Page 5 of Be My Compass

I’m—

An incoming call overtakes the screen and stops me from reading the rest of his message. It’s my parents.

I answer. “Hey, mom.”

“Honey, I’m so sorry.” I hear instruments in the background. The light, tinkling keys of a piano. The strains of a violin. The haunting whoosh of a flute. “We forgot to warn you.”

“About?”

“The lamppost and… how dark it is.”

“It’s fine.” I try to ignore the shadows dancing toward me and steady my breath. “I’m fine.”

She pauses. In the swelling silence, I hear her concern. She doesn’t believe me. She wants to, but she can’t. Not given my track record.

“I’m almost inside.”

“Is Kastle with you?” Mom asks hopefully.

I press my thumb against my key. Try to see it in the darkness so I can fit it into the lock. “No.”

“Oh.” Mom sounds disappointed.

“He has his own life, mom.”

“It’s just that you’re always together,” Mom says. “And I was hoping that, at least tonight…”

“I don’t need Kastle to make me feel safe.”

“But it helps.”

Yeah. It does. But I’ve spent a long time trying to build myself up so I can function without a crutch. I’m working hard on my independence. Which is why I moved out of my parents’ house. Sure, I didn’t move that far away, but progress is progress.

Dad’s voice rumbles in the background. “Is Kastle there?”

“No,” Mom whispers to him.

I can hear dad grunt in displeasure. He’s a big fan of Kastle, and he’s not afraid to let me know.

“Your father wants to talk to you,” Mom says.

“Later.”

Dad’s going to try and distract me by making ridiculous claims about my friendship with Kastle.

You and Kastle are just friends? Why not be honest? I’m your dad, pumpkin. The only thing that matters to me is if he honors, loves and respects you. Far as I can tell, Kastle fits all three.

Yeah. I’m intimately aware of the fact that Kastle is freaking amazing and I don’t need the reminder that he isn’t interested in me like that.

That we’re just friends.

That he’ll never see me as anything more.

Even if I see him as my everything.

It’s painful every time our fingers touch. Every time he smirks in that you’re too smart for your own good way. Every time he narrows his eyes to those deliciously sexy slits that look like half-moons on his tan face.

Every time his dark eyes focus on me.

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