We spend half of the day in the pool, naked. The rest we spend in the living room, curled up on the couch or making food in the kitchen.

I have to devote Sunday to studying. Drew promises to give me the day for my schoolwork, and he sticks to it. He's still not home when it's time for bed. I get ready and curl up with my current reading-for-fun novel.

My eyes drift closed. Just a few minutes...

I wake up to the feeling of weight shifting on the mattress. I turn to see Drew, sitting next to me in his boxers, hands curled around a glass of water.

"Hey." He takes a long sip then hands the glass to me. "You finish?"

I nod, down half the glass, and set it on the bedside table.

"I'll give you room to study for the next two weeks." He shifts closer. "But I'm here if you need a break."

"A break?"

He smirks and lies next to me. His arm curls around my waist. He lifts himself up, so he's looking down at me.

His fingertips go to my wrist and he traces the faint scars. "These really weigh on you, huh?"

"Yeah."

His voice is low. "I know I freaked when you first told me. I wanted to protect you—"

"But there was no one to punch in the face?"

"Kendrick, don't be rude to people who are trying to open up to you." He moves closer. "I don't ever want you to hurt like that again. Not alone."

"You can't stop me from experiencing pain."

"But this—it's so much to hide. How do you manage that?"

"I'm used to it."

"You sure you're okay living like that?"

"Not forever." I shift onto my elbow. "But I'm not ready to face the kind of scrutiny I'll get when people see."

He nods like he understands. "If there's any way I can help—"

"Let me handle it. Please."

Drew turns off the lights and slides next to me. He turns me around so we're face to face. "Let's play a game. Truth or truth."

It's dark, but I can just make out his eyes.

"One question each," he says. "You can start."

I nod. I'm awake enough for one question. There's one burning a hole in my brain.

"You never want me to hurt again," I say.

"Yeah. But that's not a question."

I meet his gaze. "You're human. There must be times you hurt. Not someone you loved hurt, but you hurt."

"I hurt when the people I love hurt." He squeezes my hand. "I hurt when you hurt."

"When did you hurt because you hurt?"

"When Willow ran off with that asshole." His eyes turn down. "I didn't hear from her for days. I thought she was gone, forever, dead or ran away. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't even play my guitar. I only went looking for her boyfriend so I could make sure he hurt as bad as I did."

I close my eyes to picture teenage Drew in a fit of rage and agony. I never saw him feel anything like that, but I can still picture it so easily.

"When else?" I ask.

"When I got my first C."

"You got a C?"

"Yeah." He shifts away like he's embarrassed. "This algorithms class in college. I studied my ass off, but it did me no good."

"But you're a rock star."

"Back then, I was just a guy who killed it on the guitar." He turns back. Makes eye contact. "Still cared what my parents thought of me. Still had this idea I'd end up some Silicon Valley programmer who only played as a hobby."

"I can't picture that."

"Me either. That's why I've been so pushy about this teaching thing. Because I know how it feels to try to fit into a life someone else made for you."

"Do you ever doubt your ability to play?"

"You already had your question. But no. Not since I was a teenager." His gaze drifts to the pillows. "That hurt. When my mom stopped talking to me."

"What happened?"

"She said that if I took a year off from school to pursue the band, that she couldn't support me. For my own good supposedly. Of course, I dared her to follow through. Dared her to stop talking to me. I figured I'd give it a couple weeks and she'd realize how wrong she was. But she never did. Six months went by and nothing. Wasn't until my sister called to tell me I wasn't invited home for Christmas that I realized there was no turning back. I fucking lost it. Cried even."

"Really?"

"Really."

"But you always act so tough not being in touch with your parents," I say.

"It's better not to think about it. I can't change her mind. Dropping out officially sealed it. She's never talking to me again."

"But you're... you make a lot of money. Don't you?"

He laughs. "I have six figures in my bank account and seven invested in mutual funds. That's rock and roll, huh, mutual funds?"

God, he says it so effortlessly. I have seven figures. I'm a millionaire. No big deal.

"Did you ever tell your mom that?"

"Nah. She wouldn't care. Willow tried for a while to change her mind, but only thing she decided was that she'd kick Willow out if the subject stayed in the conversation." He pulls me closer. "Maybe she'll forgive me one day. Maybe not. Either way, I'm not apologizing for doing what I love."

"You could see her while we're in San Francisco."

"I'm not sure that I want to," Drew says.

I nestle into his body. "I'm sorry you went through that."

"Thanks." He runs his fingertips over my shoulders.

We're quiet for a long time.

Drew shifts. He runs his fingers through my hair. "Why didn't you tell me about your cutting sooner?"

"Same reason you didn't talk to me about your ex or your family."

He tilts me so our gaze meets. He's staring at me like he's demanding an explanation.

"Because it's ugly." My gaze goes to the ceiling. "Because I was tired of people worrying about me, or looking at me like I was damaged. Because my ex-boyfriend dumped me the day after he saw those scars. But mostly because I wasn't ready to tell anyone."

It's hard to breathe.

I pull the blanket over my head. I can't think those words. Not yet.

"Let's go to bed. I'm exhausted." I shift into my pillow.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Goodnight."

"You sure?"

"Just tired." I turn and press my eyelids together.

"I'm gonna play for a while." He shifts off the bed. "Sweet dreams."

He stands in the doorway, eyes on me, for a few moments. Then he turns and he's gone.

And I'm stuck alone with the words I still can't admit.

* * *

We fall into a comfortable rhythm.

We have breakfast together. I go to school, study for hours in the library, come home and collapse on the couch. Drew holds me and strokes my hair and teases me mercilessly about how cute I look when I'm tired. He puts me to bed, forcing me to shower and dress and brush my teeth and making it very worth my while.

I push away my anxiety about the trip. I'm going to tell my mom and I'm going to survive it.

I'm going to let Drew help me.

I'm going to be okay.

The days of my tests are a blur. I'm in class or in the library or asleep in my bed. I walk out of my last final at two p.m. utterly exhausted. I'm about to crash on a concrete bench when I see a crowd forming on campus.

A dozen girls are milling around something. Or someone. I move closer. There's nervous shrieking laughter from the girls.

"Thank you, but I'm taken."

That's Drew.

He spots me through the girls and motions come here. I push past them to rush into his arms. He squeezes me tightly.

"What are you doing here?" I squeeze him back. He's warm and he smells fucking good.

"I have a surprise for you." He kisses me like he's oblivious to the crowd we're drawing. "We don't have long. We're meeting the band for karaoke tonight."

"You sing karaoke?"

"No, but for you, I might make an exception."