13. Thirteen #3
By the time we’re finished, we all walk down the drive to my house, parting ways for the evening.
Megan gushes over Ellis’s photos of her drawings she’s submitting in a new art show, and Lennon and Noah depart while Wes talks to Griffin.
“I’m glad you came,” I say to Gus, nudging his shoulder.
“Me too.” Gus smiles, his eyes briefly flicking to Megan. “I like to feel included in your real life,” he says, and guilt slashes through me.
I look in his direction as he adjusts the glasses further up on his nose.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out as a whisper—a confession of all the mixed feelings I’ve had.
“Whatever for?” Gus asks, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
“I…” I’m not sure how to continue, but this conversation has been a long time coming.
Now is better than never. “I’ve always been nervous to introduce you to my friends,” I confess.
“I never wanted you to feel like you had to…” I wave my hands around, searching for the words.
“You know,” I start. “Explain things. I just didn’t want you to feel anything but normal with me. I’ve always wanted that.”
Gus’s smile doesn’t fall as he leans toward me, nudging my elbow with his. “Well, I feel normal now.”
I sigh, wringing my fingers out in front of me. “I just feel guilty,” I say, and Gus nods, his face more serious.
“I know.”
Emotions clog my throat, but I turn to face my brother anyway. While I’ve always felt like we had a good relationship growing up, there has always been a strain. It’s everything we never acknowledged—the complications that came from how sick he’d been.
“I know things haven’t been easy, and I just want you to know that you are welcome in my life, always. I also like Megan.”
“Well,” he says. “That’s good. I like Wes pretty well.”
“Yeah, well… He’s my boss.”
“Hmm.” Gus puts his hands in his pockets, nodding once as he looks out at my house. “I want you to know, Cass, that you worry a lot about other people.”
“I—”
He cuts me off. “You worry so much about other people and making their lives better—manhandling the universe for me all through our childhood to ensure I had exactly what you said—a space to feel normal.” His words drip over me like honey—slow and sweet.
It heals something inside of me. “I’m glad you have this job and the house.
I’ve never seen something feel more like you.
Everything you’ve done for me is not lost. It makes me happy to see you happy—to see the family you’ve built in your friend group. You deserve that.”
Tears line the edges of my vision, the emotion leaking out of me in a way that should be embarrassing.
I look away, wiping my cheek with my sleeve.
Maybe I wish I could have seen myself the way Gus saw me. Or maybe I wish I could have seen him the way I see him now so much earlier. It feels like wasted time being lost in my own internal struggle—time I could have spent enjoying the pieces of my family that still feel whole.
“Hey,” Gus says, his voice soft—as if he should be the one reassuring me. “Love you, but you’re starting to make this weird.”
I laugh, wiping the last of my tears away.
“Thank you for that,” I whisper just as Megan returns to my brother’s side.
He nods, and just like that, I’m left standing with Wes as everyone retreats back to their homes.
I turn toward him, the awareness of how close we’re standing sending my body into overdrive. I’m a livewire—hyper aware of every inhale, every exhale of breath.
“Thank you for this,” I say, my voice low.
Wes leans in, his gaze tracing over my features, pupils blown wide. There’s no smiling in this moment, no banter. Nothing but the realization that my boss is looking at me like he’d want nothing more than to kiss me, and man, do I want it.
“It was no problem,” he practically whispers. One hand moves, beneath the blanket of stars overhead, as he pinches a strand of hair, gently sliding his fingers down to the end. Everything feels so good—his presence, his attention—I can’t help but close my eyes.
“You got pretty muddy,” his voice rumbles, dark like the night that’s overtaken us.
I open my eyes, and blazing heat shoots through my core. Sucking in a sharp inhale, I watch the rise and fall of his chest—faster now as I match him breath for breath.
If I could just touch him. If I could just do something about the blazing fire in my bloodstream, I might be able to extinguish whatever heady thing has taken over my mind.
“You’re muddy, too,” I whisper, trailing my thumb over the dirt streaked on the side of his jaw.
Once my skin makes contact with his, the hunger sets in, causing me to slowly slide my touch up, my palm on the side of his face as my fingers slide into his hair.
He’s usually in a hat, but since we were wearing helmets most of the evening, he opted to go without it.
It’s a gift to be able to touch him like this—to feel.
Wes’s honey eyes close, and he sighs. One hand wraps around my wrist, halting my exploration. “I need you to stop,” he breathes as if pained.
I halt, my stomach sinking, but before I can pull away, his hand slides up to cover mine. He gently pulls my palm around, sliding my hand until his lips brush my heart line. “We should stop,” he says.
“Stop what?” I question.
“Touching,” he whispers, and his breath tickles my hand before he slides it down, placing my palm on his chest.
I don’t want to lean in—don’t want to do more for fear of the moment ending.
“Okay,” I say, voice strained.
Wes’s eyes open, blazing in the starlight. “I can’t stop touching you,” he confesses.
“Technically,” I say, holding his stare. I can feel his pulse beneath my hand, just as rapid as my own. “I’m the one touching you right now.”
When he chuckles, his fingers wrapped around my wrist as he hangs his head, something in me awakens.
I’ve never been one to want like this.
There is no need here—nothing forcing me in Wesley’s direction. All I know is I crave whatever is happening between us, and I never want it to end.
Slowly, Wes slides his hand up my arm, sending heat trailing in its wake. When he tilts my chin with one finger, I look up, finding it hard to breathe.
His thumb sweeps over my bottom lip, catching at the fullest part, eliciting a groan from somewhere deep in his chest.
Wes closes his eyes, gathering strength.
“Goodnight, Cassidy,” he voices.
When he shoves his hands in his pockets, turning to walk down the length of the drive, I stare after him.
I’m hopelessly turned on, but more than that, I’m confused.
He’s pulling back again—edging so close to the line without crossing it.
He looks back once, noting that I haven’t moved—haven't spoken—before he continues to the farmhouse. Leaving me with nothing but the company of stars and chilly air.