Page 62

Three

Ezra

I look at the passenger's seat in my Jeep—checking. There's no reason to check, though. I can still see him. Feel him. Feel how I feel with Miller right beside me. Like I swallowed sunlight and it's leaking into every single cell, turning them all soft and bright. It's like...exuberance. A bigger version of the way I feel— felt —when I would watch him on Snapchat or Insta. I close my eyes and let the feeling have me for a second.

When I open them, I look at the passenger seat again. Empty and dark. Cold in here.

We won the game, yet I can’t make that feel as real as my obsession with Josh Miller.

After the game, I took an ice bath to chill my muscles, speed recovery along. I stuck around the locker room to talk to everybody, check on the few guys who got hurt or messed up big plays. Then when everybody else got back on the bus, I went to my Jeep. I brought it down here last week, peeked in on Josh as he left the math building, and took the bus back up to T-town. Cleared it with the coaches, and I'm staying here tonight.

This is the night. I got my phone restored by AT I’m gonna throw up. But I play one more. One I wish I never had. It's drunk Miller—slurring.

"Hey Ezzie. I'm on the roof. Remember when you grabbed my dick up here? The stars..." I can't understand whatever he says next. He laughs, sounding raspy. "Mom and Carl aren't here. No one's here." His voice goes to a whisper. I don't understand the first few words. Can only pant as my heart tries to travel to him through the phone.

"Mom said you went into the hospital again," he whispers. "I don't like to think about you there without me. I don't like to think about you anywhere." He exhales slowly. "Was I just fuckin' wrong about it? Tell me something." There's a sound like his scruff scratching the phone. "Honestly, don't. Just take care of yourself. Later," he whispers.

I can't listen to more of these. I look, though, and I realize that there isn't one. It's like a kick to the chest.

I go to my texts. Millsy .

The last one is from August 30.

'I'm not going to text again. Ever again. Bye, Ez. Wishing you the best- as ever.'

I set the phone down, realizing a few seconds later that I'm gasping for air.

"Fuck. FUCK!"

I get out of my car. Smash my fist into the window before I can think that’s not a good idea . I stuff my throbbing hand into my pocket, praying that I didn’t hurt it too bad. A groan comes from deep in my chest, so I cover my mouth with my free hand.

“God.”

I pat my pocket for the cigarettes I haven't had in months. I fucking whimper.

"God. Oh God." I lean over, hands on my knees, feeling like I'm gonna get sick—but I haven't eaten since the game. I rest my forehead against the car's cool side.

Breathe , I tell myself. Just breathe.

I want to scream. I want to break something. I get back in the Jeep and hold the wheel with sweating, trembling hands. I want to sob, but nothing comes out. I feel like I'm choking.

He was mine.

He loved me!

MILLER !

I didn't goddamn dream it. I really wasn’t crazy.

I fumble in the Jeep's glove box, finding the Ziplock I keep there. I put it over my mouth and breathe until I'm not as dizzy.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was right!GODDAMMNIT!

I check his Snapchat. Nothing. He stopped snapping. I check the gay snap for the university and—nothing. I check his friend Daniel.

There's some snaps of a dark sidewalk. Then a big house. I screenshot the thing, zoom in on the house. It's...lit up. It's lit up like a frat house. With fumbling fingers, I search Auburn's frat houses on my phone.

That's when I feel the clawing feeling. Impatience. Desire. Frenzy —to get to him. That's what this feeling was all along. Needing him. I needed Miller, and I tried to leave myself a note. It just didn't work.