Page 76 of Past the Broken Bridges

It feels like it goes beyond the shorts he saw me in, even though he clearly liked them based on how long his eyes locked with them the first night.

“It’s fitting. You’re adventurous, even if I didn’t know it the first time we met. You’re unafraid, which not a lotof people can say they are. Hell, I’m not. You moved from New York on a whim to experience new things. I admire that about you. Birds learn how to fly by jumping out of the nest not knowing if they’ll make it—not knowing where the flight will take them. Seems like you.”

That’s the last thing I expect him to say. I’m quiet as I take in his response, toying with the hem of my blanket as he watches me from across the room. “And here I thought it was just my shorts,” I murmur, amusement in my tone.

He grins. “Trust me. Those were a big part of it.” When he winks at me, it goes straight to my chest. Then that feeling intensifies when he adds, “I’ve always been a leg man.”

Not knowing what to say, I stay silent.

Banks chuckles to himself. “I’ll be right back.” He leaves, keeping the front door cracked open, coming back five minutes later with a plastic container of something in one hand and his backpack hanging from his shoulder.

I watch as he sets his things down, making himself at home. His backpack beside me on the couch, the container on the kitchen counter. It doesn’t take long to realize that he’s pouring out soup into two different bowls before putting each in the microwave to heat up.

Sheepishly, he looks over his shoulder and admits, “I made this last night. Figured you could use it after seeing you in class. Guess I was right.”

He really made me soup.

When he brings it over to me, I accept it with a small smile on my face, staring at the steam billowing from the top. “Thank you.”

He sits with his bowl beside me, his small backpack in between us. We eat in comfortable silence; the only sound is our spoons clanking against the ceramic.

When we’re done, he gets me more water and another cool cloth before sitting down again and pulling textbooks and notebooks out of his backpack.

“What are you doing?” I ask in confusion.

He props his feet up on the coffee table. “If I don’t get my homework done, you’ll keep pestering me about it.”

I sniffle. “You’re staying?”

Without looking up from his textbook, he says, “Somebody should.”

And maybe it’s the cold or the warm soup finally heating up my body. But I feel…tingly. Unlike my mother, I don’t fight him.

As I close my eyes and settle in, I murmur, “It isn’t just soup.”

There are a few seconds of silence between us where I hear only his breathing before one of his hands grazes my leg and stays there.

Then, “Go to sleep, Birdie.”

As much as I want to stay awake and enjoy the time with him, I can’t fight the fatigue plaguing my body.

When I wake up in a dark apartment, I realize my head is nestled on the lap of my neighbor. The blanket is up over my shoulders, tucked carefully.

And the boy in question is sleeping soundly exactly where I left him.

For the first time since I met him, he looks…at peace. So I don’t wake him up. I don’t move to my bedroom. I simply lie back down and let his calm breathing lull me back to sleep.

Chapter Twenty

Banks

A few days after I play nurse at Sawyer’s apartment, I’m walking through the quad when Professor Laramie stops me. “Paxton,” he greets, using the name that makes me wince. “I really appreciate the effort you’ve put into improving your project design. I was just talking to your father about it.”

I grip the strap of my bag hanging haphazardly from my shoulder. “You spoke to my dad about it?”

Laramie nods innocently, a professional smile on his face. “We have lunch from time to time. He was asking how you were doing. I told him the same thing I told you when I handed you the first draft revisions. You’ve got a lot of potential in your future.”

I never know what to say when people bring up my father here, and I don’t want to press Laramie for what his response was. I can use my imagination to figure it out given the less-than-stellar conversations my father and I have had lately.

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