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Aaron laughs, and even though it’s not at my expense, it solidifies my humiliation. “I’m a fan,” he admits. “But all I care about is you, so I don’t suggest it unless you do. Sometimes it works out. More often it doesn’t. I don’t mind either way—it’s not the only avenue, you know?”

I think I’m going to explode. I grab the pillow beside me and slam it over my face, cooling myself on its surface. “Oh,” I say, voice muffled.

“Then, since you brought it up again, can you tell me what you do want?” Aaron asks, sounding unbearably amused. “Or if there’s something else you want to avoid?”

“Do whatever,” I mutter, because I can’t continue with this conversation.

“What? Can’t hear you.”

“Yes, you can, asshole.”

“Ooh. A swear.” Aaron returns to kissing my collarbone. I can feel his lingering grin. “Then, since you’ve given me permission, I’ll do whatever.”

He hooks his finger around the waistband of my stretchy pants and drags downward, slow enough that I could stop him. I don’t, though I keep the pillow secured snugly over my face. I don’t expect to feel his lips to follow, grazing my navel, leaving soft pecks around my waist. His hands massage the outsides of my thighs, and I claw desperately into the pillow to avoid squirming.

He toys with the elastic of my boxers as he kisses back up the center of my abdomen, my chest, my collarbone, until he’s nipping under my chin. I breathe out with relief, but the feeling doesn’t last, because then he’s fitting his waist between my legs, and I realize he’s only wearing boxers. “Do you need to hide your face?” he asks.

“Deal with it,” I snip.

His hands ring around my knees, and he folds them up, deliberately slow. I feel his mouth work along my thighs, and I reach down to straighten the edges of my boxer shorts, but he catches my wrist. Without a word, he slides my palm through his hair and roots it on the back of his head.

That night, I learn that even the deepest layers of physical and emotional fatigue can’t stop Aaron Beckham from getting what he wants.

And I learn that I don’t really mind.

Aaron wears me out and then collapses like a sack of bricks into his pillow, falling into a deep, fitful slumber. I’m still short of breath, racked with tremors, and crimson in the face as I lay snug under his arm, listening to his slow exhales against the top of my head. I wonder how often we slept like this before the accident. I had my own room, but how frequently did I sleep in my bed? Did I used to sneak over here and curl up with him?

I like this place. Being here feels right. It’s warm and comfortable, and my anxiety is a faraway echo. I don’t think I’d get sick here. I’m not worrying about whether someone moved something in the pantry and kicked up flour onto my gluten-free ingredients. I’m not worried that my food might’ve been made with the wrong utensils and frying pans. Aaron’s dads have clearly been treating me like a second son.

You can come home whenever you want, Riley. Anytime, any day, no questions asked.

His father’s words have been reverberating in my head and stirring my stomach. I don’t know that I’d so readily move back in after visiting this place once, but it’s nice not having to worry. It’s nice not to be thinking about errands.

As I cool down, I maneuver Aaron’s arm so I can grab my phone on the nightstand and find the family group chat. He curls more tightly around me. His legs slide between mine, and his inhale is deep, like he enjoys the scent of my shampoo. “Stay,” he mumbles in his sleep.

I snuggle deeper into his chest. Maybe a conversation is worth having with my family. Maybe I could start with sleeping over here once a week or something. To recharge. To get some of that “space” Aaron keeps saying I need. So I type out a message.

Hi! Can you guys be available to talk after dinner? I’ll make something good. Thanks!

I hit send.

Logan reads it immediately and doesn’t respond.

I tuck my phone away and fall asleep.

23

“You’re really considering it?” Aaron’s gray eyes are bright enough to blind me.

“Don’t get carried away,” I warn, munching on a gluten-free waffle as I pull my shirt over my head and wrench a new pair of boxers and shorts to my waist. “Last night, I was thinking about what you said. How these house responsibilities have just sort of fallen to me. I still think it’s justified, but I also think maybe they could help in the fall when I go to school. You know?”

“Right.” Aaron practically skips over to me to plant a wet kiss on my forehead. He’s not good at hiding his excitement. Clearly, he’s hoping this is the first step of many that will lead me to his front door with all my belongings.

I have things to do, so I pack up and get going before I can feel too cozy and spend another day in laziness. It’s muggy and gray outside—storm clouds swirl overhead, sagging but not buckling.

“I’ll drive you home,” Aaron says, but I shake my head.

“It’s a ten-minute walk. I’ve been trying to strengthen my legs, so I’ll be fine. And my suitcase is waterproof.”