Darker Than Any Shadow

Chapter Forty-eight

The rain started late that evening, and by nightfall, it was a deluge. The apartment was finally empty except for Trey and me. Once we’d called Cummings with the information about the poems, it had been a deluge of a different sort.

“Is this it, Ms. Randolph?” he’d said as he’d walked out the door.

“I hope to God it is.”

“I hope to God you’re right.” He’d touched his temple in a mock salute. “May our paths never cross again.”

“Amen to that.”

I’d closed the door on him, relieved but unsatisfied. It hadn’t been messing with the mafia that got Lex killed. Or shoplifting. Or threatening an entire poetry team. Or dealing in black market reptiles. Or creating a fake identity. Or pissing off a serial killer.

No, someone had stolen his words, and he hadn’t been able to let it go. End of story.

After our finale with Cummings, the chastened concierge had made a pharmacy trip for me, returning home with new meds and a real ice pack to replace the bag of peas. Home, I’d said to myself, testing the word on my tongue. For the first time, Trey’s place felt like home, like I’d earned my place in it, having beaten back the barbarian hordes with my own two hands. Which meant I certainly deserved another drawer or two for my very own, maybe even half the closet.

Trey put me to bed and brought me soup. Not miso. Chicken and stars from a can with cheap saltine crackers, exactly like I asked for.

He stood at the window, watching the rain. He’d triple-checked every person-sized space in the apartment before engaging all the locks. So now we had another wrinkle in the nightly security procedure. But he knew it wasn’t a guarantee. He’d said it himself—there is no such thing as one hundred percent safe. Moats and gates and double-deadbolts only kept out the dangerous strangers. Once you let people in—once you opened the doors from the inside—the guarantees vanished.

“I’m sorry I took your cigarettes,” he said. “And your keys. And called Gabriella without asking.”

I put down the spoon. “Trey—”

“No, let me finish.” He sat on the edge of the bed. He kept his eyes on the floor. “I know that I’m not very good at being a boyfriend. I say the wrong things. I do the wrong things. But the one thing I can do right is show up. And I always will, for as long as you want me to. I promise.”

I sat there quietly stunned. Then I reached over and got his ubiquitous yellow pad and drew a circle with my name in it. Then I drew another circle with his name in it. Then I drew a line between the two, back and forth, heavy and undeniable.

I showed it to Trey. “You got it?”

He nodded. “I got it.”

And then the quirk at the corner of his mouth deepened and curved. It was shy and slight and hesitant, but it was unmistakable—a smile. The dimples proved it, deep ones like someone had knuckled them into his cheeks as a baby. I kissed him then, kissed him good, good enough to taste that smile in my own mouth.

“You’re the best damn boyfriend ever.”

He shook his head. “Probably not.”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

So he did.