Page 148 of Trust Me

Chapter 39

Oliver

It was late when I quietly left Dean’s room. I hadn’t eaten dinner because I was still spiraling when he came in to tell me it was ready. I felt like shit about it, like I was ruining his family’s perception of me, but I’d just needed a moment. He said they understood, and I just hoped that he was right.

I glanced back into the room, making sure he was still asleep. His arm was stretched out where I’d just been. More than anything, I wanted to lie down with him again, but my stomach kept growling. Since he told me he’d wrapped a plate up for me, I decided to eat it before I settled in for the rest of the night.

Using the flashlight on my phone, I navigated through the house. It was just a tiny hallway, a compact living room, and a galley kitchen. Dean and Blake’s rooms were barely big enough for a bed and dresser because, apparently, it used to be one bedroom. His parents ended up adding a wall after Dean was born so they could have three rooms in the house.

Something about that made this whole place feel more homey. It was lived in, with a history that was special to them. Like the writing on my wall behind the dresser, there was memory here. It was real, tangible.

I brushed my hand over the laminate countertop. It had rough spots and little nicks that felt like they’d been made by knives. In my head, I saw Dean as a teenager, coming home after football practice to make a sandwich. He probably neglected to use a cutting board and made some of those marks on the counter. Maybe he was a little less responsible back then and that was how he’d learned.

After grabbing the plate from the fridge, I started to unwrap the plastic. I gritted my teeth at the sound and turned away from the hall, hoping to make it quieter. When I put a hand on the microwave, I paused.

Too loud.

I grabbed a fork and started eating the food cold. It was still delicious.

A sound from outside made me freeze. I went to the back door that was accessible through the little dining room and peeked out of the blinds. Someone was sitting in a chair on the patio, alone in the dark.

It was a bad idea, but I took a breath, then slid open the door. Blake looked over his shoulder with wide eyes. When he saw me, he turned back around and brought a cigarette to his lips.

With my plate in hand, I took one of the seats at the table. The yard was hardly a blip, just a square brick patio with no grass. It was probably just a few times larger than my balcony.

“Insomniac?” I asked lightly.

He lifted one shoulder as he took a drag. The scent of it made my nose twitch, but I refrained from showing my distaste.

“Dean’s a good cook, huh?” I said.

“He always surprises me.”

The words struck me as a compliment, but his tone left room for debate. Unashamedly, I studied him, too intent on understanding him to care if he hated it.

When he looked at me, his lip curled just a little. “Want one?”

I glanced at the cigarette between his fingers. “Nah, I don’t smoke.”

“That’s good. At least you won’t get Dean hooked on a bad habit.”

I snorted a laugh. “Me? Unless emotionally devastating anime or badass hero arcs are your idea of bad, I’d say he’s just fine. In fact”—I leaned forward to rest my elbows on the table—“he’s probably the bad influence.”

He scoffed. “You act very unassuming, you know.”

“Is that a bad thing? This isn’t my house or my family.”

“Then why are you here?”

He flicked the ash off of his cigarette too aggressively. Watching the ember burn brighter as he smoked it made memories flash behind my eyes. The worst houses I’d stayed in were the ones who smoked. Some of the better ones did too, but those didn’t stick with me the same way.

“I’m here to support Dean,” I replied simply.

“Mmhmm. Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

“What other reason would there be?”

“No idea.”