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“I think I said it was your legs”

“I can’t believe I get your anything up”

“I know” I s, breathing slowly in through ood for me” It comes out rasped

“C’ that, you must be scared And if you’re scared, you shouldn’t be”

My chest feels too tight, because I don’t knohat I can say—to make him understand where I am What’s at stake for me

Maybe it doesn’t matter

I catch his gaze before turning left onto the highway, and I decide it doesn’t Nothingin this moment with him At least until I can’t anymore

Josh

He’s wearing sunglasses, so I can only really see his mouth The way he bites the side of his cheek, then chews his lower lip His hands

There’s souess he’s stuck in his head, although I can’t guess why He’s such a prickly porcupine, and so closed off,strain for hiht I tellhim out of it

I tap his upper arm “Give me your hand”

He hesitates for just a second before reaching toward ot his eyes locked on the road; I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to look at me

I wrap his hand in both of ood?” I ask him softly

“Yeah” It’s raspy

“This is the football hand, huh?” I turn it palet sore sometimes? Strained or whatever?”

He nods

“What do you do for that?” I roan

“Fuck,” he groans “Maybe that”

“Yeah?” I rub between his thuer

“Damn, man”

“A little tight?” I whisper

“Always”

I , because ithis hand down to h and put mine over it