“No, it’s not,” she said, so plainly. “What we did was very different.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, exhaustion seeping in. “How’s it different?”

“Have you ever talked to someone about this, Nate?”

I jolted away from her, panic rising in my throat. “You do think I’m like him.”

“No!” she said, grasping at my shirt and forcing me back to her. “I meant just to get it out, to help you understand the distinction.”

I shook my head. “I’ve never told anybody. My girlfriend in high school? She guessed. Saw evidence of it herself.”

She nodded, probably because she herself had connected the dots. And maybe others would have too, had I permitted anyone to get as close as I allowed Jessie to get this weekend. And what had that gotten me—but a whole shitload of panic and guilt.

“Your father,” she said, her voice soft, cautious. “Used it as a fear tactic. To beat someone down, take away their dignity.”

I cringed at the truth of her statement, remembering just how plain it looked on my mother’s face time and again.

“We,”—she motioned between the two of us—“were seeking pleasure, together. That’s the difference.”

“I’m not so sure,” I whispered against the top of her hair.

“A few months after my father died from cancer, I made an appointment at the counseling center on campus. It’s free for students,” she said and then shook her head, as if remembering her point would have no staying power because I wasn’t a student struggling with finances. But it did, because my parents would never pay for a counselor. “Talking to someone helped me get through some hard months of grief.”

“I’m glad,” I said, squeezing her. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“In a way, you’re grieving, too,” she said. “You’re grieving your lost childhood. I saw it so plainly in your eyes in front of that house.”

My breaths were coming harder, faster. She was so spot-on. But she didn’t know the other part of it. “What if I end up just like him?’

“You won’t,” she said.

“But there’s already confirmation that I have. Just look at the marks on your body,” I said pulling away from her. “I’m so damn sorry, Jessie. This . . . what happened between us . . . it can never happen again.”

Chapter Twenty

Jessie

The ride home had been quiet. Nate was struggling with some heavy-duty demons and nothing I had to say seemed to have made any impact, so I left him alone with his thoughts.

All the pieces of Nate had come together for me. The way he’d been with girls. The reason he didn’t allow himself to see them as real, or feel anything with them. Kissing is intimate. My fingers traced over my swollen lips. Hell yeah, it’s intimate.

Nate sought out thrill-seeking activities, like skydiving, to feel emboldened and alive. He was so closemouthed about his family and tensed whenever his brother, Luke, had been around. But Luke seemed so opposite of Nate, he grappled way less, was probably half the person Nate was.

He was afraid of what I thought of him, that much was evident. Maybe he was terrified that I’d let his secret out, tell the guys about him. But that would never happen.

I caught him staring at my profile a bunch of times on the trip back, like he was studying me. I wish he’d just talk to me.

“Nate,” I finally said, finding my voice. “For whatever it’s worth, my weekend away with you . . . was amazing. Thank you for that.”

I didn’t look at him, but I saw him squeeze his eyes shut in my side view.

“What we did . . . what we shared,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Was so much more than some bite marks on my shoulder. And I’m glad I really got to know you.”

His gaze swung to mine, his eyes heavy with sorrow at the mention of the bites. I knew then that he wouldn’t be able to see beyond the marks.

“I’m pretty sure if we lifted up your shirt, you’d see evidence of what my teeth did to you as well,” I said, and his breath caught.

“That . . . that’s different,” he said. “I weigh more and I’m stronger than you. I could have . . . I could have . . . easily overpowered you.”

“But you didn’t, Nate,” I said, gripping my fingers so hard, they turned white on the steering wheel. “You didn’t. No chance. I wasn’t afraid of you. I’m still not.”

The car fell silent again; the only noise was the whooshing wind as the landscape flew by. And this is how I knew that Nate was in complete and utter turmoil. His knee wasn’t jiggling and his fingers weren’t drumming. He was motionless, the way I now knew he got when things were heavy and he was trying to keep the pieces of himself together.

After another mile marker, I said, “I’ll always be here for you . . . if you need a friend.”

I wanted him to know that things didn’t have to change between us, even though they already had.

I’d have to get over how it felt to be with him, having his hands and mouth all over me. Rough and tender at the same time. I wanted to tell him, to make him see that I loved experiencing all the dimensions of him. How, depending on what angle you looked at him, you saw a different side.

When I got to his apartment building he breathed a sigh of relief, like he didn’t have to hold his discomfort in any longer. My heart was in my throat as I tried to swallow away my melancholy.