Page 98 of Perfect Praise

Maren bursts into tears, and I have no idea if they’re happy or sad. Maybe I’ve reached my limit, shown my hand, that I’m too fucking much. I forgot what I’m good for—a boyfriend isn’t one of them.

“If this is too much for you…” I start, not wanting to finish. However, whenever, this ends, I’ll be in the same place: a hollow version of the man I used to be, using everything and anything to fill the void Maren will leave.

Then a laugh comes bubbling up, brightening her face. She jumps into my arms and wraps her legs around me. The rain and her tears mix together on her wind-blown cheeks.

“You’d die for me?” she breathes.

“Yes,” I say with a laugh. “Of course, I would. We just established that I’m insane.”

Her kiss is electric. “Locke, getting to know you has been one of the best—and most fun—times of my life.”

Maren has destroyed my life as I know it.

Now—just say it, Locke.

But I don’t. Because how do I say that?

I wake to calm.

The sun streams in through the crack in the curtain, hitting my face just right. From what I can see, the sky looks extra blue.

Last night runs through my head. Hehelpedme. Selflessly. When no one else would. And it only makes me love him more—the man who hates people is the most caring of them all.

I roll over to see Locke staring at me, big dark brown eyes surrounded by sunken dark circles.

“Good morning,” I whisper. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No,” he sighs, reaching out and tugging me into his chest. The scent of rain still lingers on his skin.

I place the palm of my hand on his cheekbone and play with the blond hair behind his ear. “Why not?”

“Multiple reasons,” he answers before he takes a deep breath. “One of which is I heard from my mom after you went to sleep.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask, stiffening.

There’s a wave of heat radiating off Locke’s body that I just now notice. His skin is slick with sweat, but somehow freezing at the same time.

“She left me a voicemail.” His face pales, his eyes squeeze closed, like he doesn’t want to play it back in his head. “She was hallucinating.”

I press myself against him as if I’m trying to meld us together to absorb some of his pain. “Are you sure?” I ask, unsure myself if this is even the right thing to say.

“Considering I haven’t died in a plane crash, yes.”

Definitely not the right thing to ask. We wince in sync. I have no experience with this, but I figure the best thing I can do is be there for him.

“I didn’t want to be gone when you woke up,” he adds, slipping out of the bed, “but I’m going to go talk to her.”

Sitting up straight, I grab his hand in reassurance. “I’ll come with you,” I offer, but Locke takes his hand back, almost in embarrassment.

“No, just stay here.” He turns away from me so quickly, without looking me in the eye, it stings my heart.

He pushes through the French doors to the bathroom, but I get up and quickly stick to his heels. I lean against the vanity as he splashes cold water on his face then avoids me in the mirror and busies himself in a drawer looking for nothing.

“Look at me,” I urge softly.

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