Page 44 of Blindside Me
The admission hangs between us. I wait, giving him space to continue or retreat.
“Everyone thinks I’m afraid of failing,” he says finally. “That’s not it.”
“What are you afraid of, then?”
His fingers trace the edge of the keyboard. “Being exposed. That I’m not who everyone thinks I am. That they’ll see Jakewhen they look at me. And once they do, they’ll stop believing I’m anything different.”
And just like that, the gap between us isn’t just physical. It’s emotional. Unspoken. Dangerous. He’s letting me in, just a crack, and I have no idea what to do with it.
“My mom always leaves,” I offer in return. “When things get hard. She just … checks out.” I learned early that love came with a doorframe. You never knew when it’d close. She’d leave a half-finished tea on the counter. No goodbye. Just gone. Sometimes for a week. Sometimes forever. “But that never stops her from chasing the next relationship.”
I expect him to look away. Most people do. Most people can’t handle pain that isn’t theirs.
But Drew doesn’t flinch. He just looks at me. “Is that why you’re so…”
“So what?” My voice carries a defensive edge.
“Independent. Like you’ve already decided no one’s going to stick around.”
“Says the guy who won’t let his teammates help him carry equipment.”
His laugh is soft, surprised. “Fair.”
Somehow our chairs have drifted closer. Our shoulders almost touch. The computer hums between us, forgotten for the moment. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s heavy and honest. Like we’ve both dropped our shields at the same time, and we’re just … here.
“So we’re both disasters,” I say. “That’s comforting.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m highly functional.”
“Your eye twitches when people say that.”
“Does not.”
“Does too. Just did.”
We laugh, and it lingers longer than it should. The quiet between us vibrates with a yes we don’t name.
This isn’t anything. Just a project. Just caffeine-fueled banter and sleep-deprived smiles. Nothing else.
I yawn, the late hour catching up to me. My eyes feel heavy.
“Are you actually nodding off mid-conversation?” Drew asks.
“No.” But my eyes close involuntarily. “Maybe.”
When I open them again, I catch Drew watching me. Really watching. His gaze sweeps over my face, intense enough to make me want to squirm. Or lean closer. I can’t tell which.
He breaks contact and opens up a new document. My eyes droop again, the soft tapping of the keyboards pulling me under. My head dips, jerks up, dips again. The tapping doesn’t stop.
“Howell,” a voice says, followed by a gentle nudge on my arm.
My eyelids flutter open. I shudder from the cold and pull a sweatshirt around me. Sweatshirt? I didn’t have … That’s when the minty scent hits me. This is Drew’s hoodie. He must’ve wrapped his hoodie around me while I slept.
The room comes into focus. Drew sits staring with his chin in his hand, as if waiting for me to wake up.
“You drool when you sleep,” he says.
I wipe my mouth instinctively. Dry as sandpaper. “Liar.”
