Page 14 of Take My Hand

What friends? I want to say. But he doesn’t need me dumping the sob story on him, so I settle for, “Not really.”

He arches a brow at me as if he can hear my stewing thoughts, read behind my eyes everything I’m not saying, and his jaw tics at what he finds.

A flash going off catches the corner of my eye. He notices it too, and we jerk our heads in the direction, finding a young woman holding her phone tight to her chest with embarrassment written all over her face.

She doesn’t say anything to Hayden, clearly too afraid to approach him after being caught taking his picture.

Hayden pulls his hood down lower on his forehead and the bit of calm that was there a moment ago has vanished. His fingers twitch against the containers in his hand, his chest rising and falling with shorter breaths under his sweatshirt.

“You okay? Wanna sit for a minute? My dad is outside taking a call,” I offer.

He shakes his head. “I should get going.”

Hayden begins to walk away, but I’m not ready for him to go yet. Maybe I’m lonelier than I thought here, starting fresh on my own, but it’d be nice to have someone to invite over for coffee or to check out the beach with.

“Wait,” I say, causing him to stop. “Next time you’re around here, let me know. I’d love to explore the neighborhood. Maybe you can show me some good spots.”

But his eyes are cold and vacant when they meet mine, as if he’s completely shut himself down. “I don’t really come this way often. See you later.” And with that, he swings the door open and speeds off.

I rock back in my chair, trying to figure out what just happened.

What the hell is his problem? He’s never blown me off like that before.

My head is still spinning by the time my dad comes back inside and we finish the last of our food.

We drive over to my storage unit and load up his truck with my stuff, turning the key into the drop box when we leave, because thankfully, I won’t be needing it anymore.

It doesn’t take us much time to move my things into my apartment, but both of us are a sweaty mess by the end of it anyway.

“Do you wanna shower before you head back?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” My dad takes an old T-shirt out of his back pocket and wipes it across his forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me at least until you get a bed in here? I don’t like the idea of you sleeping on the floor.”

That probably would’ve been a good thing for me to buy before I moved, but it slipped through the cracks of everything else going on.

“I’ll crash at Scar’s place tonight and then go out first thing tomorrow for a mattress. I promise,” I tell him, feeling a slight pang of guilt, knowing that I will not be doing that tonight.

I’m sure Scar would welcome me in with open arms. But I don’t want to leave tonight. I want to spend the first night in my apartment by myself, even if that means making a blanket fort on the ground among the boxes waiting to be unpacked.

The furniture will come, and I’ll make getting a bed my priority, but for tonight, I just want to soak in the fact that I’m really doing this.

I’m really doing this all on my own. Whether I fail or succeed is up to me, and while it scares the absolute shit out of me, and a knot sits at the base of my stomach pumping anxiety and what-ifs throughout my veins like blood, I can’t help the feeling of pride swirling in the mix.

7

HAYDEN

The buzz of the tattoo needle is enough to lull me to sleep if it wasn’t for Nikolai’s chatter next to me. And the fact that needles are currently stabbing ink into the crook of my neck.

I hiss as they hit a particularly sensitive spot, and Vinnie, my go-to tattoo artist, mutters a small apology.

“You need to find some other way to let off steam, dude.” Nikolai scrunches his face as Vinnie dabs away a bubble of blood on my skin.

“It’s therapeutic,” I say, barely opening my mouth to let the words through as I try to keep my throat and neck as still as possible.

“So is getting laid. You should try it sometime.”

Of course that would be Nikolai’s advice for me. When I called him earlier this morning to see if he’d want to keep me company at my appointment, I should’ve known he’d pick up on the tension vibrating under the surface that I hoped the tattoo gun could help work out.

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