Page 186 of Chasing Headlines

I let out some combination of a sob and a laugh. “No.”

“Then you’re not the last person I'd want.”

“Second to last, then.” I tried to smile. I'm sure I was just a watery mess.

“No, but you do talk a lot. When you’re nervous or upset. You just say . . . some jumble of words. It's hard to keep up with, or know which ones you mean.”

I swallowed the urge to speak. Wiped at more tears. I didn’t even know why I was crying. I was just so tired. And everything in my head and chest was all mixed up.

“Look, I . . .” He stopped and let out a long breath.

My heart thudded out of turn. My head quieted. Everyone had a story. What could his be? Did I know it? Was it what the world had already witnessed . . . an angry child striking out at a cold, heartless world?

I met his gaze. His eyes were warm, almost dewy in the moonlight.

“My mom wasn’t someone you messed with. She could turn a person to stone with a look. Even when I knew she was in pain, and I could see it plain as day on her face. She didn’t cry. Not really.”

Oh. My heart squeezed and my lungs, I couldn’t get enough air.

“Except the time she tookmeto the ER after I crashed my bike. I needed stitches, but was fine. Just a kid trying to do stupid tricks on my bike.”

I could picture it. “How old were you?” I breathed. I wanted to know . . .

“Eight, I think.”

I closed my eyes and imagined him at eight. Bruises and a few cuts on his smaller face. A black eye, maybe. His mom holding him.

The way my brother held me when I woke from a nightmare.

“There’s a man in your room. A human being. Intricately fashioned . . .”

“It didn’t make sense. I was the one all banged up. And like a stupid kid with my father’s ‘boys don’t cry’ speech ringing in my ears, I sniffled but held it all in. The doctors called me brave. And there was my mom, always so much stronger than the rest of us. So why was she the one in tears?”

The small hitch in his voice spoke volumes. My heart panged. I knew the sound . . . the ache of loss. The need for a person who was no longer there, or capable of giving what he, what I . . . longed for.

I opened my eyes and shifted to sit beside him on the floor of his room. I heard him. I strained with every part of my body to listen, to catch every syllable. To understand. And yet I got the feeling there were layers to his narrative. Did he grasp them all? Or was he still discovering pieces of his own story? What did he want me to know?

My face warm and wet with tears, I leaned my head against his arm.

“Coaches, friends, girls, teachers. Even my father, they’ve come and gone throughout my life. My mom, she’s the only one who cried for me.”

And in the space, the quiet of Breslin Cooper’s room in the middle of the night, with only a hint of a moon as a witness . . .

He found me.

“Until you.”

Chapter Fifty-Four

Olivia POV

Astrange sense of quiet settled into his dorm room. I woke the next morning, on the floor, where he sat beside me. When I lifted my aching head and managed a smile, I received a broken one in return. His eyes downcast, a half-hearted attempt to curve one side of his mouth.

I wondered but didn’t pry. If he had something to say, he proved he could say it to me. And I’d proven I could and would listen with all my heart.

I made sure he had fluids, painkiller, ice. I responded to texts from his teammates and his new soccer friends—so he wasn't overdoing it on 'screentime'. I let Fendleman in when he stopped by with food.

Antonio checked in on me. So did Cat.