Page 50 of Spell Ya Later

“My brother killed himself five years ago.” His hand ruffles his hair, shaking slightly before he drops his eyes to the food in front of us.

That stops me cold. My fork hovers mid-air, noodles of some sort dangling precariously. I’m grinding my teeth in an attempt at holding my mouth shut for fear of gaping at him like a fish.

Get it together, Hazel. You can’t act like a dumbass.

I bring the food to my mouth, chew, swallow. Take the few moments to calm the fuck down.

“I’m sorry. Losing him must have been awful.” Normal response achieved.

I hated pity when my Dad died. Granted, I only had a handful of friends from middle school at the time, and they got bored of my grieving process very quickly. But still, the pity was the worst. The false understanding. The look on their faces.

Like I was a broken thing with no hope of ever becoming a whole human again.

Although, in their defense, I never did.

He smiles. It’s a sad thing that looks so foreign on his face. “There’s...there’s a lot of feelings I have about losing him the way I did. The way he did things. How I could’ve changed things. But, that’s a very long conversation.”

“I don’t want to be that person who says they get it. Because that person sucks and sometimes you just want to be allowed to feel like shit. And I’ve never lost someone that way. But my dad died when I was twelve, so I get losing family.”

Instead of responding, he holds his arms open to me. Maybe he knows that saying sorry only goes so far, maybe he has no words at all. But this is better.

I snuggle into his chest, receiving his warmth—his electric current—like a balm on a topic I’ve never been able to discuss.

Maybe being in a relationship isn’t about finding someone who completes you. Maybe it’s about finding someone who’s broken in the same ways you are. Finding someone who knows what you need because they know how you feel. How you’ve felt in your darkest moments because they’re their darkest moments, too.

“I love fall,” I whisper into Noah’s flannel shirt. “It’s my favorite season.”

“I love summer. I like the heat.”

“That’s because you’re hot.”

He snickers into my hair, pressing a kiss to the very top of my head. “And you’re perfect.”

“Not perfect,” I insist. “I’m pretty weird, honestly.”

“Exactly. I don’t like you in spite of you being weird, I like youbecauseyou’re weird. It’s my favorite thing about you.” He pauses. “That, and how you never make me feel like I need to be anyone but myself.”

“Because I want you, Noah. I don’t want anyone else.”

Once the food is gone—eaten mostly by me, because Nonna Ricci is a goddess—Noah leans back, pulling me with him as we watch the sun dip below the trees. We lie like that, quiet and calm, as the stars twinkle awake on their midnight-blue pillow.

I am safe.

The electric current has other ideas, however. Noah’s fingers travel a path up and down my spine and with each sweep, the electricity crackles against my skin. Being this close to him, with his scent in my nose and his warmth underneath my cheek, I can’t help but want more.

More closeness, more heat, moreNoah.

I pull myself up so I’m hovering above him. His eyebrows draw together slightly, confused by my sudden movement. Hisshaggy curls are off his face, highlighting his eyes. He must have shaved a few days ago, as there’s a light stubble on his cheeks. I take a moment to appreciate him in this moment. Appreciate how vulnerable we both were, and how safe we both are.

He opens his mouth to speak and I descend. Instead of surprise, Noah adapts immediately, wrapping his fingers in my hair. Pulling me closer until I can barely breathe.

I don’t need air, I just need Noah.

“Maybe—” I gasp as Noah pulls my earlobe between his teeth. “Maybe we should continue this elsewhere.”

Blown-out pupils search my face with a lazy smile. “I’d follow you anywhere.”

The door smacksagainst the wall with athwackas Noah and I stumble into my apartment, glued to each other. As soon as it’s closed again, my back is against it as Noah tears at my clothes.