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I feel Skyler’s wary gaze tracking my face when I join him, but I just ignore him and plop to my ass next to him. Grimacing at the firm, wet sand scraping against my jeans, I pull my legs up and rest my forearms on my knees, staring straight ahead.
An entire foot separates us, ensuring we don’t touch, and yet I feel his presence like it’s a snaking live wire, sparking the little hairs on my nape to attention as if weweretouching.
There’s just…something about him.
Something frenetic that makes him hard to ignore, even when he’s still. If anything, it’s more intense when he’s not fidgeting about.
Like that feeling right before lightning strikes. You know it’s there—know it’s coming—and while you know you should take shelter, there’s a part of you tempted to see it firsthand. Feel it in the air, even at the risk of getting struck down.
Clearing my throat, I muster a quiet, “Sorry.”
He says nothing, but he’s still staring at my profile.
He does that a lot, I notice. Stare. But only when I’m not looking. Or rather when hethinksI’m not looking.
I dart him a sideways glance. “For earlier. During group. That wasn’t about you. I hope you know that. But I made it about you, and for that I’m sorry.”
He blinks down at his hand, rubbing his fingers in the sand. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not. Whatever your reasons are for being here, it doesn’t excuse my behavior. It was uncalled for. You…you didn’t deserve that.”
His throat clicks with an audible swallow, loud enough to hear over the tide coming in.
It’s a clear night. No signs of rain showers or storms. The sky is lit up gold with the fading sun, painting the world in a rippling, honeyed glow.
“Thank you,” he says after a moment. Then, “And I’m sorry too.”
“Skyler, you didn’t do any—”
I don’t miss the hitch in his breath when I say his name, but he’s quick to recover. “Not directly, no,” he rushes out. “But I…I struggle sometimes. With reading the room, you know? It probably came off…rude. Insensitive. Being dismissive like I was.”
I frown.
“I didn’t mean to,” he whispers.
Movement out of the corner of my eye draws my attention to where he curls his toes into the sand, the muscles in his calves rippling with the strain.
My mouth dries and I quickly squint up at the horizon. I clear my throat. “I know.”
That’s not completely true, and he’s gotta know that, but he leaves it be.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. All that can be heard is the sound of the crashing waves, and faint calls of seagulls carrying on the breeze.
I find myself rubbing my ring finger, right over where there’s the faintest strip of slightly paler skin. It’s been months now since I wore a ring, but it still feels so heavy sometimes—the absence of it. Proof of my failure.
“My parents sent me here,” he says out of nowhere, his voice hesitant. Like he’s testing them out for the first time. “They assumed things, and they wouldn’t listen—no one would.”
My brows knit together when it hits me. “And I did the same thing earlier.”
I feel his shock in the way he snaps his head toward me, but I don’t take my eyes off the ocean as I force myself to add, “But I am now. So…”
It takes him a stunned moment before he picks up where he left off. “I know what it looks like. My arms, I mean. But I didn’t…”
His voice trails. He does that a lot, I’ve noticed.
I frown and glance over where he has his arms stretched out in front of him. They’re faint, mostly healed over or faded, and honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact we’re in rehab and I was, well, looking for some kind of sign as to why he’s here…I probably wouldn’t have noticed.
Again, I’m baffled by why I was even paying such close attention to begin with.
