Prologue
Harlan, Age Fourteen
Tap, tap, tap.
My eyes fly open, darkness blanketing the room as I’m jolted out of that peaceful space between awake and asleep.
My heart is pounding a mile a minute as I try to make sense of what has me so startled.
Sitting up, I blink a few times, then rake my fingers through my sleep-tousled hair, confusion and unease filling me as my eyes finally adjust.
What was that sound? I know I heard something… Right?
I glance to my left and grab my phone, curious as to what time it is.
It feels like I only fell asleep a few minutes ago, but the clock on my screen telling me it’s nearly eleven o’clock says otherwise.
It’s a school night, which means I’m always in bed and, usually, asleep by nine-thirty, at the latest. Those early mornings come way too soon, and between that and football practice after school, I need all the sleep I can get.
Another moment passes, and I don’t hear anything.
I must’ve imagined it.
Maybe it was just a nightmare.
Things in my house are tense lately; I’m constantly walking on egg shells around my family, not wanting to cause any more friction than there already is. It would make sense if it was starting to affect my quality of sleep.
I’m about to lie back down when I hear it…
Tap, tap, tap.
So, not a nightmare.
The sound is coming from my window, and before my bare feet even hit the carpeted floor, I already know who it is. There’s only one person who would come to my house this late.
“Hey, everything okay?” I ask, concern wrapping around each syllable as I step aside, letting him climb inside like he’s done half a dozen times in the last couple months.
“Did I wake you?” Trace asks, his voice shaky and quiet. “Shit, I’m sorry, man. I can g—”
“No!” I blurt out, wrapping my hand around his bicep as he tries to retreat back out the window. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
Once he’s fully in the room, Trace collapses onto the built-in bench underneath the window, his body sagging as he cradles his head in his hands. “I just needed to g-get out of there,” he admits, voice still barely above a whisper, like if he talks too loud, he might break down.
My chest tightens, a lump forming in my throat that makes it hard to swallow. My best friend is hurting, and I feel helpless. It never gets any easier seeing him like this. If anything, it hurts more, knowing things aren’t getting better.
He lifts his gaze, looking in my direction but not at me. Shaking his head, he stands and says, “She’s drunk… again.” The sorrow in his voice guts me. “I can’t be there. C-can’t be around her when she’s like this. I’m sorry for showing up here so late.”
“Hey, no.” I place my hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You have nothing to be sorry about. What can I do?”
Even in the dark, I see the way his face twists up, and he clenches his jaw, trying to fight back the tears welling up in his eyes. “Can I—” Clearing his throat, he tries again. “I just want to be with you. Can I… stay here tonight?”
My breath catches in my throat. I hate the way my mind latches on to the things he says, wanting to misconstrue it for something it’s not. We’re best friends, and we live across the street from each other. Of course, he’d want to stay here. It’s comfortable and convenient.
Nothing more than that.
“You know you can always stay,” I murmur.
“I promise to leave before your parents see me in the morning.”
“Not worried about that at all.”
The tears finally spill over, rolling down his cheeks a moment before he wipes them away with his hands. “Thanks, man.”
Clearing my throat, I walk over to the bed and grab a pillow. “You sleep here,” I say. “I’ll take the floor.”
“You offer to sleep on the floor every time, even though we always end up sharing the bed.” Trace chuckles softly. Once he kicks off his shoes, he pads across the room and slides onto the right side of the bed. His side. “Please lie next to me. You know I sleep better when you’re here.”
Fresh tears fall with the admission, and my chest clenches all over again. I can’t say no to him. Rounding the foot of the bed, I climb in next to him, the need to reach out and comfort him strong, but I don’t do it.
It feels wrong.
Inappropriate somehow.
Over the last year, things have changed between us.
At least for me. I’m not sure when it happened, but my feelings have grown past platonic to something…
more. Something confusing. I’ve found ways to keep my crush at bay, though.
To make things manageable, because, no matter how in love with him I am, losing Trace’s friendship isn't an option. That would destroy me more than anything else. Yet, no matter how many times I tell myself it’s not a good idea to sleep in bed with him, I always give in.
Every. Single. Time.
He needs me, I always tell myself. It’s nothing more than that.
But then we lie down, and he curls up beside me, like he does right now, and I think maybe it is more than that. Maybe he likes me too, and not just as a friend.
“Is this okay?” Trace asks as he throws his leg over mine, resting his head on my shoulder. I catch a whiff of his hair, the woodsy scent of his shampoo, and my heart thumps against my ribs.
Swallowing thickly, I nod. “Mm-hmm.”
“You sure?”
No, I’m not sure is what I want to say, but I don’t. He needs me tonight, so instead, I shove my feelings down, and say, “‘Course, I’m sure, man. Let’s get some sleep.”
It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out.
If only sleep came to me as easily. I don’t even know how long I lie here, staring up at the ceiling while listening to his soft snores.
It’s the world’s cruelest irony… The way I feel both relief and unease when he spends the night.
The way I want to simultaneously pull him closer and push him as far away as possible.
Trace has always been cuddly with me. Since we were young, he’d sit close, lie on me, throw his legs over mine when we watch a movie. It’s just who he is. Physical touch is how he finds comfort… Comfort he’s never gotten at home.
I try to tell myself it’s not a big deal. That there’s nothing wrong with being affectionate with your friends. This is innocent for him. And it used to be innocent for me too.
Until it wasn’t.
Now, touching Trace is electric. It’s a high voltage burst sent through his body into mine, making it hard to keep my head on straight.
There’s a tumbling feeling in my stomach the longer I lie here, wide awake.
It’s visceral. My pulse is erratic, and my mouth is dry.
I can’t do this the whole night; I need to get some sleep.
As quickly and as gently as I can, I manage to slide out from under his body.
In doing so, Trace stirs a little, but eventually, rolls onto his side—thankfully, away from me—and I do the same.
Placing my hands underneath my cheek, I squeeze my eyes shut, and do my best to pretend I’m alone in the bed. Lying to myself is the only way I’m going to get any sleep.
This can’t happen again.
I can’t wind up with Trace in my bed next time.
I need to be stronger.
Otherwise, I’ll end up doing something ridiculous, like tell him how I feel, and that can’t happen.
It would ruin everything.
We’re friends.
That’s it.
Friends.
Never anything more.