Page 35 of Only the Small Bones
“You’re imagining things,” I snapped, not wanting to hear another word. “You’re letting your emotions get the best of you.”
“He knows how you like your coffee, William,” he continued undeterred by my unfair assessment of him. His eyes implored me to not do this to him, whateverthiswas. “Idon’t even know how you like your coffee, because you’d never let me make it.”
We’d taken a break several hours ago so Xavier could scarf down his takeout. I’d slouched in my chair, resting my eyes. I hadn’t meant to doze off.
I’d woken up to the smell of coffee. Ryan hovered above me with a mug of it, and half a toasted bagel. I’d been so grateful I almost forgot not to smile.Almost.
I never let Xavier make my coffee because the recipe was too complex, and him getting it right would’ve felt like I let him in. I couldn’t allow that. Ryan had gotten it right, though.
“That’s because he sits in the kitchen while I make breakfast for us. He’s seen me make myself coffee countless times.” I realized my mistake as soon as the words left my mouth.
“Breakfast,” he said as though he’d been gut punched.
“Come on, Xavier. I’ve made them breakfast before.”
“Them,” he stressed. “But now you’re using words like “us.”’ His phone chirped, probably an Uber notification. He ignored it.
“Every time you allowed someone as broken as you into your home, you would swear to me they weredifferent. That something about them spoke to you in a way it hadn’t with the others. You’d let them in, give them the time needed to find the strength to move on with their process. Whether it be to findfamily, or return home, or to Safe Haven.” He huffed a sad laugh, placing his hands on his hips as he paced a small circle.
“‘This one’s different,’” he said in a mocking tone, throwing my words back at me. “Well, I believe it now.” He turned for the door leading to the elevator.
“Xavier, wait,” I hissed, giving chase and grabbing his arm.
He whirled on me, snatching his arm away. His phone chirped again, but he didn’t seem to care. We were both out of breath due to fear not exertion. Fear sat on my chest, crushing the life out of me. And I knew him well enough to recognize the signs in him as well.
“You know,” he started, “until now, I never took your unwillingness to open up to me personally.” He held a hand up, stopping me before I could speak. “I know. You warned me, and I promised I could handle it. Turns out I couldn’t. Sue me.” He lowered his hand. “As disappointing as it was, deep down I knew the problem was you. And I think… IknowI’ve just been waiting for you to come around.” He glanced toward where Ryan slept, then back to me. “But itisme—”
“It’s not,” I swore. “The problemisme.” I tapped a fist against my sternum to emphasize the point, the action made my heart race faster. “Never you. It was never you, Xavier.”
“He takes care of you. I mean… caramel popcorn?” He ran a hand through his wavy hair. “Jesus, I sound like a lovesick teenager. But really, why didn’t I know you loved caramel popcorn? You inhaled it like you preferred it to air.”
Popcorn and coffee. Those things were shallow in the grand scheme of it all. I thought about the scars Ryan had seen on me. Thought about the reasons I’d given him for their existence.
“I was abducted when I was a kid.”
I hadn’t even scratched the surface of what shaped me, on why he should be avoiding me, not living with me. Ryan wouldnever know the depths of me, would never know what corroded my heart. No one would.
Xavier thought Ryan had some special insight into me, but at the end of the day, they were both on the same playing field.
“He doesn’t know me.”
“He’s getting to know you,” Xavier bit out like I was a complete idiot. “Why can’t I get to know you too?”
“I could try,” I said, tossing my hands up. “I can try and open up to you more. As friends.” It wouldn’t work, but I had to say something to end his suffocating anguish. It bore down on me, causing my lungs to constrict.
“Friends?” he asked, his tone equal parts dubious and exasperated.
“Yes. I could try to do better.”
He moved closer, laying a hand on my cheek, his gaze fluttering over my face. “As your friend, do I get to know the origin of the graveyard on your back?” he whispered.
It wasn’t a graveyard, but the sentiment was spot-on because I felt buried beneath it. I tried to retreat in defense of the memorial I wore, but he brought his other palm up, clamping my face between both hands to hold me hostage. “Do I get to know the story behind the name you call out in your sleep? Hmm?”
“Don’t.”
“Who’s Ash—”
“Don’t!” I repeated, the word cracking. I pulled free of him, my fear fortifying my internal walls.
