There’s a second knock, a little louder this time. “Come in?”

Julian pushes my door open and whispers, “Hey,” leaning against the door frame. “Can I come in?”

I sit up in bed but don’t turn the light on. “Of course.”

Julian closes the door behind him and sits down on the edge of the bed. Other than the backyard lights peeking through the curtains, the room is dark.

“What’s up? You okay? Is it your ribs again?” I ask, the nearness of him making my heart race a little bit.

“No, I’m feeling better. Since the cayenne and the parsley.” He chuckles softly. “I feel like a pot roast.”

I laugh.

“I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry again. And thank you… for telling me about Frankie and Coley. Do you have any pictures of her?”

My heart slows down a little, and I grab for my phone on the nightstand. My hand brushes Julian’s, and he grabs it and holds on. I pull up the pictures with my other hand and show him Coley.

“She’s everything to me. I can’t even remember what things were like before she was born,” I tell him. The dark stillness settles between us.

“She’s so adorable,” he says, turning his body sideways on the bed but never letting go of my hand. He’s facing me now, the glow of the phone between us on the bedspread.

“Do you really think we can manage to pull off a prank without getting in trouble?” he says into the quiet.

“I think we probably can,” I tell him. “Camille is on board with helping now, and she’s pretty smart about stuff like that. Social things. Keeping everyone happy.”

“She is,” he says, hanging his head. “I think you are, too.”

I laugh a little, wanting to brush it off, but instead I let the compliment settle in my bones like warm syrup.

“Hey, ’lijah?” Julian whispers.

“Yeah?” I whisper back.

“Thanks for knowing how important it is that I make my dad proud,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, lacing my fingers through his and squeezing.

“I want you to know that it meant something to me. That moment in the locker room all those years ago. You meant something to me. It… it never stopped meaning something,” he says, his voice whisper-quiet in the shrinking space between us on the bed.

I lean forward and put my lips on his. My hand finds the waistband of his shorts and I rest my fingers there on his hip while my other hand still holds on to his. He puts his other hand around my back, just above my waist.

He breaks away first, leaning his forehead on mine in the dark quiet of my room.

“It never stopped meaning something to me, either,” I tell him.

· twenty-three ·

JULIAN