Back at my apartment, I strip off my running shorts and step into the shower.
I crank the water as hot as it'll go.
Steam fills the glass enclosure, but it can't wash away the image of Erica standing on that sidewalk, drowning in oversized cotton and looking like everything I never knew I
wanted.
Chase's words echo in my skull: Sometimes, people just want to be with you.
I press my forehead against the cool tile.
The problem isn't that I don't understand the concept; the problem is that I understand it too well. Being with someone means letting them see the parts of you that aren't carefully curated for public consumption.
It means risk.And I left risk behind the night I cradled my brother's broken, bleeding body in the middle of an ocean of black ice as a mangled car burned behind us.
