Page 36 of Run to Me

“What else do you need before I go?” I tuck an extra pillow beside him in case he tries to roll over.

He wraps his long fingers around my wrist. “Stay with me. Please. I don’t want you driving this late at night. It’s not safe.”

Sighing, I avoid looking him in the eye, afraid of the desperation I’ll find there. I could lie and tell him I’m staying at Vera’s or Tatum’s, but neither of them needs me. Tonight, Jensen does. His need wafts from him, stronger than the spicy cologne lingering on his bedsheets. Plus, he’s a worrier, and I won’t cause him more worry after what he’s been through in life.

“Okay. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Please,” he whispers with a gentle squeeze on the wrist I haven’t yanked from his grasp. “Be here with me. Just for tonight.”

No one sees the wounded and vulnerable side of him. Only me. He may not express his exact needs through words, but I somehow know because I know him. Once upon a time, we communicated through the silence stretching between us, even from afar. We felt each other on a deeper level, and his unspoken cry for help tonight tugs at me in a familiar way.

Maisy 14½; Jensen, 18

A crowd gathers in the hallway lined with lockers as students peer over the shoulder or head of the person standing in front of them. Being small has its advantages, so I twist and turn through the gaps until I reach the front. My cheeks flame with humiliation as I take in the scene.

“Stay away from her,” Jensen growls. He has Peyton Riggs pinned against a locker by the throat.

“It’s just a stupid dance,” Peyton chokes out.

“Stop!” I shout.

A hush falls over the crowd. Few of these people have heard me speak because I keep to myself, so the power in my voice surprises them.

Jensen looks at me without releasing my date to the upcoming spring dance. He must see the hurt in my eyes because his hold on Peyton loosens. “Maisy⁠—”

“Let him go,” I say, cutting him off. “And mind your own business.”

“Yeah. It’s not like you’re her brother. And Logan’s fine with it,” Peyton argues.

Jensen’s nostrils flare like he’s preparing to unleash a ball of fire straight into Peyton’s face. “Oh yeah? Did Logan hear the shit that came out of your mouth?”

Peyton pales, fear flashing in his eyes.

“What?” I ask, realizing I don’t have a clue what I walked into.

He huffs and shoves at Jensen. “Forget it, man. She’s not even worth it.”

My breath hitches, and tears well in my eyes. I thought Peyton was different from the other boys…nicer. It’s the only reason I asked him to the dance.

Jensen, nose-to-nose with the younger boy whose feet aren’t touching the ground, drops his voice dangerously low and says, “She’s worth more than a million of you, you piece of shit.”

Unable to bear further humiliation, I sprint to the nearest bathroom. It’s all too much. The public rejection. Peyton’s scorn. Jensen’s meddling and wrath. It’s not the first time he’s interfered in my dating life, causing boys to run the other way. Logan’s my brother, and he couldn’t care less about the boys I like.

I’m hiding in the stall when the creaky door and sure footsteps announce his arrival. He never just lets me go.

“Birdie.”

“Go away.” Between sniffles, I wipe my nose with toilet paper.

His feet shuffle under the stall door until he’s facing it straight on, then something thumps against the metal, likely his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I scoff. “No, you’re not. You got what you wanted, right? You win.”

“That’s not true. You’re the winner here. Trust me.”

“What did he say?” I ask.