Page 63 of Blitz

I duck down and kiss her cheek. It doesn’t feel like an affirmation; it feels like the end.

We shower in silence. She doesn’t offer to soap me up. She doesn’t touch me. She curls in on herself, draws herself into whatever cacophony is going on in her mind. I’m not privy to it.

I’m not sure if I want to be.

We towel off in silence. I hand her a t-shirt to wear, and we dress in silence.

“I need to study for a bit,” she says.

“That’s fine. I have a book I want to finish.”

“Oh? What are you reading?”

I show her the title. It’s something I borrowed off Wes. He likes gritty suspense stories with ultra-masculine buttoned up heroes who drink bitter black coffee because they hate themselves and refuse to let anyone into their lives. I’m good with mysteries, but the heart-racing suspense novels typically wind me up too much. This is a paranormal afro-futuristic cyber-crime series set in Nairobi. It’s the fourth book in the series and I. am. hooked.

I change the sheets—they’re a sweaty mess—and Mason helps me make the bed, like we’re an established couple with set routines. I crawl into bed with my book, and she sits cross-legged beside me with her laptop and her statistics notebook. I set my hand on her bare knee, exposed by the hem of my t-shirt.

She looks over at me, a lazy smile on her face. “Hm?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to touch you.”

Her smile softens. She leans over and kisses me. Soft, sweet. Tender. Before she can pull away, I slide my hand into her hair, memorizing the sharp citrus scent of her skin mixed with my soap, a perfect blend of me and her.

“Tuck…”

“Study,” I tell her, setting my hand on her knee again. “You have a quiz tomorrow.”

Two and a half hours pass almost without us realizing it. I reach a good stopping point in my book because if I don’t stop now, I’ll stay up until three o’clock in the morning reading, and nobody wants that. She feels confident in her preparation for the quiz.

We turn out the lights, and Mason squirms closer to me. She sets her head on my chest and wraps her arm around me.

“I don’t know what I was saying earlier,” she says into the darkness.

“Mase…”

She rolls over to face me. “No. I don’t know. That’s what I’m saying. I thought I was sure, but now I’m not sure of anything. All I know is I love you and I want to be with you. The rest of me? I’m freaking the fuck out, Tucker.”

I run my hand over her arm. “What’s making you freak out?”

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” She sighs. “I had a plan. It was working. And you came in and were you, and now I don’t know anymore.”

“I don’t want to derail your plans.”

“But you did, in the best way possible. I’m happy when I’m with you.” She sniffs. “I only want to be happy with you.”

“I’ll do my best to make that happen.”

“That’s the thing. There’s nothing you can do. I can’t ask you to regulate my emotions. That’s an impossible ask. I have to do the work.”

“Okay, but we can work on it together.” I run my hand over her arm again. “You can tell me when you’re not happy. We can talk. We don’t hide away from our feelings: we have to address them head on.”

I hear her swallow. “Like you never moving on?”

My mouth goes dry as I’m forced to confront it. “I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t pining, not exactly. I just wasn’t ready. I tried the therapy thing, and it just made me miss you more. I tried getting with someone else and it made me feel worse. So I stopped trying. I got stuck in the past. It was easier that way.”

She’s quiet for a minute. “Does it bother you that I dated other guys?”

“Sometimes,” I admit. “But then I remember that I’m with you now and they aren’t, and they’re probably the ones jealous and pining, and I get to hold you in my arms. So, no. What happened when we were apart doesn’t bother me. It got us to where we are now.”