Page 118 of Hidden

“I mean you’re not the worst kisser…”

“I'm happy to show you how good I am.” Now I’m getting the fun Sadie, the one I’ve started to fall for.

“I’ll look forward to it.” She takes my hand, and leans in closer to me, moves up to her tiptoes and gives me a small kiss, and before she can pull her away I wrap my arms around her so I can kiss her deeper.

Twenty-Six

Sadie

There's a cool breeze out tonight, I always love the feeling of Fall coming. I should have brought a jacket or something to keep myself a little warm.

The walk back is slow; Miles set the pace. He must notice that I’m cold, because I see him removing his jacket. He stops in front of me. “I don’t need my girl getting cold on me.” He holds out the jacket for me, and I slip my arms in and smile. I’ve never had someone do anything like this for me, I know it’s only a small thing, but Miles is the first person to care for me and I like it.

“Thank you.”

The campus is quiet at this hour, the path between the restaurant and the residential buildings are mostly empty, and it’s really nice just having the evening for us.

“So, tell me about your brother.” I stop mid-step and he turns to face me taking a step closer. He pulls me closer, moves some of my hair out of my face, leans down and gives me a small kiss. “From today, I promise you’re not alone anymore.”

"He called me every time," I say and can hear the shake in my voice. "For three years. Every time something got hard or expensive, or complicated he called me and I fixed it because I'm his sister and he’s the only family I have." I pause. "But looking after him meant I stopped thinking of myself as someone who was allowed to need things."

"What things?" he asks.

"Just, things. Help. Someone to call when it gets hard." I look at the path ahead. "I've been the person on the other end of the phone for so long I forgot there was another end for me."

"And now?"

"Now he's figured some of it out himself." I pause. "And I don't know what to do with not being needed in that specific way anymore."

Miles is quiet for a moment. "You've been running at someone else's pace for three years, but I have a feeling you’ve been doing it a lot longer, longer than a kid should have to," he says. "It makes sense that your own pace feels unfamiliar."

I look at him. "That's… yeah." I pause. "That's exactly it actually."

"What do you want?" he asks. It’s simple, direct, and the Miles Crawford version of a question, there’s no softening, no scaffolding, just the thing itself.

"I don't know yet," I say honestly. "I'm figuring it out."

“Well, I’m here to help you figure it out.”

I look at his profile in the amber streetlight, at the bruising that's fading now, and the cut along his cheekbone which has healed to almost nothing.

It's strange, I think, how natural this feels. Talking to him like this. The Dan conversation has been sitting in me for years and I've given pieces of it to Juno, to Maya, to the girls in the way you give things to friends. This is different. This feels comfortable, and safe.

I think about Ghost saying you carry too much and I think about Miles asking what do you want and I think about how they’re the same person asking the same question in different ways.

"It's nice," I say. "Talking about him to someone who just… listens."

"You don't have to stop," he says.

"I know." I smile at the path. "That's the nice part."

He slows slightly; I notice it before I understand it. His head moves in a way that isn't part of the conversation, a small scan of the path ahead and the space to our left.

"Miles."

"Keep walking," he says. His voice hasn't changed. "Keep the same pace."

My stomach drops.