Chapter 20

TWENTY

I wake up the next morning, groggy and exhausted on account of having stayed up almost until dawn, overthinking the choices that brought me to this moment.

When I open my eyes, the other side of the bed is empty. I’m not disappointed. I’m not . Of course he didn’t stay. What the hell was I expecting? Besides, it’s good practice. I can’t get used to having him around. I’ve already been acting like an idiot, so I am not going to delve any further into the complete, shitty mess I’ve already made of things.

I sigh and contemplate life a little while longer before I drag myself to the bathroom and take an ice-cold shower to get my head back on straight.

It doesn’t really help, so now I’m just cold.

I get back to my bedroom to find a sweatshirt, and there, right there on my dresser is Sutton’s hoodie from last night. My heart gives a treacherous bang.

It doesn’t mean anything, my brain points out reasonably. He probably just forgot it here when he snuck out earlier.

Shut up, brain! My heart starts beating in an excited staccato. It’s a clear sign we’re meant to be!

I rub my hand over my face and stare at the hoodie.

You, Wren Mills, are a fucking idiot.

And to really, properly underline just how true that last statement is, I pick the hoodie up, lift it to my nose, and inhale deeply.

After that, I put the hoodie down decisively and go downstairs. There’s thumping music sounding from behind Theo’s door, the kitchen is empty, and a glance at the schedule on the wall tells me Jordan’s left for his shift already.

I open the fridge and peer inside, but nothing looks appetizing, so I forgo that mission. I look around, trying to figure out what to do with myself now, when I hear faint voices from somewhere.

I round the corner to find the door to Remy’s workshop ajar.

I head that way, my heart beating excitedly with every step I take.

That.

That is a problem.

I stop right next to the door, intent on lecturing myself to act normal.

“Hand me that screwdriver,” Remy says. There’s a clatter and a second of silence. “The hex,” he says.

I smile to myself. Leave it to Remy to rope somebody into the role of an assistant that quickly devolves into a lesson about whatever he was working on at any given time. I’ve spent countless hours in Remy’s workshop, handing him tools, learning how to solder, rewire, tighten clips, replace circuit boards, and so on and so on. Since Kira spent most of her time with Jordan, Remy’s house was almost like a second home anyway.

I start to head down the short flight of stairs that leads to Remy’s sanctuary, but his voice stops me.

“So. You and Wren,” Remy says.

There’s a beat of silence.

“There’s no me and Wren.”

My stomach plummets, and it’s suddenly very hard to swallow.

“No need to get defensive,” Remy says, calm and almost sounding absent. “And no need to lie.”

Silence falls again. I take a deep breath.

Act normal.

Act normal.

Act. Normal.

“He’s remarkable,” Remy says. “But you probably already know that.”

I can only assume Sutton is either nodding or shaking his head, because he doesn’t say anything.

“Resilient,” Remy continues. “And tough. The boy’s tougher than anybody else I’ve ever met.”

“What are you doing?” Sutton asks. His voice sounds strange. Choked.

“Just having a conversation.”

“Shouldn’t you be warning me away from him?”

“What the hell would be the purpose of that?” Remy asks mildly. “Six-millimeter wrench, please, if you’d be so kind.”

There’s a metallic clink before Remy continues. “He’s a grown man with a good head on his shoulders. If he deems you worthy, why the hell would I argue?”

“Even people with good heads on their shoulders make bad calls from time to time.”

“What self-deprecating bullshit.”

I almost laugh, even though nothing about this moment is funny.

“Are you honestly telling me getting involved with someone like me would be a good idea?” Sutton asks. “Wren’s already been to hell and back, but I’m supposed to lay more crap on his doorstep and ask him to just ignore everything that comes along with me?”

I frown, because I’m really not sure what he means. What crap?

“We all have baggage,” Remy says.

“Seriously?” Sutton asks. Or maybe demands is a better word to describe the way he sounds—both incredulous and annoyed.

Remy doesn’t say anything.

Seconds tick by.

“It wouldn’t be fair,” Sutton says.

“That’s not for you to decide, is it?”

They both fall quiet after that. After another minute of feeling like I’ve grown roots and am now stuck in place, I pry myself free and sneak away from the door and then up the stairs. Then I stomp back down, making sure to make as much noise as possible.

At the foot of the stairs, I take another deep breath.

Act normal.

“Morning,” I call out. “Anybody home?”

There are footsteps, and then Sutton steps out the door of the workshop.

He looks at me.

And he smiles.

And if there really is something going on, he doesn’t show it.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi.”

He looks at me for a long moment.

And he steps closer, until his toes touch mine.

He leans forward.

And kisses me.

My heart might as well have grown a pair of wings with the way it soars in my chest. His hands cradle my face, and he slowly takes me apart with his mouth.

“That…” I say when he pulls away. I lick my lips. “That is a good ‘morning.’”

His lips twitch.

“Can I take you out to breakfast?” he asks, gaze still locked with mine, intense and somehow sincere.

I nod, trying my best not to seem too eager.

“I’ll go get dressed,” I turn and head back upstairs, where I pull out a pair of my usual sweatpants and pull them on before I take a long-sleeved T-shirt from the second drawer.

Then I pause, look back toward the dresser, and hesitate for way too long over something that is essentially so mundane.

I put the shirt back in the drawer and pull out another one.

Forest green fabric.

Round collar.

Short sleeves.

The conversation I overheard earlier is still making the rounds inside my head.

I can handle whatever baggage Sutton was talking about. I can. But maybe he needs further proof. Maybe he needs to see me handling my own baggage a bit better. Maybe I should stop concentrating on those past voices of people. The ones that pointed and stared and whispered when I walked past them. The ones that whispered “monster” and “freak” when I passed in the hallway.

It’s almost summer, and it’s getting hot, so I should just wear the fucking T-shirt. I toy with the hem until I’m forced to roll my eyes at how dramatic I’m being. I take the shirt and pull it over my head, then quickly head back downstairs before I can change my mind.

Sutton is still at the foot of the stairs, waiting. He looks up when he hears me coming, and his gaze sweeps over me, taking in my bare forearms. His smile widens.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod.

And we head out.