"Fine, I happily accept my punishment." I look at the path ahead. A few steps pass. "I didn't think about it for three whole hours."
His hand finds my back again as we walk, steadying me over a patch of uneven pavement. For a second, his thumb brushes against my jacket.
"That's great," he says, trying to hold me upright.
"It's the most I haven't thought about it all week." I look up at the sky. The stars are doing a gentle spin, a dance I can’t quite keep up with. "He takes up so much space in my head. Like even when I'm not thinking about him, I'm thinking about him." Ipause. "That sounded insane. Not in that way. Not how I think about you."
"It didn't. It made sense."
I peek over at him. "You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Make me feel like I’m not too much. Like I don’t embarrass you."
He looks back at me and stops me cold. “Rhys,” he says, holding onto me, “I don’t think there’s anything about you I could ever be embarrassed of.”
I've finally learned what this look is — it’s the way Jamie Nash looks when he’s deciding to be brave about something. After fighting himself.
"You can stay," he says. "This whole week. If that’s what you need."
"Jamie—"
"I know I'm not—" He exhales. Tries again. "I don't always say the right thing. I know that. I know I have a hard time saying what I mean. What I feel." He looks at me then. Green eyes in the dark. Fixed on me with an intensity I don't think he even notices. "But I showed up yesterday and I'm showing up now and I'll show up tomorrow. I need you to know that."
I look at him. At the man who grew up being told soft was weakness. Who is standing on a dark path trying so hard to say you matter to me in the only language he was ever allowed to use, trying so hard to stay on the path with light.
I think I love him.
The thought arrives so quietly it takes a second to realize it's there. But it doesn’t rattle me. It feels right.
"I know," I say. "I know. It means everything to me."
He looks away and starts walking. I fall into step beside him and don't say another word because I don't want to breakwhatever this is. I want to stay in it as long as he'll let me.
We make it to his room after a short drive.
I drop onto his bed face first and stay there for a moment taking stock of my body which is doing several things at once, most of them fine, most of them spinning.
"More water," Jamie says. Already at the sink.
"One minute."
"Now."
"You're so bossy."
"Drink the damn water."
"What if I don't want—"
"Rhys."
I roll over and sit up. He's holding out a full glass with a very fake patient expression that I know is wearing thin. I take it and drink enough that he’s satisfied. He takes the glass, refills it, and sets it on the nightstand without being asked. This routine, this completely simple thing that he just — does now. Taking care of me.
"Jamie," I say. "Last night." I stop. Start again. "I want to make sure you know it wasn't — it wasn't just a thing to me. It wasn’t me just trying to feel better or trying to use you." I'm aware I sound like a drunk person trying to be serious which is exactly what I am. "I don’t regret it."
I don’t regret you.
