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“Fuck,” he mutters, steadying the thing. “I was wondering—do you need a soda or water?”
Is this awkward Ezra? Why’s he looking at me like that?
“Do you?” I laugh.
His face closes itself off. “I’ll get something.”
I don’t want to trail him like a puppy, so I stand in the doorway, feeling awkward myself.
He returns with one of his Propels and hands me a Powerade, his gaze flicking up to mine before he's out the door. He walks down the steps and straight to his Jeep, leaving me to lock the front door. Which...is good, I guess. At least he doesn't think I'm an invalid.
What does he think after last night? I can't even think about him finding me like that. I'm pretending that part didn't happen.
As I get to his passenger side, the door swings open a little.
I give him a skeptical look as I climb in. Then I frown because it smells like...bubble gum?
"You ready?" he asks. He looks pensive, unsure, and—if I’m being honest—pretty fucking hot behind the wheel.
"Not unless you give me some gum."
He gives me side-eye, like he doesn’t want to share his stash. Then he opens a compartment in the dashboard and pulls out a pack of gum. He tosses it lightly at my lap.
"Give me a piece, too," he says as he rolls by my car and starts us down the driveway.
"Uh...can you unwrap it?"
"While I drive?" He gives me his old smirk as he makes a grabby hand at me. "Let's find out. Or you can put it in my mouth."
I can't help a soft laugh.
"I'm just dicking with you."
"Always." I lean my head back against the headrest, shutting my eyes as I shake my head again.
"You gonna give it to me?"
Oh, that’s right—the gum. I pass a piece to him. It's Bubble Yum. When I was a kid, my mom used to buy it for me when we'd stop to get a Powerade from the gas station after soccer practice. I loved the duck on the wrapper. It's this punk rock duck.
I crack an eye open to see Ezra unwrapping the thing while steering with his knee. He really does look good in the Jeep. I think it suits him.
I look down at my legs, pressing my lips together. This was a bad idea.
What did you think it would be like, Josh?
I'm hit with a wave of exhaustion—so bad I almost tell him we should go back. But I can't bring myself to say it. For a while we’re quiet as he drives down neighborhood streets.
"My dad texted about Monday,” he says as he turns right, toward the town’s main drag. “One o'clock in Birmingham?"
"Hell if I know. Is that what he told you?"
"Mmhmm. He said take you by a burger place there." Ezra smiles, lifting his brows as his eyes find mine before settling on a red light. "Even told me your favorite burger."
"The Purple Haze one?" Shit, this is embarrassing.
"He said you like the one with Worcestershire and goat cheese?"
I stare at the dark road ahead of us. It’s my turn to reply. That’s the Purple Haze one. I should say something to him. Goat cheese is better than the regular cow stuff. Instead my mouth opens and I hear myself ask, "Are you a lifeguard?"
I can feel him get uncomfortable, even though my eyes are set on the road. After a second, during which he hangs a right onto a side street, I figure he isn’t going to answer. Then he says, "Who told you that?"
"My mom. She said you'd be good to take me to B'ham because you know CPR. As if I'm going to need CPR.” I roll my eyes. “Or you to remember my burger."
I squeeze my eyes shut. It's because of what happened—seizures throw your feelings off—but I feel like I'm going to fucking cry here. In his car. Driving quiet roads at night. Driving toward the cabin even though I didn't tell him how to get there. He asked someone else, I guess, and he knows where we're going. I'm like...baggage. Baggage he doesn't want—and I know I am.
I ask him, "Did you want to die that day?" My chest feels hard and dark, like it's encased in armor.
"Truth or truth, Mills?" he says.
"You know all about me. Right down to the taste of my cock. So, yes. Truth, Ezra."
He doesn't wait even a second before he says, "Yeah.”
I stare out the windshield.
“Did you?" he asks back.
I refuse to look at him. To see what kind of face he’s making, try to read what’s in his eyes. "No more than any other day." My voice sounds hard, unlike me.
"You want to die on any other days because of where you live?"
"What does that mean?” A car in front of us turns onto a side-street, and it’s just us moving down Vertical Road, with all its shuttered storefronts, closed for the night.
