CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SIXTEEN YEARS OLD
· · ·
I see Cassian less and less.
And every time he pulls away it feels like I lose something I can’t name.
Something I almost had.
Something that had his thumb on my cheekbone and his forehead against mine and his breath warm against my mouth in the dark.
It would hurt less if I thought he was busy.
School. A job. Anything.
Anything but her.
But I know better. Because he still texts me.
Constantly.
Updates about what they’re doing. Where they’re going. Who they’re with.
Like I’m still part of his life.
Just — not that part.
The more he gives to her, the less there is left for me.
I wonder if he sneaks into her room at night.
I wonder if he lies next to her in the dark and reaches for her hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I wonder if he looks at her the way he almost looked at me.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I shouldn’t do this to myself.
I always knew this was coming.
I just thought — after the roof, after everything —
I thought I had more time.
· · ·
I’m on the kitchen floor when I finally break.
Not dramatically. No reason. That kind that doesn’t need one.
Just the weight of it all accumulating until my legs stopped cooperating somewhere between the fridge and the counter and I sat down on the tile and stared at the cabinet across from me.
My dad sees me first.
He’s at the counter, chopping herbs, a steak already on the pan, and he looks over and sets the knife down without a word.
“Spit it out,” he says. “What’s wrong?”
My mom comes in from behind me. Her hands find my shoulders.
Warm.
Steady.
“Come on,” she says.
And it just — slips out.
Before I can think about it.
Before I can decide whether I’m ready.
“I think I’m gay.”
· · ·
Silence.
Then —
“Oh, honey.”
My mom glances at my dad.
Already smiling.
“We see the way you look at Cass.”
I groan, dragging a hand over my face.
“Is it really that obvious?”
My dad huffs out a quiet laugh.
“We’ve known for a while.”
Great. Love that for me. So glad my lifelong secret was open to the public.
“But we’re really glad you told us,” my mom says softly. “We’re here. Always.”
“I was kind of hoping for at least a little shock,” I mutter.
That does it.
They both laugh.
“Okay,” I say, half-smiling despite myself. “I wasn’t expecting to get laughed at either.”
But I’m laughing too.
Because that’s what it’s always been like here.
Easy. Safe. Light.
The three of us on the kitchen floor together.
My mom’s hand still on my shoulder.
My dad looking at me like I’ve given him something.
This.
This is what Cassian meant on the roof.
I don’t know who I’d be.
I think I finally understand it.
· · ·
I don’t think I’m ready to tell Cassian.
Not like this. Not when he already feels so far away.
Not when I’m still lying awake thinking about a nose brush and a thumb on my cheek and you can’t look at me like that — which means he saw it too. He knew. He’s always known.
And he’s with Abby.
I don’t want this to be the thing that finally pushes him out of reach.
So I keep pretending.
Pretend I’m fine in our texts.
Pretend I don’t notice the distance.
Pretend I’m not counting the hours between his replies.
Pretend I’m not wishing it was me.
Because the truth is —
I can’t lose him.
Even like this.
Even as whatever I am to him right now — best friend, habit, the person he says I’m still yours to and then goes home to someone else.
I’d take it.
I’d take all of it over nothing.
If he decided tomorrow he was done with me —
I’d still be here.
Waiting.
Because I love him.
I’m gay and I’m sixteen and I’m in love with my best friend who keeps almost kissing me and then doesn’t.
And I think I always will be.