Page 40 of The Way We Swing

He never would have said this stuff sober. He refused to. It was like I wasn’t important enough to him. Like I didn’t matter.

I was sick of being somebody’s secret. Sick of living my own secret.

But it didn’t matter how tired I was of secrets. I still had to wear mine.

CHAPTER 14

Thanksgiving came and went in a blur. The Monday after was what really mattered: the day of Easton’s dad’s hearing.

Being on break made it easier to slip out of the house unnoticed. No questions, no explanations, only the quiet click of the front door as I left.

The ride was quick; I sang with the radio to Taylor Swift like nobody was watching. But only because, literally, nobody was watching.

After I parked (and dug for quarters to feed the meter), I tightened my tie and stepped toward the courthouse.

An employee sat in the front lobby, and I ran off as soon as she finished telling me where to go. I took the stairs two at a time, not wanting Easton to wait alone today. The hallway forced a sharp left out of the stairwell, and then I stood in front of a pair of huge mahogany doors. A black sign hung dead center that read “Courtroom C.” I pushed right through, not thinking about what lay on the other side.

The church-like room had two rows of pews on each side. Easton sat on the right as far from the entrance as possible, his elbows on his knees and his eyes on his dress shoes. I slinked into the aisle and sat down next to him. There were only a couple of people in the room, and no one within earshot of us.

We’d hooked up again last Friday night after Zach’s game. We hadn’t talked much, but for the first time, he hadn’t said it was the last time.

But afterward, when he’d rolled away from me without saying a word, I’d lain there staring at the ceiling, wondering why I kept doing this to myself.

Now, sitting in the courthouse, the silence still hung between us. Silence, my old friend.

His hand sat on the seat between us. I moved my hand to put it on top of his, but at the last moment, I moved it to my thigh. He probably didn’t want me doing that in public; I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do that in public.

“How are you?” I whispered. Even though I knew no one would hear me, this was the kind of place where you didn’t talk loudly.

“They cancelled the hearing. My grandparents already left.”

“You could’ve texted me.”

“I needed to be here. I needed you here with me.”

I tried to put myself in Easton’s shoes. Why did he have a desire to sit in this room? If we had switched places, I would have wanted out as quickly as possible. He had decided, though, that he’d rather let the world take more jabs at him and sit here thinking about the night he had lost both of his parents.

After a minute or two, he moved his hand and rested it on top of mine. He didn’t glance over when he did it, only allowing the slightest movement of his body. I sighed, allowing a breath at the touch.

We sat like that for a couple of minutes. I didn’t want to be the first one to move—hell, I didn’t want to move, period. Eventually, though, Easton got up and started walking to the door. I caught up to him, and we trudged through the building. Pictures of judges lined the walls; they all seemed so old, so out of touch with life.

When we got to the courthouse exit, I took a risk and grabbed his hand again. He flinched when my fingers locked into his, but he didn’t pull away. We walked to the Durango with our hands still linked, our shoes scuffing the sidewalk. The world moved somewhere far behind us, muffled and indifferent.

“Do you want me to drop you off at your house?” I asked, letting the engine rumble to life but staying in park.

“I told my grandparents I was spending the day with you.”

“Do you want me to see if Zach and Gavin want to do something?”

“Only us today.”

The words hung as I put the Durango into drive. A small flicker stirred in my chest.

“You down for a bit of a car ride?” I asked.

“Depends on where we’re going.”

“Perfect,” I smiled.