Page 84 of The Misfit

“Probably around the same time my sister started fake dating the campus bad boy and actually fell for him.”

The truth of it hits me hard and fast. A truth Ihavebeen running from. I’m falling for Lee. Have been since that first night in the pantry. Since he counted tiles with me. Since he made my broken pieces feel less broken.

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “His family?—”

“Sucks,” Noah finishes. “But they’re not the ones counting ceiling tiles in their apartment missing you.”

The storm grows louder, matching the chaos in my chest. Everything Noah’s saying makes sense, but …

“I’m still scared.”

“Good.” He stands, heading for the door. “Fear means you’ve got something worth losing.”

“Stop trying to sound wise,” I call after him as he disappears. “It’s weird.”

His laugh carries back to me. “Stop trying to sound brave. We both know you’re terrified of the unknown, and that’s okay.”

The power flickers once, twice, three times—because of course it would be three—before plunging the house into complete darkness. Lightning illuminates my room in stark bursts, making the shadows dance across my walls.

“Salem?” Noah calls from downstairs. “You okay up there?”

I’m about to answer when someone pounds on our front door. The sound echoes through the house like gunshots, making me jump.

“I’ll get it!” Noah shouts, and I hear his footsteps—nineteen to the door; I’ve counted them enough times to know.

Part of me wants to stay in my room, keep counting shadows, and pretend the world doesn’t exist. But Noah’s words echo in my head.Stop trying to sound brave. We both know you’re terrified.

My feet move before I can overthink it. Seventeen steps to the stairs. Twenty-seven down. Fifteen to the foyer where Noah stands with his hand on the doorknob.

Another crack of thunder.

Another pound at the door.

“Noah, wait—” But he’s already pulling it open.

Lightning splits the sky, illuminating the figure on our porch. Lee stands there, soaking wet, looking absolutely wrecked. His messy hair is plastered to his forehead, expensive clothes clinging to him like a second skin. His eyes find mine immediately, storm-gray dim and dark.

“You’re counting,” he says roughly. “I can see you counting the water dripping off my chin.”

“You’re dripping on my welcome mat.” The words come out barely a whisper.

“Forty-seven ceiling tiles in your room.” His voice is hoarse, desperate. “Twenty-seven steps up your driveway. Three knocks on your door because that’s your number. That’s always been your number.”

Noah backs away slowly. “I’ll just … go find some towels.”

Neither of us acknowledges him. Lee’s gaze holds mine, intense and pleading and somehow both strange and familiar at once.

“You disappeared.” He takes one step forward, water pooling around his feet. “You just… vanished. After everything. After that night. After …”

“Lee—”

“I counted every minute.” His hands clench at his sides. “Every second. Every breath between then and now. Because that’s what you taught me to do when everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

“You’re soaking wet,” I state the obvious since I’m unable to say anything else to his declaration while my brain processes.

“Yeah.” His laugh is hollow. “That’s what happens when you walk in the rain. Couldn’t drive. Too drunk. Or not drunk enough. I don’t know anymore.”

We stare at each other across the foyer, everything we’re not saying filling the space between.

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