Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 19
Somehow, I'd made it through another week of school.
The whispers had started to die down. The stares had faded a little. Most of the students had moved on to other gossip – the swim team "speedo incident," the junior prank war, a rumor about a faculty affair that Jonah had probably started just to get attention.
Mr. G had checked in on me more than usual throughout the week. Always gently. Always with that soft, concerned look in his eyes. I appreciated it. I did. But each time just left me more embarrassed. More raw. I didn't want pity. I didn't want to talk about my feelings with an adult who wore Crocs unironically.
I just wanted everyone to leave me alone.
To be honest, I was just plain humiliated. Humiliated that my boyfriend had cheated on me – at my own birthday party , no less – and even more humiliated by the way I treated Jack and handled the fallout. I'd been a mess. Clingy. Melodramatic. Like some delicate little porcelain vase that might shatter if left unattended for more than a few minutes. And the worst part? I knew it. I knew normal people didn't spiral this hard after a breakup – especially one that barely lasted a few months. But there I was, dragging it out like some tragic love story when, really, I should've just taken the hit and moved on.
Another Saturday rolled around. Another school trip was scheduled – this time to the movie theater in town again.
I wasn't going.
The last time I'd gone to that theater, Noah had held my hand in the dark for the first time. I didn't want to think about that night. I didn't want to sit in one of those seats and feel his ghost in the space beside me. So, I told my friends I had a lot of homework and politely declined. They tried to coax me, even teased a little, but I shook my head.
When the bus pulled away, I stood at the window and watched it disappear around the bend, then flopped face-first onto my bed, relieved by the quiet.
For the first time in what felt like weeks, the dorm was still.
Peace. Serenity. Space.
I let myself lie there in silence, listening to the gentle hum of the radiator and the occasional creak of the old wooden beams above me. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to think.
Just as I was starting to drift, there was a knock at the door.
I groaned into my pillow.
"Go away," I mumbled, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to be ignored.
Another knock. Softer.
I rolled over with a huff and trudged to the door.
Jonah stood there, looking like he'd just eaten the last cookie from a jar he wasn't supposed to touch. That impish grin. Those curls that wouldn't stay tamed. The chaos in his eyes.
Of course, I couldn't be mad.
Jonah was the annoying little brother I'd never had – but somehow always wanted. Though Christian had offered to sell him to me on more than one occasion at what he claimed was "a discount with no returns." Jonah was a complication, though, because there was a certain degree of attraction there, although I would never tell him, because I'd never hear the end of it.
I stepped aside to let him in. Maybe a few Jonah snuggles would do me good.
He beelined to my bed and sprawled across it like it belonged to him. I shut the door, sighed, and sat down next to him.
For a moment, we didn't say anything.
Then I spoke.
"I just feel so stupid," I said, quietly.
Jonah looked over at me, his expression softer now. "You're not."
"I mean it," I said. "How could I not see it? How did I not know ? You and Jack both tried to warn me. And I just ignored you."
Jonah sat up and scratched the back of his neck.
"Well," he said slowly, "to be fair, that might've had a little something to do with… jealousy."
I blinked. "What?"
He bit his lip, eyes wide with mock innocence. "You know. Like, I might have been slightly irrational and unhinged because I kind of… like you."
I stared at him, trying to keep my face neutral, even though my brain was already spiraling. It wasn't a total shock – I'd suspected for a while that he might have a little schoolboy crush on me, as did a couple others, but nothing serious. Either that, or he just got a kick out of pushing my buttons and watching me squirm. I'd even brought it up with Christian once, but he hadn't been able to tell either way. Now? I had my answer. And suddenly, it didn't feel like a game anymore.
"You what ?"
"Like you," he repeated, grinning nervously. "And also, Jack. I definitely like Jack, too."
My brain stalled.
"You… both ?"
"I'm still figuring it out," Jonah said, cheeks going red. "But yeah. I mean… you're like my best friend, Nick. I would never want to ruin that. And if you and Jack end up getting together, I'd be fine with that, seriously."
I sat back against the wall, eyes unfocused. I couldn't handle this right now.
Not just with Jonah, but also with Jack. Something had been building for a long time between us. I loved him. I knew he loved me. But I just couldn't right now … not yet. I was still way too messed up, way too raw. Would he give me the time and space that I needed to figure things out, or would he force me to have the conversation I really didn't want to have? Because it was a conversation in which someone would get hurt if we had it too soon, before I was ready.
Yes, I wanted Jack to be my boyfriend – but I also knew I had a lot to sort through first. Part of me was terrified that he'd just end up as a rebound from Noah, that I'd ruin something good before it even had a chance to start. What I wanted with Jack had to be real, not just some temporary fix to cover up the mess Noah left behind. It had to be mutual, something we both leaned into because it meant something, something serious .
And the thing was – Jack seemed to get that without me ever saying it out loud. He didn't push, didn't pressure, didn't even make me feel like I was on some invisible timeline. Around him, I didn't feel cornered or suffocated. I felt… safe. Relaxed. Like I could let my guard down for once.
And when we did share those small, intimate moments – like when we curled up in the dark and fell asleep tangled together – it wasn't like what I'd had before. With Noah, affection always felt rushed, desperate, like we were trying to prove something to each other or to ourselves. With Jack, it felt steady, almost effortless. Just the weight of his arm over me, his breath steady against my neck, the occasional kiss on my neck or forehead or cheek – was enough to make me feel calm in a way I hadn't in a long time.
It scared me, honestly – how good it felt. How much I wanted it to last. How much I wanted him . It felt like I'd already been waiting months for him, because it really had been months that I'd loved Jack, unknowingly. Noah was just "infatuation"; Jack was something different, and I could feel the difference in my heart.
"Nick? Are you still there? Are you okay?" Jonah asked me, breaking my reverie and sounding worried.
"Jonah," I said slowly, "I'm not ready. For… anything. Not again. Maybe not ever."
He nodded quickly. "I know. I know . Seriously. I just wanted to be honest. That's all. Nothing has to change. I just… didn't want to keep being weird about it. And don't expect me to stop flirting with you either!"
I looked over at him.
"Jonah?"
"Yeah?"
"Remember what the Dean said? 'No means no.'"
We both cracked up.
The next couple of weeks were particularly brutal.
The whispers had mostly stopped. The sideways glances, too. But it didn't matter. Something inside me was still broken, still flickering in the dark. I was starting to worry – like really worry – that maybe I wasn't going to bounce back this time. Or by the time I did bounce back, it would be too late.
That gnawing fear that I was pushing everyone away. That Jack, Jonah, Emery, Christian, Mark – all of them – would eventually get sick of me moping around like a sad puppy dog and just… move on. Find someone else to make fun of in group chats. Someone else to hold in the middle of the night. Someone else to love with reckless abandon.
So far, they hadn't shown any signs of that, but my brain hadn't exactly been functioning logically lately.
But I could feel it. The shift. The strain.
Without the distraction of Sunday football, there was even less reason to leave my room. I stopped going to the common room. I started skipping breakfast more than not. Mostly the guys came to me , like I was the sick kid in quarantine, and they were making charity visits.
They tried.
They really did.
The jokes kept coming. The gossip. Jonah brought a new rumor every day like some manic court jester on a mission to make me laugh. Christian would bring snacks from the Grab-N-Go, since I'd been skipping dinner at the dining hall most nights. Emery would drag Danny in for backup. Mark would critique everyone's outfits, whether we asked him to or not.
And I tried to laugh. I tried to nod at the right parts and offer one-word zingers when I could.
But it wasn't the same.
I wasn't the same.
That Wednesday night, something cracked.
It was a normal evening, or it should've been. Jack was reading on his bed, propped up against the wall with a highlighter between his teeth. Jonah was sprawled beside him, snuggled tightly, scrolling on his phone like he lived there. His feet were tucked under Jack's leg. His head rested on Jack's shoulder.
A few weeks ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. I would have thought it was cute and sweet. There was nothing different about it than when I snuggled with Jonah the same way. The only difference now was that I knew that Jonah liked me … and he liked Jack, too
Somehow, seeing them like that, something about it just – broke me.
"You guys could probably use a little more privacy," I muttered.
Then I stood up, grabbed my hoodie, and walked out.
I didn't even wait for a response.
The halls were mostly empty. A few boys passed me on their way to brush their teeth or sneak a final snack from the vending machines. I kept walking.
Outside, the cold slapped me in the face. The sky was heavy with clouds, and soft flakes drifted down from the dark. The air was quiet, still. The only sounds were the crunch of my shoes on the frozen path and the wind brushing against the old stone walls of the dorms.
I walked the perimeter of the courtyard, then across the footbridge toward the practice field. I wasn't going anywhere in particular. I just needed to move. To breathe. To feel something that wasn't this slow suffocation.
Eventually, I turned back.
By the time I reached the dorm, it was about thirty minutes before lights out. The halls were quieter now. The heater rattled behind the walls like an old beast shifting in its sleep.
I didn't go back to my room.
Instead, I went to Mr. G's office.
His door was cracked open, warm yellow light spilling into the hallway. Inside, he sat behind his desk, legs crossed, a steaming mug of tea in one hand and his tablet in the other. He looked up when I entered, eyebrow raised.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in," he said, setting the tablet down. "Come to keep an old man company?"
I hovered near the door.
He studied me a moment, then kindly welcomed me in. "Come on in and take a seat, Nick."
"There's actually something I kind of wanted to talk to you about, Mr. G," I muttered.
Mr. G's face softened. He took off his glasses and set them gently on the desk.
"Planning a little revolution, are we?" he asked, voice light.
"No, sir," I mumbled, eyes down.
"I mean… I think I might be depressed. I think I need to talk to someone."
The room was quiet for a long moment.
Then Mr. G stood, walked around the desk, and leaned back against it, arms crossed.
"Are the other boys bothering you?" he asked gently. "Anyone teasing you? Giving you grief?"
"No," I said. "Not really. Not anymore."
He nodded slowly. "Then what's going on?"
I rubbed my arms, suddenly cold. "I just… I don't know. I feel like I'm pushing everyone away. I can't stop feeling sad. Even when nothing's wrong, I just feel heavy. I don't want to do anything . I can't sleep. Or I sleep too much. I can't focus on my schoolwork. I… I just can't shake it. I can't get out of it."
He tilted his head. "Are you having any suicidal thoughts, Nick?"
The question didn't shock me.
I shook my head, but I wasn't confident.
"I've thought about it," I admitted. "But not seriously. I don't think I'd actually… do anything."
He didn't press. He just nodded again.
"Do you think this can wait until tomorrow? Or do you need to go to the infirmary tonight?"
"I can wait," I said.
"Okay."
He gave me a long look – firm but kind.
"Thank you for coming to me," he said. "That's not easy. But you're not alone, Nick. I've seen boys fall apart in this place and never say a word until it's too late. You're not going to be one of them."
I nodded.
Then he gestured toward the door. "Go on. Get some rest. We'll talk again tomorrow."
I left his office, my legs heavy, my heart beating a little slower.
When I got back to my room, the lights were already off.
Jack was in his bed.
Or at least, he looked like he was asleep – on his side, facing the wall, one arm under his pillow, the blanket pulled up to his chest. I wanted so badly to climb into bed with him and have him hold me, give me little kisses all over my face and neck, tell me everything was going to be ok now.
But I didn't say anything.
Maybe that was the only therapy I really needed.
I changed into my pajamas, climbed into bed, and lay there in the dark, wondering if Jack was still awake. Wondering what he would've said if I'd told him everything instead of Mr. G.
But I didn't say a word.
And neither did he.
The next day at lunch, Mr. G caught me just as I was clearing my tray.
"Nick, got a sec?"
I followed him to a quiet corner of the dining hall, my chest already tightening with anticipation.
"So," he said, his voice lower, gentler, "I talked to the school nurse and the head counselor this morning. The infirmary can't really handle what you're going through –not by themselves – so we brought in someone from outside. A psychiatrist. He's coming this afternoon to talk with you. Would you be okay missing tennis practice? We've already informed your mom, and she's on board with it."
I nodded quickly. "Yeah. Of course."
"Alright. Meet me at my office at four, and we'll walk over together."
The rest of the school day passed in a fog. I couldn't focus on any of my classes. Words on the board blurred. Pages flipped without sinking in. My leg bounced constantly under my desk.
I was anxious – nervous to be starting something that might help, but also terrified that maybe nothing could. Maybe I was too far gone. Maybe this was just me now: hollow, sad, and permanently stuck.
After classes, I trudged back to Linden Hall, changed out of my blazer, and met Mr. G outside his office at exactly 4:00. We didn't talk much on the walk over. The snow had returned, light and drifting, sticking to our shoulders and hair as we crossed the quad.
When we got to the infirmary, the nurse led us to a small private room with a couple of chairs, a tissue box, and a window that looked out over the frozen garden. The man waiting for us stood as I entered.
"Nick," he said warmly, extending his hand. "I'm Dr. Langford."
He was older, probably in his sixties, with wild gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a kind face that somehow made me feel a little safer. Like the kind of person who knew how to listen.
After a few gentle opening questions, he leaned forward.
"So, what brings you in today?"
I took a breath.
Then I told him.
I told him about Noah. About what happened. About how it had ended – violently, humiliatingly – and how I couldn't seem to get past it. I told him about how I was pushing my friends away, how I couldn't concentrate, couldn't sleep, couldn't feel like myself anymore. Couldn't feel anything.
I told him about how tired I was.
"How long have you been feeling like this?" he asked.
I hesitated. "Not like this, exactly… not since my dad died."
He nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
I frowned. "It does?"
"Grief," he said, "whether it's over a person we've lost, or a relationship that ends… the brain processes it in similar ways. Especially for someone your age. Your emotions are already in overdrive. Losing someone you love – no matter how – can shake everything loose. It can make it hard to trust, to breathe, even to be ."
I didn't respond. I just stared at the floor.
"I'm going to prescribe you a medication," he said gently. "Zoloft. It's an antidepressant. It won't kick in immediately – it usually takes a few weeks to build up in the system and start helping. It's called a Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor. It works by basically increasing the availability of serotonin in your brain. Serotonin is involved with critical physiological and psychological processes in the brain, one of the most important in your case being mood regulation. This medication will help with that."
"Okay," I murmured. It sounded pretty complicated. And it sucked that it could take weeks for it to start working.
"But until then, I'm also going to give you a short-term medication to help bridge the gap – a sedative called Clonazepam. It's in a class of drugs called benzodiazepines. It'll help with the anxiety temporarily. Just until the Zoloft starts doing its job. Just be aware that Clonazepam will make you drowsy, cause some short-term memory loss, and it can be highly addictive. So, we don't want to have you on that for too long. If the Zoloft doesn't work, we'll try something else. It's pretty much a trial-and-error process, and it may take us a few tries until we get the right medication and dosage for you. You'll just have to be patient."
I nodded again.
"I also want you to check in with the school psychologist once a week, and we'll meet again in a month to see how you're responding to the meds."
"Okay," I said again.
He smiled softly. "This is a good first step, Nick. I'm glad you came. This is entirely treatable, and we're going to find the right solution for you. Between the meds and regular therapy sessions, you're going to be just fine."
That evening, for the first time in what felt like forever, I went to the dining hall for dinner.
Noah wasn't there, thank God.
My friends definitely noticed. They didn't say anything outright, but I saw the way Christian arched his brow slightly. The way Jonah almost dropped his spoon into his soup. The way Jack looked like he might cry.
I didn't say much during dinner, but I was there. That felt like enough for now.
A first step.
After prep, I stepped outside and called my mom from behind the math building, where it was quiet. I told her everything – the appointment, the diagnosis, the medications. I expected panic. But what I got was steadiness.
"I'm so proud of you," she said. "For asking for help. That's one of the hardest things to do."
She did ask about the Clonazepam, though.
"Just be careful with that one, sweetheart," she warned. "Only take it when you really need it. It's strong. And habit-forming."
"I will," I promised. "The doctor mentioned all that, too."
Back in the dorm, just before lights out, Mr. G stopped by to drop off my meds.
"You'll take the Zoloft once in the morning," he explained. "You'll keep a one-week supply in your drawer. But the Clonazepam? Since it's a regulated med, I'll have to give it to you myself. One in the morning. One at night. That okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."
Once the lights went out, I sat on the edge of my bed for a minute, staring into the dark.
"Jack?" I whispered.
He was already in his bed, curled on his side.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry," I said. "For what I said. About you and Jonah. I was being an ass."
There was a pause.
Then: "I get it," he said. "It's okay. No need to apologize."
"To be honest, I was feeling jealous," I admitted.
He rolled over, and I could see the outline of his smile in the dark.
"Why? Everyone always hugs like that. It doesn't mean anything romantic or sexual."
"I know, I know," I said, sighing. "It just felt different when it was you. You're not stupid, I'm sure you realized that I like you … a lot ."
"Sometimes I can't tell," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Well, I do. And I want more … between us. I just need a little more to deal with everything. Can you wait for just a little while longer? I asked, almost pleading.
"You know I will. You know who I feel. Nothing's changed," he said gently. "We'll take things as slow as you need to … as long as you promise that you're the prize at the end."
I laughed. "Yes, I promise. I know who and what I want. I just need to get my head on straight first.
"Can I… sleep with you tonight?" he asked.
"Of course."
We climbed into my bed together, both of us in just our boxers, the way we always used to when the world felt less complicated. The mattress dipped under his weight, and before I could even think about what it meant, his arms were around me – firm, warm, sure – like he'd been waiting for this as much as I had. It was easy for him, effortless, as if there'd never been any distance at all. For me, it felt like it had been much too long.
And God, I hadn't realized how starved I'd been for it – not just for touch, but for his touch. The steady thump of his heart against my back. The faint scent of laundry soap clinging to his T-shirt, even though we weren't wearing them anymore. The way his breath, slow and even, skimmed the back of my neck, making my skin prickle in the quiet dark.
We whispered about nothing and everything, our voices barely above the hum of the night outside, our legs tangled, the small bed forcing us to stay pressed close. And somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, I felt something inside me ease, like a door I'd kept locked had quietly swung open. Jack had always been the one who could do that – make me feel steady when I was shaking apart. I'd known it for a long time, even if I'd never said it out loud.
I wanted to tell him right then how I felt about him. How I'd been feeling about him for a long time. To turn over, to meet his eyes, to let every word I'd been holding back spill out before I lost my nerve. But I didn't. Not yet. Instead, I lay there, letting him hold me together, making silent promises to myself. I'd get better. I'd be brave. I'd tell him the truth. And I'd finally say the words he deserved to hear – along with the apology I owed him more than anything.
As we lay there, I decided to tell him about the psychiatrist. About the meds. About how I was scared that needing help meant something was really wrong with me.
He listened quietly. Then he said, "Nick… I take meds too. You know that. For my moods. My depression. To stop me from crashing too hard or spinning out. There's no shame in it, and you shouldn't be embarrassed either."
His fingers brushed my shoulder. "I'm proud of you."
"I hate that he did this to me," I grumbled. "He ruined my life."
"Well," Jack continued. "He probably didn't exactly do this to you. He triggered something that was already inside of you for a long time. I'm guessing you've always had issues with anxiety, shyness, self-doubt, loss, depression … stuff like that. What Noah did just brought it all to the surface, all at once."
"I can't believe you're defending him!" I practically shouted.
"I'm not defending him," Jack responded calmly. "What he did was not forgivable. I'm just trying to help you make sense of it all. Believe me, if I could get him and Jonah in a room together and lock the door, I would."
Finally, I managed to laugh.
The Clonazepam was already working its way through my system. My limbs felt heavy. My thoughts slower. But safer, too. Quieter. To be honest, I kind of liked it, and that scared me a bit, too, especially after what the doctor and my mother had warned me about addiction.
"Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for everything. I couldn't do this without you. And I hope we can sleep together a lot more often now. I really missed you …"
"I missed you, too. But everything is going to be fine now, and I'll always be here for you, no matter what."
"And we can sleep more together, too?" I repeated, a little bit nervous that he would turn me down or saying something like, "Maybe when you're feeling better."
"Of course, we can, Nicky," he said, gently brushing the hair from my forehead.
Jack held me a little tighter and kissed my forehead, then gently kissed each of my cheeks. I hadn't felt this calm and peaceful in a long time. I felt like nothing could hurt me while Jack had his arms around me.
I was glad it was Friday.
Not that I had anything to look forward to – but just getting through the week felt like some kind of a win. The sky was cloudless and pale, the cold so sharp it stung my nose when I stepped outside. Everything had that flat, midwinter quiet to it, like even the air was tired.
Mr. G stopped by my room that morning to hand me my Clonazepam. I swallowed it, along with the Zoloft, with a sip of lukewarm water and tried not to think about how much I depended on it already. It helped – I couldn't deny that – but it also made everything feel a little… dulled. Like my brain had been wrapped in cotton. And I wasn't sure how long I could afford to feel this numb. Not with schoolwork piling up and tennis season ramping up again.
I told myself I'd bring it up with the school psychologist next week.
Classes drifted by without me really registering them. I was there, I took notes, I nodded when I was supposed to. But none of it stuck. I felt like a shadow.
When I got back to Linden Hall that afternoon, I opened the door to find Jonah already lying on my bed like it was his.
He glanced up and gave me a sheepish little smile. "Hey. Was hoping I'd catch you."
I dropped my bag onto the floor and raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
He sat up and brushed his curls out of his eyes. "I wanted to apologize. For the other night. With Jack. I wasn't trying to… you know… rub anything in your face."
I shook my head. "You don't have to apologize."
Jonah blinked. "Really?"
I walked over to my desk and sank into the chair. "Yeah. I've been under a lot of pressure lately. I lashed out. That's on me."
He tilted his head. "But still –"
"And," I cut in, "it's not like I'm dating Jack. Or anyone. I don't have the right to be jealous."
Jonah blinked again, surprised. "Wait, wait… you're not boyfriends yet?"
I let out a soft, dry laugh. "No. I'm on, like, a full-on sabbatical from relationships right now."
"But dude, it's Jack! This is, like, the silliest thing I've heard. You two are like soulmates . If anyone should be together, it's you two. Everyone in the house is taking bets on when you two are finally going to become 'official!'"
I sighed. "I'm just not ready yet, Jonah. But when I am, I just hope he'll still be around."
"Ohhh," he said, flopping dramatically back onto my bed. "Well, I'm totally on your side. I'm 100% 'Team Jack,' so I hope it works out. And I think we both know that Jack would wait for you forever."
I laughed, for real this time. It felt good. Weird, but good.
Jonah sat up again and looked at me more seriously. "So… we're good?"
I nodded. "Yeah. We're more than good. Just… maybe don't bring any of this up to Jack, okay? Things are complicated enough right now. I don't want to confuse him. Or hurt him."
Jonah gave me a solemn little nod. "Got it. Total secrecy. Cross my heart."
Then he tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Do you still love him?"
I hesitated.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I do. But it's complicated."
Jonah gave one of his annoying wise-old-man nods and stood up. "Aren't all the best things?"
He gave my shoulder a quick squeeze on his way out … and lasciviously checked out my butt.
Later that night, just as I was trying to decide whether to scroll aimlessly or rewatch something mindless, Jack came through the door holding a vanilla latte roughly the size of my head.
He didn't say anything – just set it down on his desk and headed back out to the communal bathroom to take a shower and whatever else his bedtime ritual encompassed.
I looked at the latte, and despite everything, I smiled.
When he came back, freshly scrubbed and toweling off his hair, he glanced at me. "So… movie night?"
I didn't even look up from where I was curled under the blanket. "Jack, you don't have to ask anymore."
He paused. "No?"
"You have an open invitation," I said, smirking.
He beamed.
He pulled on a clean pair of boxers and flopped onto his own bed for a bit, scrolling on his phone while we waited for lights out. When Mr. G stopped by a few minutes later to give me my pill, I thanked him quietly, and once the door shut again, I lifted the blanket wordlessly.
Jack climbed in without hesitation.
We didn't say much. He curled behind me, one arm slung over my waist, his chin tucked near my neck. We'd done this a dozen times before, but tonight felt different – more urgent.
More necessary.
I lay there, letting the warmth of his body seep into mine, letting the Clonazepam do its thing. I was already starting to feel a little hazy, but not in a bad way. Just… softer. And I suddenly had an incredibly strong urge to kiss Jack. I knew he wouldn't reject me. I knew he wanted it. But I wasn't so sure I was ready for the ramifications of kissing him, the commitment he would expect. Not yet.
I stared into the dark and tried not to wonder what this meant. If my feelings meant we were moving toward something or just floating. I wasn't ready for answers. Not yet. But the questions were all there.
But I knew this much: being in his arms felt good. It felt safe . And there was no place I'd rather be, so I just squeezed him tighter, held him as close to me as possible, rubbed his back, ran my fingers through his hair, just to touch him in any way I could. Jack did the same and buried his face in the nape of my neck, so closely I could feel his warm breath. And then he kissed my neck … but instead of tensing up or pushing him away, I leaned into it and let him kiss all over my neck. It felt wonderful.
And no matter what I told myself – or anyone else – I knew it was only a matter of time before I ended up with Jack. We both wanted it. You could feel it in the air between us, that low hum of electricity that never really went away. The connection was there, undeniable. All I had to do was stop overthinking, quit hiding behind excuses, and finally tell him I was ready for something real.
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