Float

Original Edition: Chapter Twenty-Two

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blake's hands tighten on the steering wheel. But now that I'd started to speak, the words just kept bubbling up in my throat and spilling over.

"My dad got a new job in New York last year, and he said housing in the Big Apple was tight and that there wouldn't be enough room for me to live with him. But I know that's bullshit, because I Googled his apartment complex and the smallest studio they have was like two thousand square feet. Two bedrooms, too. I bet he has a freaking foosball table in the second one. And my mom's still back home in Alaska, but she adopted one of those stupid Pomeranian dogs and she knows I'm allergic. I was breaking out in hives the whole time I was packing to come down here. Neither of them has called me yet to ask how my summer's going. I don't think they care. I could probably drown in the Atlantic Ocean and they'd—"

The car jerked to a stop.

I blinked out through the window for a moment before I realized the front wheel of the Jeep was two inches from the curb.

Blake had pulled over.

Shit.

I'd thought that maybe, if I opened up a little, Blake would feel more comfortable telling me about his mother. Friendships are about trust, after all. I couldn't just sit there and interrogate him. But I'd dug a little bit too deep into my own story, and somehow I'd ended up telling him exactly how fucked up my family dynamic was.

God, I'm such a wreck.

I kept my hands clasped together in my lap, refusing to look anywhere else but out through the window. My breathing was rapid and a little uneven—the same way it was after I tried to do anything that involved running farther than the distance between the living room couch and the refrigerator—and I sounded like I was panting in the silence of the car. For what felt like the longest time, it was just the sound of my erratic breath in that beat-up Jeep.

Finally, Blake shifted in the driver's seat.

I squeezed my eyes shut, half expecting him to unlock the doors and tell me to take a hike.

"Hey," he said.

The word was spoken softly, but not in that gentle tone people use to comfort you at someone's funeral. It was calm, asking for a moment of my attention. I peeled my eyes open and took a deep, steadying breath before I meet Blake's gaze. There were no signs of pity in his expression, like I'd been both expecting and dreading.  

Instead, he looked determined; sure of himself.

His hand came out over my lap and I felt his fingertips brush against my clenched fists. Almost immediately, the tension in my muscles unraveled. The fingers on my right hand untangled themselves from my left, only to be replaced by Blake's.

His palms were hot and a little bit sweaty, but I didn't mind.

"I wanna show you something," he told me.

His fingers tightened around my hand just a fraction, silently asking me if that was okay.

I nodded.

Blake nodded back, and then he slipped his hand from mine and grabbed the steering wheel. The warmth of his skin lingered, though. He pulled Jesse Fletcher's Jeep away from the curb and started back down the street, but took a left turn at the next intersection. We drove for another two minutes before I spotted a large, clinical blue and white sign emerging up on the left.

Marlin Bay Hospital.

I bit my tongue as we turned into the hospital parking lot because even though I was really curious about where he was taking me, I didn't want to end up saying anything stupid. Again.