Counting Down with You(50)

I close my eyes and turn my face into Ace’s shoulder, focusing on my breathing.

His hand runs through my hair, careful and soothing. “Hey,” Ace says. “I have something for you.”

I blink my eyes open. In his free hand, he’s holding a packet of Sour Patch Kids.

A choked laugh slips past my lips. “You remembered.”

“I’d never forget anything about you,” he murmurs. “Here.”

He rips open the top and hands it to me. I sniffle gratefully and take the packet.

“Thank you,” I say. A part of me is embarrassed at losing it like this in front of Ace. The bigger part of me is glad it’s him and not some random stranger. His presence has somehow become comforting. Only Nandini and Cora feel this familiar to me.

Ace doesn’t respond, but he hums against the top of my head. We sit in silence, and it doesn’t feel uncomfortable or forced. It feels as natural as anything else.

I don’t know how much time passes, but once I finish the packet of Sour Patch Kids, I sit up properly, scrubbing at my face. I can’t imagine how disastrous I look. I don’t want to know, frankly.

“I’ll walk you home,” Ace says.

I look at him in surprise. “You don’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “I want to. Come on.” He offers me a hand up and I take it, rubbing my nose with my sleeve.

“What about your car?”

Ace looks away, his lips pressed together. “I don’t have it right now. My dad took away my keys.”

I falter, searching his expression. “What happened?”

“Just Xander,” Ace says quietly before shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But how will you get home?” I ask. “You don’t have to walk me—”

“I want to,” he says again, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll call my dad’s chauffeur to pick me up. It’s not a big deal, I swear.”

I open my mouth to protest, not wanting him to brave the cold any more than he has to, especially not for me. It’s mid-March, but it’s still chilly outside.

Before I can say anything, he gently claps a hand over my mouth. “No, Ahmed.”

I sigh, conceding defeat. I don’t have the energy to hold an argument anyway. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

Ace slings my bag over his shoulder before I can and gestures for me to go ahead.

We walk out of school together, and I can’t help but notice the curious looks slanted our way by some familiar juniors. I wipe at my face again self-consciously, but Ace tugs my hand down, interlacing it with his.

I inhale quietly in surprise, staring down at our joined fingers. My entire arm feels like it’s buzzing, electricity running up and down my veins.

“Fuck off,” Ace says darkly to the people still watching us.

Everyone quickly averts their gaze.

I push past my shock to squeeze his hand in thanks, and he squeezes back.

As I expected, it’s cold outside. I glance sideways at Ace, my cheeks warming. “You don’t have to walk me home. It’s really windy.”

“Are you cold?” he asks, furrowing his brows. “God, I didn’t even realize. You’re only wearing a sweater. Here.”

“That’s not what I—”

Ace shrugs off his leather jacket and holds it out to me. I stare at it, uncomprehending. There’s no way Ace is offering me his leather jacket right now.

“Take it,” he says, waving it in my direction.

“Now you’re only wearing a sweater,” I say, still staring at the jacket.

“I run warm,” he says, shrugging. “And you just had an anxiety attack. I think you need it more than I do.”

Oh. He’s caught on to the fact I have anxiety. I guess I wasn’t really going out of my way to hide it, but even my parents have failed to pick up on it. Hell, I didn’t even realize until a few months ago.

I’m not ashamed of it. I refuse to be, but I’m still shocked at how easily he’s accepting it. I know the type of person Ace is, and I don’t think he’d ever call me crazy or dismiss me, but I still expect something to go wrong. If my own parents would look down on me for having anxiety, there’s every possibility Ace might, too.

Another spur of nerves runs through me, a creeping terror that this will affect his outlook of me even if he doesn’t say anything, but Ace keeps looking at me with the same steady expression he always has.

The longer I look at him, the easier I can breathe.

“Thank you,” I finally say, slipping my arms into the sleeves of the jacket. It’s large on my frame, hanging to midthigh. There’s also a familiar scent to it that I never fully picked up on from Ace. Now that I’m basking in it, I recognize it.

He smells like cinnamon. It’s faint, but it’s there.

Neither of us says anything as we walk, but our hands brush against each other until Ace finally reaches out and intertwines our fingers again.

I stare at our hands, unable to tear my gaze away. There’s no one here except the two of us. No one to pretend for.

By the time we find our way to my house, it’s later than I expected. The sun is slowly setting, the sky a mix of pinks, oranges, and blues.

We stop on my porch, and a sense of disappointment washes over me. I wish I could spend the entire night walking around aimlessly with Ace, comforted by our mutual silence.