Page 95 of Home in Nevada

Minutes pass, and I can’t stand the silence anymore. “…Are you mad at me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jamie lifts his head, his red, glassy eyes meeting mine. “What?”

“Are you mad at me?” I repeat, my heart pounding.

Jamie laughs, soft and warm, and then he leans down and starts kissing me all over my face—my forehead, my cheeks, my nose—each one soothing the ache in my chest.

“No, I’m not mad at you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine.

I bring a hand up to his face, my thumb stroking his cheek. How does someone like Jamie even exist?

“I love you, Jeff,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m crying because... I don’t know how. I don’t know how I got you.”

I laugh, lightheaded with relief, and drag my thumb over his bottom lip. “What?”

Jamie smiles, his big, goofy, gorgeous smile that completely undoes me.

“I don’t know how I finally got you.”

“Jamie,” I whisper, shaking my head. “You always had me... You’re something special, remember?”

His smile widens, and I swear, I’m about to melt into the grass right here and now.

We stay like that, tangled up in each other, lying in the cold grass for at least an hour. We talk about everything, kissing in between every other sentence, while Jamie digs snacks and a bottle of whiskey out of his backpack.

I guess he’d planned for us to drink and reminisce about the good times, but Jamie didn’t realize something important—those weren’t the good times.

These are.

I might not have remembered pulling Jamie behind the bleachers in senior year at first, but I know for a fact I’ll remember this night forever.

The plan today is to visit my parents, which is... not my usual routine when I’m in town seeing Jamie. I haven’t seen them in a while, and honestly, I usually avoid stopping by. Every time I’m here and don’t say hi, the guilt eats at me. My mom doesn’t know how many times I’ve been in town without visiting, but if she did, I’m pretty sure she’d be crushed.

And today? It’s even worse because I’m planning to tell them about Jamie. I keep reminding myself it doesn’t matter what they think—this is my life—but my stomach’s in knots as we pull into the driveway.

“Are you sure, Jeff? You want to do this in person, with me here?” Jamie asks, glancing at me from the driver's side as he slows the car.

“Yeah,” I mutter, staring at the house like it’s some kind of haunted fortress. “I don’t want to do it by myself.”

Jamie nods and cuts the engine. I lean over from the passenger seat and kiss him quickly, his smile brushing against mine. For a second, I feel less like I’m about to walk into an ambush.

But then, of course, my mom steps out onto the front porch.

How does she always know when I pull into the driveway? Do they have a motion detector out here or something?

She’s already running toward us, her arms wide open. “Oh, my baby, I can’t believe you came to say hi!” she practically sings, wrapping me in one of her trademark bone-crushing hugs.

I glance at Jamie over her shoulder, my face definitely broadcasting pure panic. He just smiles back at me, tilting his head slightly like he’s enjoying the show. Damn it. He’s so good at this. How does none of this faze him?

She hugs Jamie next, gushing about how glad she is to see him before ushering us both inside.

My dad’s in his recliner in front of the TV—classic Dad move. Jamie and I sit on the couch while my mom takes the other recliner across from us. It feels a little too much like an interrogation room for comfort.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, trying to sound casual.

“Mmm.”

I smile. That’s about all I ever get from him, but it’s never bothered me. He loves me in his own quiet way, and I’ve always appreciated that he gives me space.

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