“That’s because it is.” I sift through the shirts in my closet, keeping my back to him.
“Since when do you drink hot chocolate?”
I grunt. “I don’t. It’s for five-year-olds.”
He pauses. “You got this for me?”
“I was passing the place you like, so I grabbed one for you.”
For the last year, Stephen has pushed every single one of my buttons—some buttons I didn’t even know I had—trying to get me to snap, to get me to blurt out something, to get me to tell him what he has somehow figured out, because he reads me like an open book.
Honestly? He’s wearing me down. Aside from the fact that he’s relentless, I’m starting to run out of reasons why I can’t tell Stephen that I’m into men in addition to women. And why shouldn’t I tell him? He’s bisexual too. He won’t judge me. He won’t berate me, or shun me. If anything, it’d bring us closer together.
But therein lies the problem.
I’m scared of getting close to Stephen McKinley. He’s charismatic and outgoing and lovable, and everyone gravitates toward him. I can’t allow myself to give in to the temptation of him. Andfuckam I tempted by him. How easy it’d be to get wrapped up in all that he is. But I’m not good enough for someone like him. We’re too different.
He’s joy, and I’m sadness. He’s a symphony, and I’m silence. He’s sunshine and I’m the rain cloud that ruins it all.
So instead, I push him away...at least, as much as I can for someone who sleeps in the bed next to mine, and plays on the same team as I do.
I yank a black T-shirt off the hanger, but Stephen steps into my space before I can pull it over my head. His fingertips graze over the hummingbird etched onto my skin just below my collarbone. “What does this mean?”
“My mother loved hummingbirds.”
Stephen’s eyebrows lift. “Loved?”
I nod once.
Stephen’s fingers brush back and forth over the bird’s wings, goosebumps flying along my skin. “When did she pass?”
I swallow. “My father killed her when I was twelve.”
His mouth drops open, and mine does too because I can’t believe I just admitted that. I move to turn away, to hide from the truth I spilled, but Stephen doesn’t let me get away.
He grips my shoulder. “What happened?”
I shake my head, not wanting to revisit that memory. “Let’s get going. The team is waiting for us.”
“They can wait.” His eyes bounce between mine. “Tell me.”
When we’re this close, I can spot the different shades of blue swirling in his irises. It’s like looking into the depths of the ocean, beautiful yet dangerous, ready to pull me under.
I try to keep my voice even and not let the memory assault my mind. “My father was drunk one night, and my parents were fighting out in the driveway. He was heading to the bar, but my mother didn’t want him to leave because he always came home in worse shape than he was when he left, and he got violent when he drank.” I swallow around the ball of emotion lodged in my throat. “He got in the car and I ran into the street to stop him. I hated seeing my mother upset, so I thought everything would be better if I could just keep him from leaving.” I pause, sucking in a breath before letting out the rest of the words. “He stepped on the gas pedal, and gunned it. My mom jumped in front of me, and he mowed her down. Dragged her under his car for half a mile before he realized what he’d done.”
Tears well in Stephen’s eyes. “She saved your life.”
I shake my head. “She wouldn’t’ve needed to if I hadn’t run out into the street.”
His eyebrows press together. “You can’t seriously blame yourself for that.”
I shove him back and move across the room. “Let’s go. I don’t want to spend the night talking about this shit.”
Stephen stares at me a moment, rooted to the spot I left him in. I know he wants more out of me, but I’ve already said too much.
“I don’t need your pity,” I say.
He blinks away his emotion, and hikes a nonchalant shoulder. “Just wishing I would’ve beat your father’s ass last year when I met him.”