His smile was so bright, it was blinding. It made my heart want to flatline. To cease to exist.

“Please.” I grinned, trying to ignore the way every nerve ending felt like it was lighting up, knowing we were here, just the two of us. Another secret for us to keep. Another moment I could save and cherish in the corner of my mind.

He matched my grin, and when we both looked up, a shooting star passed by.

I made my wish quickly without much thought. It had been like instinct.

After the list’s done, I don’t want to lose the person who’s become my best friend. Please, don’t make me lose Wesley.

“What did you wish for?” he murmured.

“If I say it out loud, then it won’t come true.”

And more than anything, I needed it to.

TWENTY-FIVE

WESLEY