Page 77 of Our Secret to Keep

He should leave me.

Why is he even my friend?

I don’t deserve River.

I stare at his sexy body and trace my fingers over the dark vines that curl around his shoulder and down his right arm. On his forearm, he has a black infinity symbol to match mine. We got it in the same place to symbolize our never-ending bond.

Only death could keep me from River. And even then, if he were to die first, I would throw myself in the grave with him.

He’s my forever.

As the mattress dips, he groans. I drop a sheet over the lower half of his body because he’s naked. Just seeing exposed flesh makes me think about sex.

His abs are so tight they look hand-sculpted. And the tiny patch of hair below his belly button that leads to…

Stop it, Nate!

I don’t even like men.

Never in my life have I thought another guy was hot. Yet, my mind keeps noticing River’s body. How he smells. How his cum tastes.

Fuck.

This is bad.

I’ve always wondered when my addiction would take a horrible turn. I’m already on the verge of losing River if I don’t get my shit together.

Laying my head on the pillow beside his, I turn to face him. Looking at him helps soothe my nerves. I watch his chest rise and fall. Notice how his full lips part as he breathes softly. He doesn’t snore, which is nice. It makes it easier for me to close my eyes and zone out.

This will go away soon.

River will leave you.

No one loves you.

You’re unlovable.

Tears prick my eyes at the thought of River signing an NHL contract. What if he gets picked by the Toronto Maple Leafs?

Jesus.

I can’t even imagine being that far from him. Most of River’s family lives in Quebec. He could move to Canada and never come back.

We’ve had a good run, ten years of friendship. But I know he needs to go. River was born to be a star like his father. He’s not supposed to stay behind and take care of me.

I cover his hand with mine and intertwine our fingers, needing to feel closer to him. According to Dr. Swanson, this is intimacy. What I share with River goes beyond the normal limits of friendship.

“Nate,” River whispers.

His eyes are closed, but he must have felt my weight shift the mattress or my fingers linked with his.

“Nate,” he says again, and one green eye opens. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

He squeezes my hand. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

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