Page 61

After kissing, we lie in my bed, talking. At that point, I’m usually too drained to offer much substance, so he spends time catching me up on the past several months. Sometimes he’s wrapped fully around me like a blanket. Sometimes he pulls me over him, pressing my cheek to his collarbone so I can hear his elevated heartbeat. Sometimes he settles for facing me on the same pillow, close enough to toy with my hair.

I don’t have my memories, but I’m so comfortable around him that it feels like we’ve picked up where we left off. I’m not stubbornly denying his advances or convincing myself I’m better off without him anymore. It feels nice to be wanted. To be looked at. Prioritized. Held. More than that, though…

I like him.

He’s funny. He’s always fidgeting with his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them when he’s not holding tools. He has a different smile for every emotion. He mumbles in his sleep. He looks unfairly good in overalls and bandannas. His hair is soft. And his lips. He knows what he wants. He’s spontaneous. Impulsive. Everything I’m not.

Aaron playfully asks me to be his boyfriend every time he comes over, but something keeps me from offering a valid answer. I know it might sound selfish, like I’m stringing him along, but he’s made it clear that he doesn’t mind my hesitation. In fact, he’s giving me time to grow into my feelings. Besides, I can’t help but be antsy. Maybe it’s Logan’s warnings mixed with my own fear of selfishness—like the moment I say yes, I’ll revert to being someone who only looks out for himself.

I blink, and suddenly, my “sleepover date” with Aaron is here. Apparently, his dads go to this annual event at one of the casinos downtown—their single night a year where they splurge and pretend they’re rich. They spend one weekend there before returning to their middle-class lives, which means Aaron and I get their house to ourselves. We’ve been dating for weeks now, but I haven’t seen the place. Or I don’t remember seeing it.

I’m on edge all day. I weed in the backyard and whack bushes and water the hanging plants. I prepare myself a fiber-rich, gluten-free lunch, because I’m not willing to get sick tonight when I’m preparing for the possibility of maybe saying yes if he asks me to be his boyfriend again. And the thought of being alone with him without prying eyes is enticing. I know we’ve been intimate. My bedside drawer is proof. I want to ask him what it was like and see if he’ll tell me.

Or show me.

The sun is starting to hang more heavily in the sky as I pack my clothes and toiletries into an overnight bag. Logan happens to be walking by and pauses in the doorframe, his brow furrowing. “Where are you off to?” he asks.

“A friend’s,” I say.

He stays rooted, knowing full well who I’m referring to. “You won’t be here for family movie night?”

I frown at him. “What?”

“The second Saturday of every month. We missed the last one because of the accident, but…” He sighs, scratching at his light brown scruff. “I guess that’s a more recent thing we started last year, so you wouldn’t know.”

“Oh,” I say, neatly folding a T-shirt into the suitcase.

“We order pizza and have drinks,” he adds. “Dad’s loosened up over the past year.”

“Oh,” I repeat, closing the flap and zipping it.

“It’s…” Logan clears his throat before continuing. “It’s fun, hanging with the family without worrying about work. I spiraled pretty hard after what happened last year. I guess you don’t remember me hitting rock bottom. I wouldn’t come out of my room for days, or eat, or shower. You suggested the movie nights to remind me that my family would always be there for me. It helped. We made it a recurring thing. Though you weren’t there the last few months.”

I purse my lips, lowering my suitcase from the bed. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

“No. You said you were frustrated because nobody’s talking about the past with you. So…” Logan scratches at the chipped paint outside my room. “I wanted to tell you.”

A rush of shame swirls through me, washing away my annoyance. “You’re right,” I whisper. “Sorry. That’s good to know, genuinely. Thank you.”

“You’re still picking him, though, yeah?” he mutters.

The annoyance comes reeling back. “We’ve had plans for weeks,” I say sternly. “Movie night wasn’t on any calendars. Nobody told me about it before now. I can’t drop plans last minute.”

To my surprise, Logan nods. “Yeah. I get it. Maybe you can make it to the next one.”

He wanders away without another word. I thought he’d take the opportunity to tell me that Aaron only wants me for my undernourished celiac body or something, but maybe he’s finally maturing about the whole situation.

Aaron’s house is within walking distance, and it’s a cool summer evening, and my nerves are on overload, so I decide to take the walk to calm myself. Because Aaron Beckham certainly has bullying on his agenda.

And I might have being bullied on mine.

21

My brain says I’ve never been here, but a warm, cozy feeling settles over me as I approach the maroon door of the little ranch house. Like my body is telling me I’m coming home for the first time in a while.

I knock hesitantly, and before I’m finished, it’s swinging open. There stands the beefiest, roundest, hairiest man I’ve ever seen. He’s fully bald, but his earthy-brown jaw, neck, arms, and legs are swathed in curly black hair, and his brows are two fuzzy masses.

“Wrong house,” I choke out.