He leans in, lowering his voice, flicking a glance at Maddie sitting behind us. “How’s your family doing?”
God. I wish the sand would just swallow me whole and bury me beneath the dunes. The last thing I want to discuss is how pathetic my life is post-dropout.
“We’re fine, thanks,” I say quickly.
“That’s good to hear, man. We all worried about you, when… y’know,” Kiah mutters, waving his hand in the air.
It’s not hard to fill in the blanks. I know he’s referring to my mom’s suicide attempt. Guys like Kiah, from their perfect families and polished suburbs, never quite know how to handle these situations.
“I appreciate that,” I murmur, barely audible.
His hand lands on my shoulder, light but deliberate. He squeezes like he’s offering comfort, and I tense under the contact. I hate sympathy.
“Anyway, I should get going. It’s a long drive back home,” Kiah says, thumbing over his shoulder. “Take care, bro.”
“Right. You too.”
Kiah waves before vanishing into the crowd. My chest burns, pressure building behind my eyes. Maddie can’t see me like this. I blink hard, roll back my shoulders, and take a deep breath to recompose myself.
As I make my way back to the picnic table, Maddie and her friends are still drinking their hot chocolates. I swipe Maddie’s cupand take a sip. It’s sickeningly sweet, the texture a little grainy from undissolved powder.
“Gross. I don’t want your germs,” Maddie says, wrinkling her nose when I try to hand it back.
“More for me,” I quip with a smirk.
She shrugs. “Whatever. I was done anyway.” She arches her brow. “So… who was that guy?”
Whenever I get close to another guy, Maddie always asks lots of questions. I think she suspects the truth—that I like men—but I’ve never said the words out loud to her. Honestly, it was probably obvious when we were kids. I rewatchedHigh School Musicalon repeat just to get a glimpse of shirtless Zac Efron.
I suppose I’ll confirm her suspicions when I bring a boy home to meet her someday. Or rather,ifI bring a boy home to meet her someday.
“Just an old friend from college,” I tell her.
Before I take another sip of hot chocolate, I check my blood sugar on my phone’s continuous glucose monitor app. My CGM reads 75 and trending down. I’ll gladly take the sugar hit.
Being type one diabetic has its own endless list of challenges—like the fact I need to reorder insulin pump supplies soon, and the copay will surely gut my bank account. God, I hate the American healthcare system.
“You went to college?” Bella chimes in, snapping my attention back to the table.
Bella’s a sweet kid, and I’m glad she’s one of Maddie’s friends. Her parents own Beachside Burgers—my favorite restaurant in town, and the place I work once the lifeguard season ends. Her family has always treated me with kindness. Hopefully Bella’s manners will rub off on Maddie someday.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “I went to Lakeview University for a couple years on a swimming scholarship. Majored in political science.”
“So why didn’t you graduate?” Bella asks.
Beside me, Maddie stiffens. She carries a lot of guilt for things she can’t control. Of course, me dropping out of college wasn’t her fault, but try telling that to a stubborn thirteen-year-old. I know she doesn’t tell any of her friends about Mom’s suicide attempt, either. And I don’t blame her.
“I flunked out,” I lie easily, shrugging.
Bella hums sympathetically. “That sucks.”
The conversation shifts to their favorite boyband—something about a blond member getting a new haircut—and I catch Maddie glancing over at me. She gives me an appreciative smile, soft and subtle.
I just nod back.
When they’re ready to leave, I usher Maddie and her friends back to my truck. On the drive across town, I finish the rest of Maddie’s hot chocolate, savoring every last drop.
Chapter Three
