Page 211 of Worthy

No other crash holds a candle to this. It’s the only high I can’t stop chasing, despite how much it fucking flays me open.

“Are you sure?”

Clamping down on my molars, I nod stiffly. Releasing him, I scoot as far away from him as I can as he joins me on the lounge chair.

“Grab my pencil,” I say stiffly.

Nodding, he reaches over, plucking it off the grass. When he hands it to me, our fingers brush, and our gazes snap together. I suck in a breath, realizing just how close we are now.

This lounger might fit two grown adults, but it’s clearly meant to be shared by couples. Those who are comfortable sharing space. It’sintimate.

It never used to be this complicated.

Then again, before we had other things on our mind. It was less about my feelings, and more about finding an anchor in the storm of our grief.

But now?

Now my feelings for him are front and center, like a gaping, jagged hole we can’t possibly walk around. Even Izzy’s ghost steers fucking clear. Well, at least for me. Can’t say the same for him.

Hell, for all I know, my feelings for him are nothing more than a nuisance. The thing keeping him from seeking what he had no problem seeking out before.

And to think, he doesn’t even know the fucking half of it. If he did…

Well, shit, he’d probably avoid me completely.

Isn’t that what you want?

“J?” he says warily.

My gaze drops to my lap. Whereas Mason’s dressed in too-revealing heather gray sweats that I have to consciously ignore, I’m grateful I’m wearing black joggers. I’m also grateful I put on a shirt too—a black Flyleaf tee, sleeves rolled up toward my shoulders.

Yet I still feel exposed.

Naked.

Bare in a way I’m not used to around him.

But I know that has nothing to do with clothes.

“Here,” I murmur, handing him the earbud I all but forgot I held clenched in my fist. It’s slick with my sweat, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he slips it into his left ear.

It’s only now that I remember there’s still music playing, albeit softly. Grabbing my phone, I unlock the screen and pull up Spotify. Finding the playlist I want, I hit shuffle.

The intro to “Dare You to Move” by Switchfoot kicks on, filtering into my right ear. Snorting softly, I crank the volume up a bit.

“You can change it if you want,” Mason says, humor evident in his deep, raspy voice.

I cut him a knowing look. “It’s fine.” A beat passes, and I fight a smirk. “We can listen to your Jesus thumping music.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s a good song. It can be open to interpretation.”

“Mhm,” I say distractedly, flipping to a blank page in my sketchbook.

“It makes me feel good.”

“Okay.”

“It’s…nostalgic. Reminds me of better times.”

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