“Everything okay?” Nate asks when I settle once more onto my back. “Yeah.” I squirm, wishing I could tell him and uncomfortable with feeling like I can’t. I just need to talk to somebody—I don’t even need them to talk back. All I want is someone to sit and listen while I word-vomit everything that happened with Max, and how rough it’s been since then. This wound needs excising, and the longer I wait, the worse I feel.
