The Misfit (Oakmount Elite #5)

19. Salem

NINETEEN

salem

My bedroom ceiling has exactly forty-seven tiles. I’ve counted them eight hundred and twelve times in the past three days. No matter how many times I count them, the number never changes. I keep counting them, anyway. It’s the distraction I need from looking at my phone, which buzzes with another text from Lee.

I don’t need to read it to know what it says. All his messages contain the same variation of the same thing:

Lee: Please talk to me.

Lee: I’m sorry.

Lee: Salem, please.

Lee: At least let me know you’re okay.

Am I okay? No. I’m not okay. It’s dramatic, but I’m not sure I ever will be again. Since the gala, my life has been flipped upside down—scratch that, it’s been eviscerated.

It hasn’t been the same since Lee came barreling into that dark pantry.

It just became more dysfunctional the night of the gala. Memories of that night filter through my mind. I haven’t been myself since the gala, when Lee lost control and worshipped me in a way that I didn’t know people could worship another person. I still can’t believe I let him touch me that way. Control me that way. A single truth resonated throughout it all—none of this was fake, no matter the lies we’ve been telling ourselves and to each other. I just don’t know what comes next. And I’m scared how much I enjoyed what we did together. How right it felt. How free I became in his arms.

“You can’t hide forever,” Noah calls from the doorway, carrying another plate of food I won’t eat. “And you can’t keep counting instead of dealing with life.”

“Watch me.” But my voice cracks, betraying me.

He sets the plate down and surveys my room—neat piles of unused textbooks, perfectly aligned pencils, three pairs of silk gloves I can’t bring myself to touch. Everything in perfect order except me.

“Lee called the house phone.” Noah’s voice is soft. “Since you won’t answer your cell.”

I close my eyes, remembering Lee’s face that night. The possession in his eyes. The way he’d marked me as his. The way I’d let him.

“I can’t.” The words come out small, broken. “It’s too much. He’s too much. All of it …”

“Is exactly what you need,” Noah finishes. “You’re stronger with him. Better.”

But am I? Or am I just pretending to be better? Playing the role of someone who can handle charity galas and society photos and Katherine Sterling’s sharp smiles?

“Eat something,” Noah says softer. “Then maybe try answering one text. Baby steps, right?”

Baby steps. Like Lee taught me. Like we practiced together, counting tiles and breaths and moments between panic attacks. That was before. Before the gala showed me exactly how unsuitable I am for his world. Before I watched him spiral as he tried to protect me from it. Before everything got so complicated.

“I just need time,” I whisper, but we both know I’m lying.

My phone buzzes again.

I don’t look.

Can’t look.

Won’t look at Lee begging me to be brave when I can barely breathe.

Instead, I start counting tiles again.

One more time.

Just to be sure.

“Nope.” Noah plops down on my desk chair, disrupting my perfect view of the ceiling. “Not doing it this time.”

“I’m fine.” The lie tastes stale, like everything else these past three days.

“You’re not fine. You’re hiding and counting and pretending the world doesn’t exist.” He spins the chair to face me fully. “The Salem I know doesn’t hide.”

Thunder rumbles outside, making the windows rattle. Perfect. Even the weather matches my mood, dark clouds rolling in like my anxiety.

“The Salem you know is tired,” I whisper. “Tired of pretending to be normal. Tired of trying to fit into his world. Tired of?—”

“Being happy?” Noah cuts me off. “Because that’s what you were with him. Actually happy, not pretending.”

“I was acting.” But my voice wavers. “It was all an arrangement.”

“Really?” He starts ticking off points on his fingers. “So Lee learning to count tiles with you was acting? Him remembering exactly how many times to sanitize everything was fake? The way he automatically puts himself between you and crowds—that’s all pretend?”

Lightning flashes, illuminating my perfectly ordered room. Everything in its place except my heart.

“You don’t understand.” I clench my hands. “His family, his world … I can’t be what they need me to be.”

“No,” Noah agrees, surprising me. “That’s incorrect. You can’t be what they want you to be, and that’s okay because you’re exactly what Lee needs.”

“Remember last week at the coffee shop? How you told me about some little kid spilling his drink near you?”

I close my eyes and recall how I told him about it when I got home. Just in passing, though. “Lee cleaned it up.”

“No,” Noah leans forward. “YOU cleaned it up. You said it yourself. Without counting first. Without panicking. And I bet Lee just stood there watching you with that strangely proud look he gets on his face when he stares at you for longer than two seconds.”

The memory hits me hard—Lee’s smile, his quiet “that’s my girl,” and the way he’d squeezed my hand after.

“One incident doesn’t?—”

“You went to a charity gala, too, with tons of people in attendance, with germs all around you. Do you remember telling me about that as well?” Noah interrupts.

“Stop making sense.” I shake my head at him.

His face lights up. “I can’t. Not when you did so fucking great. You danced in public. You handled his mother’s fake rich lady smile and didn’t break under pressure. That’s not pretending, Salem. That’s growth, that’s healing.”

Thunder cracks overhead, making me jump. But Noah’s right—six months ago, that sound would have sent me straight into a panic attack. Now it’s just startling.

Because of Lee.

Because of how he teaches me to breathe through the scary parts.

Because of how he makes everything make sense, even when nothing makes sense at all.

“Growth or not, I’m still broken,” I whisper as rain drums against the roof.

Noah’s smile is soft but firm. “Maybe. But you’re stronger broken with him than perfect without him. Plus, we’re all broken in some way, shape, or form.”

The truth settles in my chest.

Broken but stronger.

Imperfect but trying.

Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe I’m enough.

My phone buzzes again, but this time, Drew’s name lights up the screen. Noah raises an eyebrow as I actually reach for it this time.

Drew: He’s not doing well.

Drew: Hasn’t left his apartment in two days.

Drew: Keeps cleaning everything. Three times.

My heart clenches deep in my chest like someone is squeezing it. Lee doesn’t clean obsessively—that’s my thing, my coping mechanism.

Except …

Another text, this time from Bel.

Bel: Found him counting ceiling tiles at The Mill.

Bel: He misses you.

Bel: He’s lost without his anchor.

“See?” Noah gestures at my phone. “You’re not the only one falling apart.”

My gaze catches on the silk gloves Lee bought me. They sit folded on my dresser, arranged by length. I remember how careful he was when presenting them to me and how he’d learned exactly how to help me put them on. What we did at the gala was terrifying, but is admitting and accepting my feelings for him more terrifying than never sharing another laugh or kiss with him again?

“Did you know,” Noah asks quietly, pulling up photos on his phone, “that Lee came to me last week? He asked me to teach him more about OCD. He told me he wanted to learn everything he could so he could help you.”

He holds out his phone, showing me a picture I didn’t know existed. It’s from the coffee shop—me laughing at something while Lee watches, wearing an expression I’ve never seen before. Like he’s looking at something precious, something worth protecting.

“The guy bought five e-books about OCD and then two textbooks. He even asked about your therapist. He wanted to reach out to her and discuss ways to support you better.”

My heart stutters in my chest. No one outside of my own family has taken the effort to understand this debilitating mental health issue, yet some guy who has known me less than a year is more willing to understand me than some people I’ve known for the better part of my life.

“He’s not pretending,” Noah continues, “and neither are you.”

Nevertheless, the truth reflects back at me like a blinking red neon sign. “I can’t be what his family wants me to be.” It feels wrong to say those words, but I know they’re true. It’s so much more than doubt or fear laced between those words. Lee comes from a different world, a different universe for that matter.

“No,” Noah agrees. “But it’s not about what his family wants. It’s about what he wants, and you’re that person.”

I stare at the photo. At Lee’s face. The way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. He’s never seen me as this fragile human who’s going to shatter at any second. He’s always seen me as strong and determined, even when I felt like I wasn’t.

My phone buzzes again.

Bel: Please talk to him.

“He’s learning your patterns,” Noah tells me. “Not to fix you or change you, but so he can understand you better.”

“What if I ruin him?” The fear finally spills out. “What if I drag him down into my broken pieces, and he never gets out?”

Noah’s laugh is gentle. “Salem, he’s already chosen your broken pieces over their perfect lies. The question is, are you brave enough to choose him back?”

The storm rages outside while I stare at the photo of us, at the silk gloves he bought me, at all the evidence that none of this has been pretend for a very long time.

“I’m scared,” I whisper to the rain.

“Good,” Noah says. “That means it’s real.”

“Stop acting like you understand everything,” I snap, finally sitting up to face Noah. “You’re seventeen. You play hockey and date puck bunnies. What do you know about any of this?”

Noah’s easy smile falters. “I know my sister. I know when she’s running scared versus when she’s actually scared.”

“Same thing.”

“No,” he argues. “Running scared is what you did after Chelsea.”

The mention of Chelsea makes me flinch. “Don’t.”

“Why not? You were getting better. Even before Lee. But with him?—”

“I said don’t.” My voice cracks. “You have no idea what it’s like. Having to count everything, check everything, measure every single moment just to feel safe. Having to wear these stupid gloves because touching anything that might be contaminated makes me want to scream.”

Rain pounds against the windows as Noah absorbs my outburst. For a moment, he looks his age—uncertain, young, worried about his broken sister.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “I don’t understand, not like you. But I understand that Lee tries to. That he counts with you and checks things with you and makes you feel less alone in all of it.”

“He’s drunk half the time,” I counter weakly. “Reckless. Always fighting someone.”

“Yeah.” Noah runs a hand through his hair. “He’s kind of a mess. But he’s a mess who makes you smile. A mess who remembers exactly how many times to sanitize things. A mess who looks at you like you hung the moon.”

“Now you sound like a Hallmark movie.” My voice wavers.

“Better than your current horror movie of hiding in your room counting tiles.”

I throw a pillow at him, but he’s right. God help me, my baby brother is right.

“When did you get so annoyingly insightful?” I ask.

“Probably around the same time my sister started fake dating the campus bad boy and actually fell for him.”

The truth of it hits me hard and fast. A truth I have been running from. I’m falling for Lee. Have been since that first night in the pantry. Since he counted tiles with me. Since he made my broken pieces feel less broken.

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “His family?—”

“Sucks,” Noah finishes. “But they’re not the ones counting ceiling tiles in their apartment missing you.”

The storm grows louder, matching the chaos in my chest. Everything Noah’s saying makes sense, but …

“I’m still scared.”

“Good.” He stands, heading for the door. “Fear means you’ve got something worth losing.”

“Stop trying to sound wise,” I call after him as he disappears. “It’s weird.”

His laugh carries back to me. “Stop trying to sound brave. We both know you’re terrified of the unknown, and that’s okay.”

The power flickers once, twice, three times—because of course it would be three—before plunging the house into complete darkness. Lightning illuminates my room in stark bursts, making the shadows dance across my walls.

“Salem?” Noah calls from downstairs. “You okay up there?”

I’m about to answer when someone pounds on our front door. The sound echoes through the house like gunshots, making me jump.

“I’ll get it!” Noah shouts, and I hear his footsteps—nineteen to the door; I’ve counted them enough times to know.

Part of me wants to stay in my room, keep counting shadows, and pretend the world doesn’t exist. But Noah’s words echo in my head. Stop trying to sound brave. We both know you’re terrified.

My feet move before I can overthink it. Seventeen steps to the stairs. Twenty-seven down. Fifteen to the foyer where Noah stands with his hand on the doorknob.

Another crack of thunder.

Another pound at the door.

“Noah, wait—” But he’s already pulling it open.

Lightning splits the sky, illuminating the figure on our porch. Lee stands there, soaking wet, looking absolutely wrecked. His messy hair is plastered to his forehead, expensive clothes clinging to him like a second skin. His eyes find mine immediately, storm-gray dim and dark.

“You’re counting,” he says roughly. “I can see you counting the water dripping off my chin.”

“You’re dripping on my welcome mat.” The words come out barely a whisper.

“Forty-seven ceiling tiles in your room.” His voice is hoarse, desperate. “Twenty-seven steps up your driveway. Three knocks on your door because that’s your number. That’s always been your number.”

Noah backs away slowly. “I’ll just … go find some towels.”

Neither of us acknowledges him. Lee’s gaze holds mine, intense and pleading and somehow both strange and familiar at once.

“You disappeared.” He takes one step forward, water pooling around his feet. “You just… vanished. After everything. After that night. After …”

“Lee—”

“I counted every minute.” His hands clench at his sides. “Every second. Every breath between then and now. Because that’s what you taught me to do when everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

“You’re soaking wet,” I state the obvious since I’m unable to say anything else to his declaration while my brain processes.

“Yeah.” His laugh is hollow. “That’s what happens when you walk in the rain. Couldn’t drive. Too drunk. Or not drunk enough. I don’t know anymore.”

We stare at each other across the foyer, everything we’re not saying filling the space between.

“Salem,” he starts, taking another step forward.

Suddenly, I can’t breathe. My brain short-circuits.

Can’t do anything except count the drops of water falling from his clothes.

One heartbeat of silence.

Two steps between us.

Three seconds before everything changes.

“I can’t pretend anymore.” Lee’s voice breaks on the words, raw and honest in a way that makes my chest ache. “I can’t … I don’t know how to keep acting like this is fake when everything about you feels real. I told you at the gala I want you to be mine. And I meant it.”

Water drips steadily from his clothes, creating patterns on the hardwood floor. I should be panicking about the mess, should be counting the drops, should be reaching for cleaning supplies. Instead, I can’t tear my eyes away from his face.

“Say something,” he pleads. “Count something. Clean something. Just … don’t disappear again.”

Noah knocks something off a shelf upstairs, but all I can focus on is the desperation clinging to every single one of Lee’s words. All I can see is the way his hands shake—not from bourbon this time, but from something deeper, more terrifying.

“Three feet,” I whisper.

His brow furrows. “What?”

“That’s the distance I keep between myself and everyone else. My safety bubble. My careful measure of space.” I take a shaky breath. “Except with you. With you, I forget to count the distance. Forget to measure the space. Forget to be afraid.”

Lightning illuminates his face, showing me everything he’s trying to hide. The hope. The fear. The raw need that mirrors my own.

“Salem—”

“I’m still counting,” I cut him off. “Still cleaning. Still broken in all these ways that your family hates. That society doesn’t understand. In ways that make me unsuitable for your world.”

“I don’t want suitable.” He takes another step forward, water trailing in his wake. “I don’t want perfect. I want you. With your gloves and your counting and your perfectly aligned textbooks. I want …”

Thunder cracks overhead, swallowing his next words. But I see them in his eyes. Feel them in the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something precious and terrifying all at once.

“Lee,” I breathe his name like a prayer, like a warning, like everything I can’t say.

The storm rages.

The power flickers.

Neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks. Neither of us pretends this is still just an arrangement.

Instead, we stand there in my foyer, both soaking wet, both trembling, both knowing that whatever happens next will change everything.