Page 38 of Hold on Tight

“We don’t have to tell him the truth yet. I’m mostly saying that he has questions.”

She didn’t say,I have questions, but when he met her eyes, he could see them there.What the hell happened that night in my kitchen?

Yeah, he wanted to know the answer to that too, and the answer toand will it happen again?

“Yeah. Okay. So, don’t say anything to him now. If you can stand not to. I don’t intend to disappoint him. But like I told you, I’m not myself. I’m not even sure—”

He stopped.

“What?” She said it so gently. She was watching Sam, not looking at him.

“I’m not sure that man exists anymore. ‘Myself.’ So what I’m saying is that I don’t know. I don’t know myself, so I can’t promise things and I especially don’t want to promise things that involve Sam, because I understand what you’re saying. He’s a kid and he doesn’t understand.”

Now she turned to look at him, and her face was soft with gratitude. He wanted her to look away again, because her emotion was levering itself under his skin. If he were going to turn back, if he were going to stop whatever this was that felt so inevitable, now was the time to lay down the boundaries. To draw the lines.

He wasn’t sure if he could.

No, he was sure he couldn’t. Not standing here next to her, craving her again, wanting to grab her and do it all over again. To choose, this time, what had felt like compulsion last time. To let her know: This is what I want. Him, yes, but alsoyou.

Something big and hard catapulted itself into his good leg, and he had to grab Mira to steady himself. Sam—Sam had slammed himself against Jake for a hug. Jake regained his footing and released the handful of Mira’s T-shirt he was clutching. His heart pounded, a cocktail of adrenaline and shame. He felt unmanly. Weak. The voices that had drilled into his head during training were rising from the basement of his brain to torment him again.That the best you can do, girls? You’re a worthless, pathetic bunch of losers.

I’m not. I can run. I can bike. I ran five miles today.

Who are you arguing with, douche bag?!

“Climb that tree with me?”

“I’m not much for tree climbing these days,” Jake told him.

“Please?”

“He doesn’t go that high,” Mira said. “Just out on that big branch.” She gestured to one that was low and nearly horizontal, thick as a man’s thigh.

Jake eyed it.

“I have a better idea,” he said. It would give him some space, too, put some physical distance between him and Mira.

“What?” Sam’s voice was suspicious.

“We’re going to play baseball.”

“I didn’t bring my glove or my bat or my ball.”

“You don’t need them to play this kind of baseball.” Jake picked up a stick about as long as his forearm. “Here’s your bat.”

“Where’s the ball?”

“Go stand over there.” Jake pointed to the tree.

Sam went.

Jake bent, picked up a pinecone, and pitched it, underhand and easy, to Sam, who swung. The pinecone sailed past Jake’s ear.

“Nice!” Mira called. She grinned at him. “Clever.”

“Nah. Used to making do with whatever’s on hand. Nimble, maybe. Not clever.” He grabbed a new “ball” and pitched again.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s cool.”

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