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Her eyes widen. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah. He had an EpiPen. We took him to the hospital, just in case. He’s fine.”
I haven’t decided what to do about my mom. If I’ll do anything. If I’ll say anything.
I really don’t want the responsibility of telling Sydney. And I don’t want to burden Cassia with the secret.
But she knows me too well. Her head tilts, studying me closely. “Are you okay?”
I let my gym bag slip off my shoulder and step forward so I’m just inches away from her. Rest my hands on her waist and then slip them under the hem of the oversize t-shirt she’s wearing to pull her against me.
“Better now,” I say into her hair.
I mean the words.
Talking to her, touching her, it soothes the ache that’s always there when I think about my parents and got amplified today.
Cassia Nolan is the only person who’s everchosento love me.
And if I have my mom to thank for anything, I guess it’s the lesson that love is never guaranteed. That just because someone is supposed to care doesn’t mean they will.
Her nose wrinkles as she tilts her head back. “How do you still smell like cinnamon even when you’re sweaty?”
I grin as I play with the end of her ponytail. “I’m not that sweaty. We’d only been playing for about twenty minutes when the bee attacked Mark.”
“Were you winning?”
“Of course.”
“I was wondering why you were texting mid-game,” she says.
I raise one eyebrow. “You didn’t answer.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Sydney came over, and I got distracted.”
My hands move an inch higher, fingers brushing across the sides of her rib cage.
“Holden…” Any chastisement in her voice is drowned out by the lust.
“What? Your shirt is soft.”
“It’s your shirt,” she whispers. “I stole it out of your gym bag…that night.”
I know which night she’s referring to. It’s an ugly, unpleasant memory, but her words erase a little bit of the sting.
“Why?”
Her fingers twist the fabric of my shirt, her gaze focused on my chest instead of meeting my eyes. “You weren’t supposed to agree.” She mutters the words, so softly I can hardly hear them.
My brow furrows. “You told me—”
“I know what I said. I was trying to—I don’t know. I wanted you to fight. And when you didn’t…I got scared. So I stole your shirt.” She makes a face. “It felt stupid when I did and it sounds even stupider now that I’m admitting it.”
My grip on her tightens. “It’s not stupid. I-I didn’t know you wanted me to fight, flower. I was fucking terrified of losing you. Iamfucking terrified of losing you. So I was trying to do exactly what you asked. Trying to do whatever it took to keep that from happening.”
“I know,” she says softly. “I know I sent some mixed signals.”
“You can take as many of my clothes as you want, Cas.”
