Page 88 of Darlin'

I swallow. Trust. It's always a two-way street. It must be a two-way street. If it's a one-way and we're going opposite directions, then...then we'll crash. There will be an accident. Someone will get hurt. Someone always gets hurt. Is it two-way?

Or one?

"Good girl," Jesse says as I slowly lift my fingers from his shoulder, shallow breaths gusting from my lungs. His hands remain clasped around my waist as I untangle my legs, kicking my feet ever so slightly in the teal water. "You're doing so well, princess. That's right." He circles around me slowly and carefully while I remain in his hold. "I got you, okay?"

"Okay," I whisper, shivering as he places a hand on my upper back.

"Just relax into my arm," he says, letting go of mywaist; my legs and my feet float up to the surface of the water. I close my eyes as my body becomes weightless. "Keep breathing, Sav. Just like that."

"Am I doing it?" I mutter; his voice is muffled and echoey as my ears submerge into the pool. "Jesse?"

“Yes, princess, you're floating.” This time his voice seems further away. Distant. My heartbeat quickens. "Relax, Savannah. Everything's fine."

"I am?" I ask, fingers trembling as my mind fights the urge to sabotage my process. "I'm floating? Really?"

"Mhmm," Jesse hums. "You're a natural."

"Oh." I smile, all my limbs light and free and airy. "You know...this feels awfully similar to the time I went to float tank."

"A float tank?" The water ebbs and flows around me as Jesse settles by my head, and I can no longer feel his touch on my body. But I'm not scared. "What's that?"

"Like a sensory deprivation tank?" I take a deep breath, keeping my eyes closed as I enjoy the beams of warm light on my face. "Basically, you lay in this giant, dark water tank full of Epsom salts. It kinda mimics zero gravity. There's no noise, no light, nothing. Just you and your mind."

"Huh...that sounds interesting." I feel Jesse's touch on my cheek as he brushes a piece of hair away from my face. "What's the point of that?"

"My doctor suggested it after—" I swallow. "It's supposed to help with anxiety and such."

"After what?" he whispers, feathering his fingers down my arm.

"I—" Flashes of my stint in the hospital send a rippleof unpleasant memories through my veins. "Let's just say that the pageant world ain't always kind."

His voice is low, a timbre of concern stroking each word, "What does that mean?"

"It means..." I suck in a labored breath. A two-way street can be paved. It can be created.Ican create it. "Did you know I could tell you how many calories are in just about any food? A banana is between 90 and 120, depending on its size. A slice of cheese is around 110. An almond has seven calories. Cashews have more. I wasn't allowed to eat 'em often."

Jesse remains inhumanly still as I continue, forgetting that I'm floating on water. "Several years ago, it got pretty bad. I—I looked...I needed help. Beau was the first to notice. On a particularly bad night, I walked in on him deleting all the social media accounts from my phone. He said I was withering, fading almost. I didn't wanna hear it. I told him that he didn't understand the kind of pressure I was under. I had to be perfect. I had tolookperfect. I guess Beau didn't care. He went to my momma, and then two days later, they hired a doctor. I saw her for a year. Three times a week for fifty-two weeks, and then...Momma said I was cured."

I open my eyes slowly, squinting at the sun. "I was back on the circuit the following week." A melancholy smile threatens my expression. "I won Miss Greenville that year. Probably a sympathy win, but...still a win. They said I was perfect."

"Youareperfect," Jesse whispers, curling his arms around my waist. I rotate in the water, wrapping my arms around his neck. "You're perfect like this..." He stares atme. Really stares. Like he's looking past every mask I've ever worn. Gently, he removes the hot pink goggles I forgot I was wearing. "And like this." He outlines my face, dragging his thumb over my nose, my lips. "Can't you see just how beautiful you are?"

"I don't have makeup on," I mutter. "I probably look like a sewer rat."

Jesse hoists me up, readjusting his hold as I nestle comfortably around his torso. "I'm not talking about the way you look, Savannah." He takes a purposeful step forward, and another, and another, until my back is pressed up against the textured cement of the pool's edge. He dips his head, kissing the slope of my neck, breathing in my scent, whispering so softly I could swear it's the trees talking, "I'm talking about everything else."

"Jesse—"

With rough, passionate force, he captures my lips, his fingers raking through my damp hair, the urgency in his movements nearly debilitating. I yank on his hair, pressing myself as close to him as I can, our kisses sloppy, uncoordinated, and so freaking sweet.

As we exchange breaths, pants, and moans, I know I'm pushing myself further into a hole. He trusts me. He's let me in. Not far. Not entirely. But as much as he could. I can't break that trust. I can't trash all the progress we've made. I can't ignore the fact that my heart races at the sight of him, that my body relaxes whenever he touches me, and that he's felt more like a home to me than any house I've ever lived in.

"What are you doing to me?" Jesse rasps, leaning his forehead against mine as he catches his breath. He peersat me through his thick lashes, conflict and resolution both stirring in his all-consuming gaze. "What is this?"

It's a good question. It's a question that requires a thought-out answer. The answer must be transparent. Honest. It requires a level of confidence. Of certainty. Of knowing that his answer matches mine. I want to be confident. I want to tell him what he makes me feel. I want to, but...I'm scared. Frightened, really. By the consequences. By the future. By what could be. By what, if Miguel wasn't fibbing,willbe.

"What do you want it to be?" I whisper in a timid voice.

A pained look captures his features. "I—" He swallows. "There's..."

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