Page 82 of Heal Me, Love Me

My dad nodded. “You eat enough for two people. Someone has to help with the leftovers.”

Keaton chuckled, and a lump formed in my throat at how amazing my family was. They didn’t make me explain why he mattered or act like loving him was something they had to adjust to. They just made room, and after years of hiding him, losing him, and trying to convince myself I could survive without him, I had to leave in the morning and trust that coming back would still mean coming back to this.

After dinner, my mother waved us away from the dishes before either of us could turn on the sink. “You leave in the morning,” she told me, taking the plate from my hand. “Go do something other than stand in my kitchen looking sad.”

Keaton reached for the serving bowl. “I can help.”

“You can also listen.” She pointed toward the hall. “Both of you.”

So we did.

Keaton and I ended up taking showers—separately—because he was staying over since my flight was so early. He went first, and when I came back from mine, he was sitting cross-legged on my bed with two controllers beside him and the old gaming console already on.Halo Warsfilled the TV, and the menu music was turned down low.

I stopped in the doorway. “Seriously?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re leaving in the morning. I deserve one last chance to destroy you.”

“You’ve never destroyed me.”

“Because you play like an asshole.”

“I use strategy.”

“By taking forty-five minutes to build an army while I’m trying to have fun.”

I closed the door most of the way but left it cracked. “You pickedHalo Wars, and you’re mad about my strategy?”

“I’m mad you use your patience as a weapon.”

I sat beside him and took the second controller. “That sounds like a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

For the next hour, we played the way we used to, shoulders pressed together, volume low, trash talk quieter than usual because my parents had gone to their room for the night. Keaton still rushed too early, still got annoyed when I cut off his supply pads, and still took it personally whenever I built turrets before he could roll in with Warthogs.

“You’re doing it again,” he said.

“Winning?”

“Building turrets instead of fighting me.”

“That’s called strategy.”

“That’s called being boring.”

I glanced at the screen. “You want me to attack?”

“I want you to stop hiding.”

I laughed under my breath. “Fine. Don’t complain when you lose.”

“Oh really? You’re lucky your parents are in their room.”

“Or what?”

He turned his head and kissed me before I could say anything else, quick enough to shut me up. But when he stayed close, my controller nearly slipped from my hand.

I glanced at the TV. “Your base is getting destroyed.”