Page 59 of Sunshine

“I tried to do what you asked, Wells. I’ve tried to open up to other people, to find someone who understands what I’m going through, but nobody else gets it. You’re the only one I feel like I canbreathearound because I can be honest about the full spectrum of my feelings. I can tell you how sad I am, and how much I miss him. But also howfuriousand fucking devastated I am.

“Even if Jason felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, even if he was feeling really fucking lonely . . . he hadus, Wells. He had us, and we were so damn good to him, you know? So forgiving and supportive. You didn’t evenwantto play football, yet you gave all that time and energy to stand by him while he worked to reach his dreams.

“I know that him having us might not have been enough to erase the pain he was going through. He was suffering, and we may not have understood the full extent of it.” The tears spill over freely now, but I can’t stop. Ihaveto get this out. “But dammit, Wells, we were there for him as much as we knew how to be. You can’t blame yourself for falling short with something you had no idea about . . . Jasonhadus, and he still held it all in. He didn’t give us a chance to do anything different, and—” I catch my breath just as a sob breaks through, my chest splintering apart right down the middle.

Wells steps forward, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pulling me in close to his chest.Still, I have to finish. “It’s not our fault,” I whisper into his gray shirt, now spotted with my tears. “It’snotour fault.”

“Shh,” he soothes, a strong hand winding into my hair as he cradles my head, tucking me under his chin as my shoulders shake violently. His other palm sweeps down my back. “Layla,” he breathes, and it cracks through me.

“I’m just . . .” I say through the fresh onslaught of tears. “I’m so mad, Wells. I’m so mad at him for making me feel like I wasn’t good enough to help him.” And there is it, my deepest shame. For as much as I tried to put my own needs aside to prioritize Jason and what he needed, it still wasn’t enough.

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I know, sunshine.”

I pull back from his chest, tilting up to face him. His eyes are sad, his lips twisted. But the way he looks at me . . . like I’m something precious and treasured to be careful with and cared for.

It’s too much.

“Stop,” I say, watching his brows pull together as the word wraps around him. His hands stop their movement along my body, but he doesn’t yield his hold on me.

“What?” he asks.

The features of his face become nothing but a blur through watery eyes. “Stop looking at me like that,” I whisper.

But he just shakes his head. “I can’t.”

And . . .oh. It feels like another confession. An aching reminder of a past life, a dark night and a crying girl on her doorstep, desperate to be enough.

A boy who may have wanted something that wasn’t his to have.

I blink through my tears, feeling them glide down my cheekas I watch his mouth part. He hesitates, eyes glimmering with a spark of something electric and new, and then he says it again: “I can’t stop.”

My heart pounds thunderously in my chest, matching the rhythm of his. His eyes drop down to my mouth, only inches from his own, as the air between us heats with our shared breath. “Oh,” is all I can think to say before I reach up to press my fingertips against the rough stubble of his chin, dragging them lightly down the column of his throat.

The hand he holds against my back drifts down my spine before rising again to settle between my shoulder blades. On instinct, I arch into him, and when he lets out a low groan I revel in the sound.

“Layla,” he whispers, his voice unsteady as his other hand skates against my cheek. I close my eyes, savoring the feeling of him right here, his warm and tender presence, a soft landing for every emotion pouring out of me.

How long? How long have you been looking at me like this?

I open my eyes again as he presses another kiss against my skin, just above my brow. His lips stay rooted there as he says, “I’m sorry.” And then he pulls back.

“For what?” I ask, suddenly cold from the loss of him.

He takes a deep breath, shoulders sagging with its release. “I shouldn’t . . .” he starts, then scrubs a hand across his jaw as his eyes pin me in place. “I shouldn’t tell you things like that.”

I can only stare at him until he finally breaks first, turning to face the rushing water beyond. A breeze kicks up, cold and biting as it winds through the rustling trees, like a bucket of ice thrown onto the heat of a moment, hell-bent on snuffing it out.

I wipe at my cheeks, feeling exhaustedand yet . . . there’s somethingalivebuilding in my chest, crackling through the hollow corners that’ve ensnared me for weeks. I want to sink into the feeling, to be consumed by it.

Another gust blows through us, and a big fat rain droplet plops on my forehead.

“Oh shit,” Wells says as he catches the movement of the water down my temple. The sky flashes with lightning, and then completely opens up.

It’s a hard and unyielding downpour that soaks us both in seconds.

“Ohshit,” Wells says again, awestruck as he looks up at the sky. I mirror him to look up too, but my sandals lose their battle with the now wet and slippery mud beneath me and I lose my balance, falling right on my ass.

A deep, roaring laugh spills out of me, so fierce it shakes my entire body. “Layla!” Wells shouts through the rain. He’s on me in seconds, wiping water away from my face so he can get a better look at me. When he realizes I’m laughing his shoulders sag in relief, and then a smile blooms from his face. “You okay?” he asks.

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