But maybe it’s not just his tattoos he’s keeping covered.

I know Marcus is self-conscious about the raised ridge on his forearm needed for the dialysis treatment. He thinks it’s unattractive. I, on the other hand, have always connected the twisting bulge with him staying alive. There’s no part of my mind that views fistulas as ugly.

Maybe, if I told Ben that, he’d stop wearing so many long-sleeved shirts.

Maybe he’d stop wearing shirts altogether.

I jump and glance up when Ben finally answers, trying not to look like I was mentally undressing him.

“I’ve been eating sushi since I was three years old. Does that count?” Ben’s eyes focus on me with a hint of hope in them, like he wants to be weird like me.

My smile is indulgent. “I’d say that’s a bit odd. But it doesn’t make me want to gag.”

He smirks. “Sorry to disappoint. You want me to go grab a handful of dirt and try to choke it down?”

“Wow. You really know how to show off for a lady. I don’t think a man has ever eaten dirt for me before. At least, not since kindergarten.”

“There’s not much I wouldn’t do to try to impress you, Holly.” The joking tone is gone from his voice, and when I meet Ben’s gaze, a sudden flash of heat races over my body.

But that’s probably just the fire.

I focus back on my sandwich, and we finish our meal in silence.

Ben cleans up the dishes as I go to sit on the couch, enjoying the gentle blaze. The flames shrank while we ate. Trying to be careful, I place a log in the fireplace before quickly retreating to my seat.

The heat from it is lovely, and the flickering amber and crimson embers are mesmerizing.

“How’s your first fire? Everything you imagined?” Ben settles on the opposite side of the couch, turning to face me with his arm slung over the back cushions.

“I love it. It’s so warm and soothing.” Relaxed for the first time in a while, I sink back and let my body go limp.

These past few weeks have been tough. I’ve tried so hard to continue on my steady course, power through all the stress, never admit that there are nights I want to cry myself to sleep. With classes, work, internship hours, study sessions, club meetings, and doctor appointments, I’ve found it harder to keep away the ever-looming emotional storm.

Besides that one time, I haven’t called Ben after my blood draws. Even while he tried to make me laugh, I could see the guilt as he watched me struggle to calm down. And it was too easy to rely on him. I need to do this on my own. So, each time, I spend close to a half hour in the restroom, working through a set of breathing exercises. Safe to say, my nerves are shot for hours afterward.

A few bright spots have kept me sane—talking on the phone with Marcus every other day, eating Monday night dinner with Pops, receiving texts from Fred about his tests going well, and visiting Ben during his dialysis sessions.