Trust(66)

“It means I like being here kissing you.”

I let out a long breath. “Okay.”

“Is that enough?”

“Yes,” I said, because it was. For now. “Next time, don’t stand out in the dark. Just come in, okay?”

His gaze softened. “Thanks. Don’t know why I did that, why I couldn’t just make up my mind. Maybe I really am going crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

“Sure about that?” he asked.

“Yes. Well, mostly.” Best to be truthful. “I think anyone who went through what we did is bound to come out of it a bit of a mess.”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “No idea when I slept last. Like, really slept.”

“Then lie down.” I rolled onto my side, facing him as he lay his head on the pillow next to mine. “Close your eyes.”

He did as told for about a second. “Always feel like I’m wired. Like something’s about to happen, I just don’t know what.”

“I get that too,” I said. “Sort of like I’m on the edge of a panic attack. Just waiting.”

“Weed helps sometimes. Not always.”

“Mr. Solomon taught me a breathing technique. Lie on your back,” I ordered, doing likewise. “Put one hand on your stomach and one hand on your chest.”

“I’d rather put a hand on your chest. Probably wouldn’t calm me down, though.”

“Probably not. One on your stomach and one on your chest. Yours. As in, your own.” I waited until he complied, watching him out of the corner of my eye. “Now, breathe in for three seconds through your nose. Then hold it for ten seconds before exhaling through your mouth.”

Together, he and I did the breathing. Air rushing in, waiting, then air pushing out.

“Only the hand on your chest is supposed to be moving. Oh, and you’re supposed to think ‘relax’ as you exhale,” I said. “Go again.”

“This is what your mom pays that shrink a fortune for?”

“Shut up and breathe.” I inhaled, holding it in, trying to think peaceful thoughts. Then let it all out.

“How long do we do this for?” he asked, breathing in deeply.

“As long as it takes. Keep going.”

I switched off the lamp, watching the outline of him in the dark, waiting for my night vision to kick in. With the required rhythm, his chest rose and fell. Then I realized he still had his shoes on. Not so comfortable. Dealing with the laces made things tricky and he might have laughed at me just a bit for fumbling around in the dark. But whatever.

“Close your eyes and concentrate,” I said.

“They’re closed.” A few minutes later, he yawned, and whispered, “I’ll go before your mom gets home.”

“Okay.” I lay down beside him, listening to his breathing, feeling a cool breeze blow in through the open window. Everything was perfect.

Turned out, we both fell asleep just fine.





“Edith Rose Millen!”

“Wha—” I mumbled, doing my best to wake.

Light blinded me, John’s long body shifting against my back. There in my doorway stood Mom, cheeks slashed with red and fury blazing in her eyes. And strangely enough, Matt, her old ex-boyfriend, was standing in my room too.

“What the hell is going on here?” yelled Mom, towering over the two of us.

Shit, shit, shit. “Mom. I can—”

“You can what?” Her gaze darted between me and John, finally settling on him. “Oh my God, is that the boy from the Drop Stop? It is.”

“Ma’am. I . . .” John hastily retracted the arm he’d had wrapped around my waist, the leg he’d had thrown over one of mine. I couldn’t look at him. Embarrassment swallowed me whole and spat me back out just for fun.

“He’s my friend.” I sat up, rubbing my eyes.

“He’s your friend?” mom parroted, anger filling every word.

“Yes.”

Matt stepped forward, putting a hand on Mom’s lower back. “Easy.”

She threw him a foul look before returning to the problem at hand. Me. “Edie, you have exactly ten seconds to explain this before you’re grounded for life. Hell, you’re grounded for life anyway.”

And I don’t know, I just . . . didn’t really care. Not in the way I should have. Now, with my mind mostly awake, the drama didn’t seem so soul-crushingly huge.

“He’s my friend, Mom, and he’s important to me. Very important.” Best male friend at any rate. Hang would understand. “I realize this looks bad and I’m not supposed to have people over, let alone have a boy in bed with me. But his pants are on and so are mine. So please calm down.”

“Calm down?” Mom echoed me again, disbelief blanking her face.

“She’s got a point about the pants,” said Matt.

Mom did not reply.

Matt raised his brows at me, mouth grim. Meanwhile, John stealthily searched for his shirt among the bedding. What a clusterfuck. I could feel the rage growing in her, the righteous parenting fury. Of all the nights for her to decide to burst into my bedroom at . . . God, it was four in the morning. Mom wavered on her feet slightly, arms crossed and face lined. Immediately, Matt moved closer, slipping an arm around her waist and anchoring her to his side. Mom’s dress was tight and her heels high. The whole scene made me suspicious. The man had always been my favorite of Mom’s few boyfriends, but Mom didn’t have men stay over.