“I’m not Luce!” He cackles and squirms on his bed, shifting the blankets beneath him. “You ready for your one minute?” I ask.

He nods, still squirming. When Lachlan was a baby, he wouldn’t sleep unless he was being held. Then as he got older and moved to a big boy bed, the only thing that changed was that only I was allowed in his bed. So every night at 7:00, I’d get in his bed with him and wait until he fell asleep. Sometimes, he wouldn’t be able to sleep and after a long-ass time of lying there, wide awake, I’d attempt to leave. He’d cry. I’d tell him that I would only lie with him for one minute. He had no idea how long a minute was so it was more like five seconds. At some point, he started calling tuck-ins “one minute” and now it’s stuck.

I fix his blankets and tell him to get under before joining him. “Can I cuggles you this time?” he asks.

I shift to my side and face him. “Sure.”

His small arms wrap around my neck and pull me toward him so his forehead’s touching mine. “Remember that time when you weren’t here to cuggles and do my one minute?”

My eyes narrow, my mind searching. “When I was at track camp?”

He nods. “And New Jersey at the start of summer.”

“How do you remember track camp? You were three.”

“I remember things from when I was free.”

“Three,” I correct. “Tongue to teeth. Thhhh-ree.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Okay.” I close my eyes, the exhaustion quick to consume me. I hadn’t slept much last night, and I’d been out with Lane most of the day. I’m almost tempted to sleep in Lachy’s bed with him, but the second I close my eyes, Laney fills my mind.

I wanted to kiss her.

When she told me she’d miss seeing me every day—I wanted to kiss her.

“Do you love Laney?” Lachlan asks.

The kid reads minds. “What?”

“Do you love her?”

“Yes,” I tell him truthfully.

“Like Cam loves Lucy?”

I wanted to kiss her when we were in that store, my hand on her waist, her chest against mine. I wanted to dip my head, find her lips with mine and devour them the way I’ve only ever dreamed about.

“Luke!”

“What?”

“Do you love her like Cam loves Lucy?” he asks again, his blue eyes big and waiting.

“How do you think Cameron loves Lucy?”

“They sex,” he says simply.

“What the f— What the hell did they teach you in school?”

“Do you and Laney sex?”

I get out of his bed and throw the blankets over his face. “Go to sleep.”

“Do you?” he shouts, but I’m already rushing out of his room. “Do you and Laney sex?” he yells, louder this time.

Dad freezes at the top of the stairs. “Did he just say what I think he said?”

I nod. “I don’t know where he got it from.”

Surprisingly, Dad grins. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?” I ask, bouncing on my toes, anxious to leave.

“Do you and Laney have sex?” he asks, arms crossed, waiting for my response.

“I have a girlfriend!”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Logan says, stepping out of his room.

I ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means,” he says, eyes narrowed.

Leo climbs the stairs, deciding to join in. “What’s going on?”

“Luke and Laney are having sex,” Dad says with a chuckle.

I sigh. “This is how rumors get started.”

“They’re not having sex,” Leo mumbles, removing his t-shirt as he walks past me and moves to the bathroom.

“How do you know?” Logan asks, raising his chin.

Leo steps inside the bathroom and turns to face us all, one hand on the door, ready to close it. “Because Laney’s smart and beautiful and way too good for Luke.”

“What the hell is so wrong with me?” I whine.

“SEX!” Lachlan shouts.

I tried to get her off my mind, but the only thing I could think about was Laney.

One last year with Laney.

Sure, I’d see her on holidays, and I’d make sure to come home on weekends whenever possible, but it’s not the same. I’d be gone, living a life where she wouldn’t be around to call me out on my screw ups, and she’d move on and live every day without me. Fuck the fact that I wouldn’t be able to crawl into her bed whenever I felt the need to be close to her, but I’m positive she’d fill those nights with date after date, guy after guy. All of them not me. That thought alone has my stomach doing somersaults and my heart beating wildly. I almost thump at my chest, mad and frustrated with myself, because I have one year. Just one year to make her want me the way I want her. She listened to me talk about girls, about my awkward-as-fuck fumbly first time, and she never mentioned anything. Not a damn word. And now I’m mad. At her. Because she should’ve said something, right?

Without thinking, I slip on my running shoes and head out. I have zero knowledge of the time. It was seven when I put Lachy to bed, but who the hell knows how long I’ve been in my apartment, pacing back and forth, trying to push thoughts of her out of my mind.

I’d felt closer to her today. Closer than I’ve ever felt. And not just physically. I feel like there’s a giant clock hanging over me, counting down the days, hours, minutes, seconds until… I can’t even process what happens when the final second ticks over.

Before I know it, I’m at a crossroads. A literal crossroads. I’ve spent day after day here—the only part of my routine run where I stop. I look left. Look right. Not for the cars, but for guidance. Right brings me past Laney’s work, toward the school, and a couple more rights take me home.

Left?

Left brings me to her.

With two fingers on my pulse, I attempt to count the beats, but the numbers are blurred, my concentration drowning in thoughts and images of her.

She looked good today.

She smelled even better…

Fuck, I almost lost my mind.

I’m still losing my mind.

I take the 468 steps to her door.

I knock once.

Twice.

On the third time, I begin to panic, because seriously? What the fuck am I doing here? I turn to leave, but the door opens and my panic triples.

“How dumb am I? I tried calling you,” she says, and I face her.

She’s looking right at me, her hair damp and loose, cascading around her shoulders.

I blink.

“Your phone, right?”

She’s not wearing pants.

Jesus shit.

She’s wearing on oversized shirt—her dad’s work one—and nothing else. Well, maybe something but I can’t see it, and so I let my imagination take me away.

“Luke?” She waves a hand in my face. “Are you here for your phone?”

When I don’t respond (too busy imagining what’s beneath the clothes—or cloth… or whatever the singular for clothes is), she says, “How long have you been knocking? I was in the shower.”

Goddammit. Now I have naked Laney in the shower in my head.