“Missed you too.” I shift to let the warm water run down the front of my body as Nate strokes his fingers through my hair, so soft and tender.

“It’s all gonna work out,” Nate says. “Promise. I’m gonna call my father’s lawyer. He’ll get you out of this.”

I sigh. “How, Nate? There’s no footage. They found that poison in our room. They have those ema—”

“You know all the wild shit he’s gotten my dad out of.”

“Yeah, but he never murdered anyone.”

“You didn’t either, remember? This guy’s one of the best attorneys in the country. Like Kardashian, Shapiro-level good.”

I turn around and press my forehead against his neck and inhale the warmth of his skin. He sweeps a thumb across my cheek. When I open my mouth, my words rush out of me. I don’t know what I’m saying, not really. The words are mostly a blur.

I regurgitate what those cops said to me, the questions they asked, the way they kept looking at me. I tell him the things Taylor said, how she produced those fake white tears right in front of my face.

Then I groan and tell him how scared I am.

I know I didn’t kill Simon. And I know Taylor is setting me up. But I can’t see a way through this. Not anymore.

All Nate can do is listen. And reassure.

And worry.

I can feel it in his body whenever he presses against me. It’s an awkward stiffness, a constant trembling. And every time I look into his eyes it’s as if I can see him thinking a thousand things at once. Despite his light words, I can see exhaustion in every line of his face. He looks like he hasn’t slept the whole time I’ve been away. He’s taking this just as hard as I am, and that makes me feel a little better. It’s like we’re in this together, always.

Nate helps me rinse and condition my hair, and it’s more intimate than any sex we’ve ever had. We dry off together, then, with all the lights off, climb into bed. Nate holds me quietly for a moment, but I can still feel the stress in his body like it’s my own. We don’t say anything for the longest stretch of time. Sometimes there’s no need for words when you know someone well enough to know exactly what they’re thinking.

Time passes.

Sleep won’t find me. My body is exhausted, but my mind won’t stop working. For a while I watch Nate sleep, his head on my chest, rising and falling gently with every breath I take, lips parted in a way that makes him seem much younger than he is. It occurs to me that I’m probably viewing him the way his mother will view him forever, and the thought warms some fragile part of me.