He laughed like I was silly. “Remember that time I got an erection in PE freshman year?”
I winced. “Yeah, Brady. Everyone remembers that.”
I’d been an office worker at the time, running an errand in the gymnasium. I’d emerged from the locker room after delivering a message to the girls’ PE teacher, Coach Yates. I’d seen the girls gathered on the volleyball court, giggling. And Brady was attempting to dribble a basketball on the other end of the gym while his athletic shorts did little to hide the situation at hand.
It had been all over the school by lunchtime. But in true Brady fashion, he’d laughed it off and made fun of himself along with everyone else. And the incident passed with little impact on his popularity. Two seniors got in a fight the next day and everyone moved on to the next thing, like typical teenagers.
“It was you and those fucking shorts. You came down from the office, and I took one look at you, and that was all she wrote.”
Shock had me squeezing the phone in my hand. “What?”
“Yep. Even then.” He sighed. “I know. I was so stupid. I think I put that hissing cockroach in your locker that same week.”
I shook my head in disbelief, having no idea what to say. But the screen of my phone lit up with a list of symptoms, and I remembered myself. I needed to make sure Brady was okay. He was vulnerable and concussed. He probably wouldn’t be sharing this stuff if he was in his right mind.
“Brady—”
“Kirby Falls High School,” he interrupted, then shifted closer and pressed his cheek to the top of my thigh, arms tightening around my legs as he did so.
My breathing picked up as his settled.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
We were just having fun.
I wasn’t supposed to be losing my mind at the thought of losing him.
I’d lived a fortunate life up until this point. I had both sets of grandparents, and I’d never had to mourn anyone I’d been close with. My great-grandmother had died before I was even born.
Rationally, I knew that Brady was going to be fine. He’d make a full recovery, big brain and all. But whenever I closed my eyes, I saw his truck skidding across the pavement, the sound of metal crunching. I heard my own voice shouting his name in panicked stereo as his head rested, still and unresponsive against the driver’s-side window.
I’d been afraid. Really afraid. Completely blindsided by terror and unable to function in the face of his potential injury. I didn’t like feeling so beholden to someone else. It made me feel weak and untethered—completely irrational.
Who wanted to let someone else dictate their life? Who wanted to live at the mercy of something so fragile and unpredictable? What kind of person voluntarily signed up for that?
Someone in love, my brain supplied readily enough.
Someone like you, my heart whispered back.
We’d been sneaking around for months, but I could imagine what Brady and I looked like from the outside. A couple. People who texted each other, shared meals, and spent their nights together. He had a toothbrush in my bathroom. I had two hoodies I’d stolen, sitting in my hamper at this very moment. I knew how he took his coffee, and he brought me Twizzlers whenever he knew I was having a shitty day.
I was one big heart-eyes emoji. I could taste orange Tic Tacs and smell sand and salt and sea air whenever I closed my eyes. He was a visage of my past and the future I’d been inadvertently barreling toward.
I worried there was an impression on my heart. Some stupid, tender part of me warned that if I bothered to check, it would be the depth of that dimple in Brady’s right cheek or the perfect pressure of his thumb in the divot on my chin.
With effort, I forced my breathing to match his—slow and even.
I waited until 5:15 and texted Abby. I stayed put until I got a response.
Then I put on my jacket, slid on my shoes, and shut the front door quietly behind me.
nineteen
BRADY
I woke up with a splitting headache and a very anxious-looking Cole Abernathy standing over my bed.
“Wha—” I sat up, wincing. The rest of my sentence failed to materialize.
