Page 47 of Unwanted

“Okay, everyone,” he says loudly, addressing the few people he was already training with. “Keep going with the circuit and I’ll see you all before you go.”

He heads in the direction of his office, walking along the yellow lines just as Rhys had suggested. I fall into step beside him, taking in the rest of my surroundings.

It’s a fitted-out warehouse in downtown LA that hasn’t yet fallen victim to the popular gym chains that now flood every state. All the equipment is new, but it’s the people who fill the place that give it soul and character.

“I won’t be a minute,” Arlo says as we enter his office. I nod and let my gaze drift around the room as he walks to a row of lockers that sit behind a large black desk and begins rummaging through one.

The space is very much Arlo; the old and the new.

I’m surprised to see a few framed photos hung up on one wall. All of them printed in black and white, all of them places in California. As my eyes scan them—famous landscapes and hidden treasures—nostalgia settles beneath my skin.

We’d shared really good memories at these places.

I turn to find Arlo, but he’s already behind me. Only a breath away, watching me as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing.

“Did you choose these photos on purpose?”

He moves forward. Even closer. His eyes looking beyond me at the photos, almost like he’s transported himself right back to those exact moments between us.

“It wasn’t all bad,” he says.

I wait for his eyes to focus back on me, and I hold his stare. It’s the first time he’s voluntarily mentioned the past with me. The first time he’s acknowledged us with anything other than pain.

Looking back at the photos, I raise my hand and drag my fingers over each one, outlining the lines and shapes and bodies captured there. Allowing myself permission to walk down memory lane and really feel what it is I’ve been missing.

Arlo steps closer, his presence welcome but suffocating. Heat emanates off him, his warm breath dancing across the nape of my neck, goose bumps erupting all over my skin.

“Have you gone back there?”

We were now both looking at the photo of the boardwalk at Santa Monica Pier, and despite it being the generic, popular shot that was on magnets and postcards all over the world, when I looked at the photo, I didn’t see any of that.

All I saw was Arlo and me; happy and laughing, kissing and touching.

I remembered the way I had jumped on his back, insisting he carry me through the crowd. I was holding on to the stuffed seahorse we had won for Clem and claiming sweet victory over some stupid arcade game that took up way too much of our time. And Arlo, with his cigarette in his mouth and signature scowl on his face, carried me without complaint.

We weren’t always given the opportunity to act our age, and it was a rarity to even find a moment to do so. With Lennox, Clem, and Remy, we were kids taking care of kids, making adult decisions for them, and making shitty personal choices for ourselves.

But every now and then the world stopped and Arlo and I could just be.

“No,” he finally answers. “I haven’t gone back.” A hand lands on my shoulder. “It’s not the same without you. A lot of things aren’t the same without you.”

My breath hitches at his proximity, at the change in his mood and the honesty of his words.

Whatever this is, whatever has changed his mind and caused him to slip and be vulnerable with me, I don’t want to risk losing it. So instead of responding and saying the wrong thing, I choose to let my body talk for me as I subtly move backward until my back presses against his chest.

I hear his sharp intake of breath before he says, “I think I can make time for lunch. Do you want to go together?”

“I can do lunch.”

Even with plans made, neither one of us moves, neither one of us wanting to separate.

Goose bumps erupt all over my skin when he runs the tip of his nose down the length of my neck. My pulse quickens, my body vibrating.

“You smell the same,” he whispers. “I didn’t expect you to smell the same.”

I let my body lean farther into him and tilt my head just enough to feel Arlo repeat the movement.

“What did you expect?” I ask him.

---