Page 33 of The Long Way Home
But that summer, it grew into something I could no longer ignore. What had once been manageable—something I could bury beneath jokes and late-night talks and the safety offriends—turned sharp and insistent. After spending a week with her in that place, it felt impossible to pretend I hadn’t crossed some invisible line. I thought she might have felt it too.
There were moments that stayed with me long after they passed. The way her eyes held mine a second too long, like she was searching for something she wasn’t ready to name. I swear her hand would linger on my arm or at my waist, casual enough to dismiss, deliberate enough to haunt me. And God, the night we almost kissed, standing there, close enough to feel her breath graze my jaw. I knew I was close enough to ruin everything. And I’d never wanted to do something so badly or been so terrified of it at the same time.
I couldn’t push the feelings away like I had before. I’d tried. I told myself it was just proximity and the nostalgia of our friendship. I even tried to convince myself that summer had a habit of making everything feel bigger than it was. But the feelings only grew louder. Clearer. They followed me into quiet moments. They burrowed their way into the spaces where I used to feel safe. I started to imagine things I had never let myself imagine before. What it would be like to reach for her hand without hesitation, to be more than the person she laughed with and leaned on. What it would mean to choose her, knowing I might lose her.
By the end of that summer, I decided I had to risk everything.
I knew what I was gambling. I knew I could ruin the one friendship that had always mattered most to me. But I also knew I couldn’t keep living in the in-between. I wouldn’t survive loving her in silence any longer. So I made up my mind. I wasgoing to tell Sunny the truth. I was going to come clean after the lake trip, once things settled down. I was ready to take the risk. Ready to burn the safety of what we were for the chance of something more.
I just didn’t know that everything was about to fall apart before I ever got the chance.
Now, here, watching her in my living room, framed by the glow of the hallway light, that same pull tightens in my chest. I’ve lived in many places across the country, in many different apartments. But being in this house, here with her, I think this could be my home.
No.
Stop.
I force the thought down hard, slamming a door shut before it can swing open any wider. This isn’t what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure she’s okay. Nothing more. Josh trusted me to protect her, not to want her. He never wanted me to imagine a future that isn’t mine to claim. I don’t get to be selfish where Sunny is concerned. I don’t get to blur the lines just because it feels right.
This is about keeping her safe. That’s it.
She sets the photo back on the shelf gently, putting something fragile back in place. I study her face, trying to read her like I used to.
“Are you okay?”
She nods slowly, her eyes fix on the photo for a moment longer before she meets my eyes.
“I just miss him and that lake,” she says quietly. “I haven’t been back since that trip. Losing him still hits me more than I thought it would at this point. I just feel a little lost without him lighting my way.” She lets out a sigh. “These last four years have been hard.”
I swallow hard; that feeling is so familiar it causes a knot to form in my chest. “Yeah. It’s like I know we’re supposed to keep going, keep moving forward, I know he would want that for us, but part of me will always be stuck back there.”
I shift a little closer, and our arms brush. I don’t notice how little space there is between us until I feel her body tense beside mine. Her eyes flick up, catching mine, and I’m certain those warm browns could swallow me whole if I let them. Every bone in my body wants me to close the distance between us. I want to offer some kind of shield to the pain she carries, but I don’t.
“I miss him.”
“I miss him too,” I admit.
She shakes her head, not pulling away, but not answering either. Instead, her fingers twist at the ends of her hair.
I stay close for a moment longer, then attempt to break the tension between us with a grin. “So, what are you in the mood to eat? And I’m starving, so I know you are too.”
Her smile grows a little wider. “Honestly, anything but salad.”
“Alright,” I say, pulling out my phone. “What are we thinking—burgers, Chinese, pizza?”
“Not burgers. Too messy,” she says, as her eyes widen. “I could do Chinese, but pizza sounds kind of perfect.”
“Pizza it is.” I nudge her arm. “You’re still a mushroom person, right?”
“Yes, please, mushrooms and pepperoni.” I watch as a smile takes over her face.
“Of course,” I say, typing in the order. “Large cheese, mushrooms, pepperoni. Got it.”
She glances over. “You’re good with mushrooms, right? I can’t remember if you like them or not.”
“Sure.”
I don’t like mushrooms. Maybe I would if I could try them, but I’m allergic—not dangerously, but enough that I’ll have to pickthem off. I’d rather pick mushrooms off my own slice a dozen times than deny her something she wants. I know she’s gotten used to settling on things for the benefit of other people. I want her to be happy, even if it’s at my expense.
