Escape In You by Rachel Schurig Page B

on the stove. “Fred is one of the few friends I have that stuck around…after.”
    I know he means after his brother died. I frown. “Your friends ditched you over that?”
    He has the water set to boil now, so he turns to face me, mimicking my pose against the opposite counter, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Not ditched me, so much. They just didn't know how to deal with me. I wasn’t acting quite the same, you know?”
    “You were going through some serious shit,” I say, and he gives me a smile that’s part grimace. “Yeah, I guess. They couldn't figure out why I couldn't snap out of it, why I didn't want to play baseball anymore. We would have gone to State that year. They looked at my quitting as letting them down. And I kept getting in trouble at school—suspensions, coming to class trashed. My friends weren’t really the type to waste time on burnouts.”
    He breathes deeply and rubs his hands across his face. “To be honest, it was my fault. Some of them were genuinely concerned about me, you know? But I pushed them away. I didn't want to be okay. I didn't want to get over it. I sure as hell didn't want to pretend like things were the same as they used to be. It was easier to just push them away. Move on.”
    This was all sounding way too familiar for comfort. “I know how that feels.” My voice is soft, and I’m suddenly a lot more sober.
    He watches my face for a moment. “Yeah?” he finally asks, pushing off from the counter and coming to stand in front of me.
    I nod. “Yeah.”
    He’s close enough to touch now, so I do, reaching out to rest my hands against his hips. He pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “Anyhow. Fred is the only one who refused to be pushed away. He just kept coming back, even when I was acting like a total dick.”
    “Sounds like a good friend.”
    “He’s the best. It helps that he was pretty close with Jim, too.” He pauses before he says his brother’s name, like he needs to prepare himself for the sound of it. “So I know he gets it, I guess.”
    Suddenly he looks so sad that it makes my stomach hurt. I move my hands up over his chest, his neck, until my fingers brush against his face. “Want to know a secret?” I ask. “A real one?”
    He nods, his eyes steady on mine.
    “Sometimes I resent my mom. For being sick.”
    Saying the words feels good. Like, really good. I’m not sure why. I only know that he’s been honest with me, and I think that’s hard for him. I want to give him something back, so he knows he can trust me. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”
    Without breaking eye contact he leans forward until our foreheads are touching. “I’ve never really grieved for my brother.”
    His voice is so quiet I can barely hear him. It’s such a terrible thing, and I feel awful for him. But I’m also freer somehow, knowing he trusts me. Knowing I can trust him. I avoid talking about this shit so much that I practically make a career out of it. Who would have guessed it’d be so freeing to tell someone?
    “Thank you,” he whispers. “For telling me that.”
    “Thank you for telling me about Jim.”
    He breathes out when I say his name, and I wonder if I’ve done something wrong. But then he brushes his lips across mine almost like he’s thanking me.
    Something sizzles behind him on the stove, and he jumps back.
    “Water’s overflowing,” I say.
    “Shit.” He runs over to stir the noodles and turn down the heat. “These are probably ready.”
    I help him finish up the food, handing him milk and butter and getting out a stack of bowls. Once we have everything ready we go back down to our friends.
    This time, I’m the one who reaches for his hand. And I don’t let go.

Chapter Nine
    Taylor
     
    After that night at Fred’s house, Zoe and I pretty much start spending all of our free time together. Neither of us has brought up what, exactly, this means. She made it pretty clear that first night in the park that she wasn’t