Mercury

by Amy Jo Burns

Baylor had never taken her on a date. Never bought a milkshake with two straws, never tucked two movie ticket stubs into his pocket, never even called her on the phone. Somehow he knew how to find her only when he wanted to, like hunting down a doe on the first day of the season. He knew how to cinch a wound with his hand and stitch it up with his mouth—but he didn’t know what to do when someone told him he was bleeding, too.

“Men do things, and women apologize for them.”

I’d rather do something I’m not ready for with you than waste my life waiting for things to be perfect.

They were each a secret someone carried, and Shay had been weighed down by them since the day he’d been born.