Page 24 of A Man To Remember (Skin on Skin #3)

JESSE

AUSTIN'S ALREADY WAITING on the corner of Fifth and Main when I round the block, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, eyes scanning the crowd flowing past him.

He hasn't spotted me yet, so I slow down my pace, taking a moment to just watch him.

When did that become something I do? Just milling around, staring at this man like he's some kind of museum exhibit I can't quite figure out?

There's something about the way he stands, patient and solid, that makes my chest do this stupid fluttery thing. Like my ribcage is full of moths instead of lungs.

I sneak up behind him, close enough to smell his cologne, and tap him on the opposite shoulder from where I'm standing.

He spins left, finds nothing, spins right, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees me grinning like an idiot.

"Jesus, Jesse!" He clutches his chest dramatically. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Just keeping you on your toes."

"I was perfectly comfortable on my feet, thanks."

He starts walking and I follow, matching his stride. The afternoon sun cuts through the clouds, making everything look gold-washed and temporary. "So, where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"I hate surprises."

"No, you don't."

"How would you know what I hate?"

He gives me a sideways look. "Because you look curious, not annoyed."

Am I really that easy to read?

"Maybe I'm just good at hiding my annoyance."

He smiles. "Maybe. But right now, you're just curious."

We walk in comfortable silence for a while, weaving through pedestrians and street vendors. The backs of our hands keep brushing as we move, these tiny points of contact that send electricity up my arm every single time.

I want to take his hand.

Thread our fingers together like it's the most natural thing in the world.

But I don't know if I should. What that would make us, if anything.

Are we dating? Hooking up?

Having an extended nervous breakdown together?

I'm so busy spiraling through the possibilities that I almost miss it—the moment he guesses my thoughts, as if hearing them in his own head, and reaches for my hand.

His fingers slide between mine, warm and sure, and suddenly the whole world narrows down to that point of connection.

"This okay?" he asks.

I squeeze his hand in response.

We keep walking, hands linked, and I try not to overthink it. Try not to take detailed notes of every sensation, every place where his skin touches mine, try not to wonder what people think when they see us.

Of course, I fail spectacularly on all counts.

But Austin's thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand now, and all those nagging thoughts lose their meaning.

I'm so lost in the feeling of his palm against mine that I don't notice where we're heading until the building looms in front of us, all red brick and ivy-covered walls.

I stop walking so abruptly that Austin stumbles.

"Jesse?"

I'm staring up at the campus entrance, at the bronze letters spelling out the university name, at the handful of people lounging on the steps.

"What are we doing here?"

Austin's still holding my hand, thumb still doing that circle thing. "I thought we could take a tour. You know, so you can get a feel for the place. In case you decide to apply after all."

My stomach drops. "Austin, I can't—"

"Why not?"

"Because we're two grown men. We can't be wandering around a college campus. That's weird. Creepy, even."

"It's summer break. There's hardly anyone around."

I search for another excuse. Anything to avoid having to explain the real reason I don't want to go in there.

"We can't just walk in. Don't you need permission or something?"

Austin pulls out his phone and shows me a confirmation email. "Good thing I signed us up for the official tour then."

Shit.

"Austin..." The real fear creeps into my voice despite my best efforts. "I'm not an eighteen-year-old kid. I'm twenty-nine. These kids, they'll take one look at me and think I'm a professor."

Austin steps in front of me, blocking my view of the campus, forcing me to look at him instead of the building that represents everything I'm not sure I'm brave enough to want.

"Jesse. Look at me."

I do. Reluctantly.

"Can you trust me? Just for a couple of hours?"

The question hangs in the air between us. Simple words that feel like they're asking for something much bigger than a campus tour.

All I want to do right now is drag him away from here and back to the safety of my apartment, where I know the rules and the walls can't judge me for being a decade behind schedule.

But I nod.

Because he's asking. And apparently I can't say no to anything he asks for.

"Okay," I whisper.

He smiles, the kind that makes his whole face light up, and gives my hand a squeeze.

"Come on, then. Let's go learn some things."

The tour group is smaller than I expected—maybe two dozen people clustered around a bubbly sophomore who clearly draws energy from other people's awkwardness. But as Austin and I join the circle, I notice something that makes my chest loosen just a little.

I'm not the oldest person here.

Not even close.

Most of the people are kids, sure. But…

There's also a woman who has to be in her forties, taking notes on everything the guide says. A man with gray temples and work-weathered hands. A couple that looks like they're in their thirties, whispering to each other about parking and childcare.

Austin notices me noticing.

Every few minutes, he nudges my ribs with his elbow and directs my attention to another group member who clearly isn't eighteen. A silent reminder that I'm not the only one starting over.

As we walk through the quad, past the library and student center, I find myself creating backstories for my fellow tourists.

The note-taking woman? Recently divorced, finally pursuing the degree she gave up to raise kids.

Gray-haired guy? Veteran using his GI benefits, wants to be a teacher.

The whispering couple? Both working full-time, looking at night classes, dreaming of something better.

People like me. People who took the scenic route through life.

By the time we reach the academic buildings, I'm actually listening to the tour guide's spiel about class sizes and professor accessibility, picturing myself walking these hallways with a backpack and a schedule.

Austin's hand finds mine again, squeezes once, and I realize he's been planning this moment. This exact revelation.

When the official tour ends, the group disperses, but Austin leads me toward a bench overlooking the main quad.

"So?" he says, settling beside me. "What do you think?"

I watch people cross the grass, some my age, some younger, some older. All of them just... belonging here. Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I think..." I pause, trying to find the right words. "I think maybe I've been making this harder than it needs to be."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I kept picturing myself as this outsider, you know? Like everyone would stare and whisper about the guy who couldn't hack it the first time around."

Austin leans back against the bench. "And now?"

"And now…it doesn't feel as impossible as it did in my head."

He doesn't say anything after that, just watches my face like he's memorizing it.

"Thank you," I say finally. "For making me come here. For believing I could do this even when I didn't believe it myself."

"You've already done the impossible, Jesse. The rest is easy."

We sit in comfortable silence, watching the campus come alive around us, and for the first time in years, I let myself imagine a different future.

One where I'm walking these paths with purpose instead of just visiting them with fear.

***

AUSTIN

WE LEAVE THE campus hand in hand, no destination in mind, just walking because neither of us seems ready for the day to end.

I take in the city I ran from all those years ago, expecting the familiar weight of old ghosts.

But this time, nothing looks gray. Nothing feels heavy with unfinished business.

The buildings I used to see as monuments to my worst memories now just look like buildings. The streets that used to whisper my failures now just hum with ordinary life.

When did that happen?

When did this place stop being the setting for my personal horror story and start being just... a place where things happened once?

Maybe healing isn't the dramatic revelation I always thought it would be. Maybe it's just walking down familiar streets and realizing they don't have power over you anymore.

Or maybe it's holding hands with someone who was part of the story but doesn't have to be part of the ending.

I've been running since high school, I realize. From this city, from the memories. From the possibility that I might have to face them again.

But now? Now I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be.

Jesse stops walking suddenly, tugging on my hand to get my attention. "So, I've been thinking…" He narrows his eyes like he's mentally solving some complicated math equation.

"About…?"

He bites down on the corner of his bottom lip and hesitates, as if not fully trusting the result of his calculations. Finally, he says, "You're working tomorrow, right?"

He has an agenda, that much is clear.

"Right. Why?"

"How long?"

I furrow my brow, mentally going through my schedule. "Just one model. Two hours, I guess. Why ?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, a sly grin forms on his lips as he pulls out his phone, starts typing furiously, and resumes walking, his pace faster now.

I catch up to him in two long strides and stretch my neck to peek at his screen. He pulls it to the side, away from my prying eyes. "Excuse you. Private matters."

"What are you up to?"

A shit-eating grin lets me know that whatever it is, he's clearly pleased with himself. "It's a surprise."

I huff. "Fine. I actually love surprises."

I don't, but I won't give him the satisfaction.

And with that, he finishes typing, pockets his phone, takes my hand like it's this thing we do now, and changes the subject.

Guess I'll just have to wait.