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He smiles, bending lower so he can brush a kiss against my lips. “Just a few,” he promises.

So we wander off. Faintly, I can hear the irritable voice of that boy behind us, telling his partner off while the other snickers at his disgruntlement.

Suddenly, I have the feeling they’ll be okay.

19

Four days. Apparently, that’s all it takes for me to lose my resolve.

The first day, Aaron followed me around, pestering me until I agreed to re-create our dates and then admitting I only went out with him so he’d stay away from Logan. The next night, he forced me to trespass at the high school and go for a swim. The day after, I fainted, and he came over, made out with me, then punched my brother. Today, he kidnapped me from my schedule and brought me to a hot, sweaty carnival.

On paper, it sounds ridiculous.

Yet Aaron Beckham is the only reason I’ve been able to cope with everything. Around him, I don’t feel lost. Until now, I feel like I’ve been wandering aimlessly in a cavernous black tunnel, in which his light is the only one—faint, ominous, blood-red. But a light nonetheless.

The closer I get to it, the more I realize the shade is more like roses. Sunburned cheeks. Freshly cut strawberries and romance-red lipstick and cardinals against a winter-white snowscape. An exit sign guiding the way out from a shadowy nightmare.

When I think about the past few days, I linger less on unpleasant moments and more on the things that made my stomach tingle. Aaron bringing me gluten-free ice cream so I could enjoy myself more with the history club. Teasing me into thwacking him with the pillow because it was truer to the memory. Making me a delicious snack so I wouldn’t get cranky at the pool. Encouraging me to open up about my discomfort and then falling asleep curled around me, his tears melting into my shirt. Rushing to me from work so he could carry me to a warm bath. Kissing me…like that. Spoiling me at the carnival. Opening up about his mother.

It’s been four days, so why does it feel like months have passed?

When Aaron pulls up to the curb of my house, the subdivision is glowing under warm golden porch lights, and a balmy breeze whishes past his cracked windows, fluttering my hair. I’m properly full, since we ate at a restaurant on the brink of the city that apparently has a perfect track record of not poisoning me. It’s one of our go-to places, I guess, even though I don’t ever remember being there.

The salad and gluten-free pasta eased my hunger aches, and I learned more about Aaron’s mom. She works in a chain restaurant, and though she never reaches out to Aaron first, she does accept every third or fourth invite he sends to get lunch. He talks. She listens. That’s the extent. He doesn’t seem to mind, appreciating that she’s willing to see him at all.

Still, his mother is a dicey subject, and her situation clearly gnaws at him.

I stare at my knobby knees in the darkness of his car, swirling a mint around my tongue. Being home is a good thing. I can refocus. My family was left to their own devices for dinner, which is something I despise doing, because it’s like, really? Can’t I follow through on such a simple thing? But there are leftovers in the fridge, so that’s the only reason I didn’t fret.

I’m fretting anyway because I can almost feel the disappointment radiating off my house. I haven’t checked my texts, and the fact that I willingly made myself unavailable so I could, put bluntly, dick around makes me feel…

“Selfish,” I whisper.

Aaron crunches through his own mint, tilting his head sideways. “What?”

I’m not sure why my mouth betrayed me like that. I huff, leaning against the car door, watching the trees sway in the breeze. “Being around you makes me want to be selfish,” I mumble. “Logan says hanging around you will twist me into someone I’m not. And…” I swallow hard, my eyes burning with frustration. “I think he’s right.”

Aaron doesn’t respond at first. I don’t dare to glance over. I just told him I’ll stop holding him accountable for my own actions, and I’ve basically implied he’s the reason I’m letting my egoism take over. I don’t mean it like that, but I can’t articulate it in any other way.

He asks, “Is it being selfish, or wanting to live your life for once?”

Hesitantly, I peer over at him. He’s folded his arms over his steering wheel and nestled his head into them.

“Is it being selfish, or giving yourself time to be happy?” he continues, watching me curiously. “Is it being selfish, or taking a break so you don’t burn out?”

The lump in my throat expands, thinning my airway. “Is there a difference?” I ask.

He smiles in that gentle way I can’t stomach. “You don’t exist to serve your family.”

“I know,” I say sharply. “I’m not Cinderella. I’m not being forced to do anything. But they’re all busy, and I have nothing to do, so I’m worthless if I can’t support them.”

“Recuperating from a car crash that obliterated a year of your memories and left you with a dozen bruises isn’t nothing,” he points out. “And when did your worth become tied to how many chores you can do in a day?”

His voice is infuriatingly calm. “It’s not,” I say. “But I’ve put them through a lot, so I’m making it up to them. I can’t even remember the crash, so I’m not traumatized. My anemia is just worse. The memory loss sucks, but that’s all I lost, so I’m lucky. My mind is just a little stressed trying to fill the gaps. That’s why I need to get back on a regular schedule. That’s why things like this”—I gesture violently around us—“are hurtful.”

Aaron observes me in silence, processing my defensive ramble. Finally, he peels away from the wheel. He slides his seat back until there’s a sizable gap between him and the dashboard, then pats his thighs, and says, “Come here.”

I scowl deeply. “Why?”