Page 61 of Trust

Cash can’t stop coughing, but Chris sets his bottle down, the corner of his mouth tugging slightly. It looks nothing like mockery, more like respect.

“My dad lost his mind,” I add, poking at the fire. “Because I defied him. Because I assaulted a guy. Then the boys avoided me like the plague. Honestly, it wasn’t worth the trouble trying again.”

They’re quiet then, processing it seems. I’ve never told this story to anyone before. No one has ever been close enough to hear it. Letting it out is freeing in a way I didn’t expect.

After the tongue incident, I changed my style. I was sick of how men constantly scanned my body, as if deciding which part to touch or comment on first. It didn’t click until I went out with Ethan. Then, I couldn’t unsee it. It left me feeling dirty like I needed to scrub off someone else’s thoughts sticking to my skin. Even without bright colors and dresses, the harassment didn’t stop. It just shifted. I lost count of how many times I was asked if the carpet matched the drapes. Pigs. All of them. Except Chris and Cash. They never do any of that.

We sit by the fire long into the night, and I don’t want it to end. Everything is right, this version of them, and this version of me.

MINE

Cash

Half-covered with a blanket I wake on the couch with a stiff body and a redheaded girl on my mind.

Rain hammers the roof with fury, creating a constant background noise. The downpour ended our bonfire sooner than I wanted it to. I hope there will be more like it. For the first time, I was meeting the real Sara, not just the defenses she keeps up.

The smell of coffee and bacon drifts from the kitchen. It’s comfort, basically. I stretch my arms over my head, listening. Upstairs, there’s movement, light footsteps. Then the unmistakable sound of a shower turning on.

I get up. Stix is at the stove, his back to me, pan in one hand, spatula in the other, already working on breakfast with an intensity that belongs in a field operation. I rub the back of my neck and shuffle over, not completely awake yet.

“Morning,” I mumble.

“You’re up late,” he says and motions toward the cupboard. I grab plates, then reach for the silverware. Our movements sync, each of us knowing exactly where to be and when.

I glance toward the ceiling. The water is still running. “She’s been in there forever.”

“Guess she needs a moment.”

“So,” I say finally, reaching for the mugs. “Quite the story she told last night...”

He lifts the bacon from the pan and sets it on paper towels to drain. “The one about almost biting some stupid guy’s tongue off?”

I huff. “That’s the one.” I’ve never been this aware of my tongue, constantly pressing it against the roof of my mouth, imagining what it’d feel like with part of it missing. Would I still taste all the flavors in a tomato sauce?

“Forget about it,” he warns.

“Like you could?” I set the mugs down harder than necessary. “I mean, come on, that was her first and last experience? Ever?”

He gives a slow nod, eyes on the eggs. “Yeah, apparently.”

The sound of the rain and the sizzle from the pan blend together. I think about the firelight from last night, how it lit up her face, how she leaned in, absorbing everything she heard. Hungry. Not necessarily for us, but definitely for something more.

“Just one kiss gone all wrong,” I think out loud.

Stix doesn’t respond. Probably chanting She’s a job in his head. I don’t get why he’s fighting it so vehemently. Well, I do, but fuck it.

“She’s eighteen,” I say eventually. “And she’s never—”

He shoots me a look. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not. It’s... fascinating.”

“Hey,” he says, his voice low as he pours coffee. “Don’t be a jerk with her today.”

I roll my eyes. “Relax. I’m not gonna mess with her.”

“Flirt all you want, but no crossing lines. If she lets you teach her, that’s a success.”