I grin, eyes burning. “Let’s get you some food.”
A watery smile. It’s overridden by apprehension as I lace our fingers. I really shouldn’t feed into this delusion, but he’s starving and I’m desperate.
“She hides when I’m around, right?”
He stares at me for a moment. Then slowly nods.
“So you don’t have to worry. You can eat as much as you want.”
I don’t wait for him to think it over as I drag him downstairs. He doesn’t resist— if anything, he’s reluctant to let go when we reach the kitchen. I flick on the under-cabinet lights and back him against the island, grasping his waist and lifting him to sit on the counter.
“Stay put.”
Pink spreads across his cheeks;fuck me, it makes me want to do obscene things to him. That urge is almost scarier than him admitting he was about to hurt himself. If I hadn’t been in the bathroom…
No. I refuse to go there. Shoving the intrusive thoughts aside, I fixate on preparing him one of my go-to comfort meals. He quietly observes me as I gather what I need: bread, butter, cheese, and a skillet. Once the butter is sizzling, I place the cheese sandwiches in the pan.
“My mom never cooked for me.”
Every time he speaks, I’m thrown outside my body. He’s only mentioned his mom one other time. Declan never brings her up— not in front of me and never in front of Cade, from what I’ve witnessed.
I flip the sandwiches.
“Mine didn’t until recently.”
“Really?”
I shrug. “Yeah, my dad taught me… before he decided to drink his life away.”
He grimaces. “Yikes.”
“Yikes is right,” I sigh, carefully plucking the grilled cheese from the skillet and placing it on a plate. His gaze flicks up as I set it on the counter beside him. He seems more lucid. Dusting my hands off on my shorts, I brace myself before potentially derailing all our progress. “You know how it goes, losing a parent. Your mom… she died, right?”
He pulls the hoodie’s sleeves over his hands. “She killed herself.”
Well fuck.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Hugging himself, he frowns. “She was sick.”
Dad had been sick in a way, too. We were both abandoned by a parent in the most permanent way. My hands land on either side of him, the marble countertop cool under my palms.
“How long ago?”
He puffs out a breath. “Three years.”
“I was fifteen too when my dad drove headfirst into a pole. It feels like yesterday and ages ago at the same time.” I inch my fingers toward him. “And you know what’s really fucked? I wasrelievedwhen he went. Fucking furious, but so damn relieved.”
He’s looking through me— into my soul— and baring his. I know he feels the same. Glassy eyes shift between mine.
“I loved her.” His voice cracks. “So much. I shouldn’t be happy she’s gone.”
My molars grind. “She hurt you.”
He picks at the side of his thumb. “She didn’t mean to.”
I want to hold him. More than that. I want to wrap his soul in mine.
