Page 83 of Press Play

A couple more of my older cousins join us, but I barely notice. I’m too busy acknowledging my mom’s smirk. It’s all in her expression.

She knows.

From the start, Mom always said Wren and I were meant to be more than friends, but we dismissed it. If she could, she would scream from the rooftops that she was right and shove it in my face until her dying breath. She won’t do that yet. For now, she’ll send me a message with her eyes. One that says, “And you thought you could hide this from me.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Wren

I’ve been hitby a truckis the first thought that registers in my mind when I force my eyes open. I’m so glad today is Sunday. The mere idea of getting out of bed makes my joints hurt.

Days like this don’t happen as often. Having celiac disease means my body is either working with or against me, and today, it’s at war with itself. I blame the mixture of emotional distress and physical stimulation from yesterday. I don’t recall how I got into bed, nor much of getting home. When I cuddled into Theo’s arms in front of the fire, exhaustion swept over me, and I was out.

I hold it together long enough to take a shower. This small victory is something, and because of it, I’m rewarding myself with getting back into bed. The terms sloth, potato, and lazy float through my head when my body hits the mattress again. But I refuse to let it bother me. On days like this, it’s best I listen to my body and its needs. I’ve learned the hard way that if I push it, the pain will increase tenfold the following day.

My joints ache with a dull throb that spreads with each attempt to stretch. Each movement is stiff, and I think about all the days I’ve fought through this on my own. But today, in Theo’s home, it’s ... safer. Like, maybe I can just be. No need to pretendI’m fine when I’m not. And when he gently knocks, his voice softly calling my name, it’s like he’s here for me in a way I never knew I needed.

“Wren, are you up?” he asks, his words tender, as if he understands this uncomfort even though he’s never felt it.

I’ve learned to live with it, but somehow, just seeing him, knowing he’s close, makes me feel a little lighter, a little less alone.

Theo and I had aneventfulday yesterday, but that’s not the point. The last time we had a one-on-one conversation, he asked what I wanted, and my answer is the same. What will his response be though? Does he want what I do? Or will we forget we went down on one another and move on? How do you even move on from that?

Shit, I’m spiraling. Focus, Wren. One word at a time.

“Not for much longer,” I call out.

The door cracks open, and he leans against the frame with an amused grin. “Did you just wake up?”

“Yes, and I’m going back to bed. Everything hurts,” I grumble.

He offers me a knee-weakening smile and approaches me. “Scoot over.”

With a playful huff, I roll over to the left side of the bed, and he gets comfortable next to me.

Reaching out, he brushes a strand of wet hair behind my ear and lets his knuckles linger on my cheek. “One of those days?”

I nod while sighing. “And I only blame you for thirty percent of it.”

“Only thirty?” he chuckles.

“Shocking, right?” I tease him.

“Do you remember Film and Lit class?” Theo asks, his voice a quiet murmur as he strokes a strand of hair away from my face.

I laugh softly. “You mean the class where I practically used you as my pillow every day?”

He grins, a little bashful. “Yeah, that one. You’d crash on my shoulder, and I’d sit there trying not to move because I didn’t want to wake you. I’d tell myself you needed the sleep more than I needed to feel my arm.”

I blink, surprised. “I never knew you did that. You always seemed so... nonchalant.”

“I loved knowing that, in some small way, I could be there for you.” He brushes his lips against my forehead, and I close my eyes, tears pricking at the corners. “And I still want to be, Wren. If you’ll let me.”

My chest tightens, a mix of relief and longing filling me. I reach up and take his hand in mine, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You have no idea how much that means to me. And... I want that too. I want us to be that for each other.”

Theo studies me for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes softening into something else—something deeper, almost hesitant. He bites his lip, as if bracing himself, then finally murmurs, “There’s something I’ve kept to myself, Wren. Something that’s been there for so long it scares me.”

My heart stutters. “You don’t have to say anything?—”

---