“What the hell?” he said again. “Your hands smell like fish.” “Have you been crying?” His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away a phantom tear. I swallowed. “Remember what I said about affection?” “Why were you crying, Jamie?” “It’s not a big deal.” “Did something happen?” “People cry for no reason all the time.” “That’s bullshit. Tell me what’s wrong.” “You’re being real dramatic about literally nothing and your hands still smell like fish.” His thumbs brushed over my cheeks again. Quietly, gently, he said, “Tell me what it is so I can fix it.”
