Chapter 33 #2
“I’m trying, okay,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. “I’m trying, but . . . it’s hard.”
What exactly is she trying? To fix us? To keep herself from unraveling? I can’t tell. There’s something in the way she says it, like she’s not sure of anything anymore. And maybe none of us are. Maybe I made a fucking mistake and we were better on our own.
She meets my gaze, her eyes swimming with a mix of emotions I can’t quite put into words.
“I’m okay, it’s just . . . I didn’t think it would be like this when I agreed to come.
We can’t do much because we’re all so busy processing our own problems. We’re so fucked up, and I keep wondering .
. . what if we can’t really come together? ”
I nod slowly, letting her words sink in. “I know. What’s worse is it feels like we’re all tiptoeing around each other.”
She sighs softly. “I just don’t want to complicate things further. Santos needs so much support right now, and you and I . . . What if I’m just here, breaking us more? Ruining everything?”
“You’re part of this—part of us,” I tell her.
Her eyes drift away, settling on the large windows that overlook the lake. The sunlight spills across the water, golden and serene. For a moment, she just watches it, as if searching for something in the reflection.
“It’s just hard,” she speaks after a long pause.
“Being here, with both of you, and not knowing where we stand. Not knowing how to help. On weekdays it’s easy to breathe while I’m at work and on weekends, we just go to one of those crazy festivals happening in Baker’s Creek and I’m distracted enough I don’t think.
Here, when it’s the three of us . . . it’s impossible not to feel everything.
It hurts that we can’t be the way we used to. ”
I take a step closer, careful, deliberate, like I’m walking toward the edge of something fragile. “We can figure it out together, Halsey. But we have to be honest with each other. We can’t keep skirting around what we’re all feeling.”
Her eyes meet mine again, and for a moment, I see it—something flickers there, hope, fear? I can’t tell which. “But what do you want, Dustin?”
The answer hits me immediately: Sex. The need surges through me, raw and undeniable. I imagine pulling her close, pressing her up against the counter, feeling the heat of her body against mine.
I want to drown out all this uncertainty, all the tangled emotions, with the one thing that’s always felt simple to me. Using my mouth, my cock, my hands, that’s easy. Baring my feelings . . . that’s too fucking hard.
So now, I’m dealing with a new craving. It’s not alcohol this time, not drugs. It’s him and her—their bodies—that I need. The thought of losing myself inside them pulls at me, a gnawing hunger that hurts with how strong it is.
But even as the desire courses through me, I know that’s not what she’s asking. She’s looking for something deeper, something I’ve been avoiding. I can see it in her eyes, I feel the pull of her expectation.
I draw in a slow breath, trying to steady myself, trying to push back the overwhelming urge that grips me. This isn’t the time for that. She needs something real. And maybe we all do.
“I want us to be ready,” I say finally. “I think we need to stop hiding. From each other, from ourselves. We need to start asking the hard questions, showing the parts of ourselves we’ve been afraid of. No more journaling in separate rooms, no more pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”
“Sharing, we need to share us.” Her expression softens, but then she adds, “And what about Santos?”
I glance toward his room, then hear his voice cut through the air from behind the door, like he’d been listening this whole time.
“He feels the same way. But he’s hesitant.
He doesn’t want to push too hard, too soon.
He’s afraid of breaking you, Dustin. Or crossing a line with Halsey.
He doesn’t want to mess this up and lose either one of you. ”
“There, you heard him,” I say, my lips twitching into a small, wry smile.
But Halsey doesn’t smile. Instead, she bites her lip, her arms wrapping tightly around herself as if she’s trying to hold everything in, maybe even trying to shield herself from what could be another tragedy.
Her gaze drops, thoughtful, and for a moment, I can see the burden of it all pressing on her—the uncertainty, the fear, the hope tangled up in her heart.
“Maybe we need more time,” she says softly, her voice fragile, like she’s speaking a truth she’s been too afraid to face. “Time to heal. Individually, but also . . . together. Avoiding this—avoiding us—won’t solve anything.”
I don’t think. I just move. In an instant, I step toward her, closing the space between us, and pull her into my arms. My hold is tight, desperate, like she’s my anchor in a storm that’s been raging for far too long.
I bury my face in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her, clinging to the only thing that feels real in this moment.
Her body tenses for a second, as if unsure, but then she melts into me, her hands gripping the fabric of my shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
“I just don’t want anyone to get hurt,” she whispers, her voice trembling against my chest.
I press my lips to the top of her head, holding her even closer. “No one’s going to get hurt, Hals. Not if we face this together. We’ll figure it out. All of us.”