Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
I nod, putting a hand on the edge of the workbench and leaning over it. “Some of those small ones on the left are old pieces I took out from when I did the initial rebuild of my Mustang’s engine. The rest is whatever I could find at garage sales and Goodwill. Figuring out how things work is like therapy for me. Anything mechanical.”
“God. I can barely change a lightbulb, and you were rebuilding a Mustang’s engine as a teenager.”
“Can you fix watches, too?”
He holds up the old, silver watch at the edge of the bench.
“That was my grandfather’s watch, long ago. He died a while back, but he left me that. I fixed it up.”
“It’s beautiful,” Wes says. “Classic. Fuck, you’re good at everything.”
“Promise there are things I’m bad at, too.”
“I haven’t seen any. Like what?”
I pause for a moment, watching his lightly freckled cheeks in the low light from my nightstand. “Like being gracious when people offer me help, for one.”
I watch his lashes as he looks down at the ground for a moment, waving his hand. “It’s fine, Sev. I know you were just surprised when we showed up out of nowhere.”
“And I know I was a dick. I’m sorry, okay?”
A tiny smile appears on his face as he looks back up at me. “That’s good. I’m going to remember this moment.”
“What?”
“Sevan Berlant apologizing to me. That’s fuckin’ sweeter than honey, bro.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” I protest, walking off toward the door.
“Delicious, delectable honey that I’ll remember when you’re being an ass to me in Sellwood’s class or something.”
I bite back a smile. “You’re impossible. Go to sleep, Wes. You’ve been enough of a hero tonight.”
“You sure you and Niko are good on the couch? If it’s uncomfy you can let me know.”
“Just take the bed, Knox. Good night.”
I close the door and head out to the couch, where Niko’s already almost passed out on the other end. Mom already laid out fresh pillows and blankets out here for us, and I feel like I’m doing something I never really did as a kid: having a sleepover.
For fuck’s sake.
Wes comes over and suddenly everything’s so goddamn wholesome.
I tuck in under the covers and Niko’s gentle snoring already starts to fill the air.
My mind races with everything, and I know I’m not going to sleep for a while. Everything feels different, even if part of it weirdly feels good.
Another hour passes before I even start to feel sleepy, and another half an hour after that, I start to think maybe I’ll be able to sleep.
And then I hear a door gently opening down the hall.
And the creak of the floorboards as someone walks down the hall toward the kitchen, and I know it’s not Mom, because she sucks at being quiet in the middle of the night.
It’s like a release valve suddenly depressurizes inside me as I realize I’m not the only one still awake. I toss away my blanket and step quietly across the living room.
In the kitchen, I find Wes in front of the fridge, lit by the light coming out of it.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Did I wake you up? I just want to find the water filter.”
He’s shirtless. Apparently he always sleeps shirtless, and that’s a big fucking problem right now, because he looks so good and I’m far too exhausted to be able to resist how much I want to touch his skin.
I keep my voice quiet, too. “You didn’t wake me.”
Mom always leaves one of the small kitchen windows cracked when the weather is nice, and tonight the sound of the crickets is coming in gently through the opening.
I reach in and locate the water pitcher, pulling it out and placing it on the counter, and Wes quietly shuts the fridge.
And then we’re in the dark. Only a small glow comes from the window, and I hate that he still looks fucking perfect in that low light.
My chest aches as I look at him.
Physically fucking aches, in a way that confuses me and almost angers me, like I have no control over it.
He came here because he gave a shit about me.
His mom fucking died from the same type of pills my mom has struggled with. He knows how bad this feels.
He knows me. Understands that part of me. A part I’ve felt like no one possibly could.
“You okay?” he says softly.
“I’m very okay,” I tell him.
He’s leaning back against the kitchen counter and I put my hands to his waist. I lean in and rest my forehead against his, exhaling like I can finally relax.
When I’m this close to him, nothing else enters my mind.
The gentle pressure of my head against his. His fresh scent, becoming familiar to me.
And the way he hesitantly, slowly reaches out, putting his hands to my waist in the same way I’m doing to him, like he’s not even sure if he’s allowed to.