Page 85 of Embrace

Slowly, I pull back. I take his face in my hands and run them through his hair. “Can I do it?”

His gaze flicks up, watching me as I move back, turning off the shower and filling the tub instead. It takes a few minutes, and I drop soap in it, letting the foam take over.

“You don’t need to do this, Scar. I promise, I’ll be okay.”

“I know. But I want to. Will you let me?”

“Yes.”

Kian’s hesitant as he climbs in the tub, so I make sure all of my movements are certain. I strip down to my underwear, getting into the opposite side of the tub. But I don’t let him see my surprise when he tugs me toward him all the way, until I’m in his lap. The water ripples around us, and he leans back, exhausted.

I take the netted cloth from the edge of the tub and drag it over his shoulders, slow enough to watch the water bead and slide down the planes of his back. The heat of his skin seeps into my palms as I move to his chest, his arms, the taut curve of his abdomen. My fingers catch on the ridges of muscle, the soap slipping down his stomach in lazy trails. He tenses beneath my touch but doesn’t move, watching me with a quiet focus, like he isn’t sure if any of this is real.

I drop the cloth and rinse him clean. I glance at the towel laid out on the vanity, then back at him, hoping he’ll tell me that he wants me to leave before I do something stupid like fuse myself to him.

But Kian shuts out all those thoughts. He pulls me in closer, disturbing the stillness of the water. My throat tightens. Without thinking, I reach for his face, as if I could hold his sadness in my hands, just rinse it off with water. I trace the droplets clinging to his lips before sliding my fingers up over his jaw and ears.

And I don’t know why I do it—maybe to fill the silence, or to fix the look on his face—but I start humming. Desperate to make him feel better.

Kian startles a little, but then his voice breaks the surface like a ripple. “How did you know?”

I blink up at him. “Know what?”

“The song.” He wipes the water droplets from my cheek. “ ‘Over the Rainbow.’ It’s—wasmy dad’s favorite. He used to sing it whenI was sick, or angry, or—” He swallows hard. “When I couldn’t sleep.”

My heart nearly claws out of my rib cage to find his.

“Oh.” My voice feels unsteady now. “I didn’t. I just saw your face when it played in my car that night. Like even with everything going on, you found a single moment of peace and your whole body relaxed. I want you to have that again. To know there’s still little pockets of good, even when you feel like this.”

He stares at me, silent.

“I can stop.”

“No.” His answer is immediate, sharp. “Don’t. Please.”

So I keep humming. His following exhale is heavy, ragged, like it’s been sitting inside him for years. Then he starts to hum quietly, broken and rough, and my chest fractures even wider.

But we stay like that, water clinging to our skin, his voice tangling with mine. Nothing but “Over the Rainbow” and our heartbeats talking to each other.

Twenty-nine

Kian

It’s my firstgame back as captain, and I can’t even enjoy it.

My mom’s still in the hospital. Apparently, she tried to yank the IV from her arm and leave her room. I was just glad Kiyomi actually told me.

Dylan still isn’t cleared to play with us, but he’s been skating with Sierra. And when I asked Scarlett to come to my game last week, I thought she would. But it’s the third period, and I haven’t seen a single glimpse of red in the rinkside seat.

It’s torture when I can still feel the way she dragged the warm washcloth along.

Who I do see is Cassie Carter, wearing my jersey and waving at me from behind the glass. She texted me earlier about being excited to go out, and I had to rack my brain to remember what she was talking about. But at Dylan’s party she asked to hang out and I had agreed, thinking it was nice that she still wanted to be friends even after I made things awkward.

I give her a wave as we trickle back onto the ice for the third period. We’re just ten minutes in, and we’re bombing.

“Ishida, get your head in the game or I have no choice but to bench you,” Coach snaps.

I yank off my helmet. “Bench me? Every shot on goal’s been mine. You want me off, then you might as well forfeit.”