“Ash Ville.” He arches his brows. “She didn’t leave her real name, Evie. It’s not hard to put the pieces together.” He doesn’t even sound upset about it; just resigned.
I swallow. Who would do that? What kind of mother leaves their kid and never looks back? Fury simmers in me. I feel this itchy sense of wanting to do something, but I’m fourteen years too late.
“I wish I could do something. I’m so sorry, Landon. That’s so crappy.” And my words are so inadequate. I exhale slowly, but my stomach won’t unclench.
Landon shrugs, and then sighs, rubbing his hair. “I can’t sleep here, apparently.”
“Of course not,” I murmur. “Can you sleep at home?”
His mouth flattens, curving slightly. “No.”
“So…you can’t go to sleep—or can’t stay asleep?”
“I didn’t know you’d gotten your M.D. already.” When I arch a brow at him, he sighs and rubs his face. “Neither.”
“I didn’t mean to play doctor. Sorry. I just want to fix things for you. Have you had trouble sleeping for a long time?”
“Off and on,” he says, his eyes dipping to the floor.
“When’s the last time you were sleeping well?”
He rubs his forehead, looking at me around his hand. “Before my last ‘family’ decided to move to Munich.”
My chest aches at the vacant look in his eyes. “So—when you were settled.”
He gives a bitter laugh. “Settled.”
“More settled?”
Closing his eyes, he shakes his head: a rueful shake. “Evie…”
“Oh, hush. You like my doctoring.”
He looks at me with raised brows. “If you say so.”
“I have an idea.” I bite my lip. “But…you have to do what I say.”
“What?”
I try to draw a fortifying breath as my heart hammers. Then I whisper, “Come sit by me.”
He blinks. “I am sitting by you.”
“On the bed.” I pat the covers beside me.
Skepticism stamps his face, and self-doubt sweeps me. I’m probably still sweaty from practice, and I embarrassed myself so much in the last twelve hours with my crying and everything else. Maybe he doesn’t want to be up close to me. With some effort, I shove the thought away.
This is Landon. He’s just difficult.
“Come on.” I rub the sheets. “I won’t bite if you do what I say.”
He laughs, and it feels good to see him smile, so I laugh, too.
“Come on,” I urge. “This bed is big enough for both of us.”
He looks down at himself.
“I know you’re still in soccer gear, but I don’t mind. We’ll be dirty together.”
He gives me a smirk, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “I guess I walked right into that.” My gosh, my cheeks are burning.
“Now you have to come sit by me, so I can punch you in the arm.”
He stands, looking reluctant.
I can’t help giggling. “C’mon, Landon. I’m not that bad. Take off your shoes, cover up with one of my seven thousand blankets, and use one of these eleven pillows. Then we’ll watch TV.”
“And?” He lifts a brow.
“You’ll go to sleep.”
He gives me a look that says Yeah, right, and I pat the bed again. He moves the rail and eases down gently beside me.
I’m fairly narrow, and for reasons I now can’t remember, I’m kind of nestled into the right side of the bed, by that rail. So there’s a natural space for Landon on the left side.
Still, it’s strange to feel his body sink into the bed beside mine, to see how much bigger he is than me. Our hips are okay sharing space, but as soon as he sits back, his shoulders crowd mine.
I look up at him, and it’s overwhelming, how very close he is. He smells like grass and sweat and male; his body seems so thick and hard.
By the time he stretches his legs fully out, being careful not to bump my foot, I’m so wound up, I giggle.
Landon glares dramatically at me. “You laughing at something?”
“Those are really giant shoes. Attached to giant legs. What size are they?”
He shifts a little. “Twelve.”
“You should take them off.”
He shakes his head. “I’m leaving them.”
“You think you can sleep with shoes on?”
“I don’t think that’s my problem, Evie,” he says drolly.
“Fine, fine. But cover up.” I hand him one of my blankets, and with a brief look at the door, he spreads it over his lap.
“No one will care that you’re in here. I’m sure my parents think you’re a national hero. And everyone probably knows I was freaking out earlier and need a friend. Did I say anything stupid?”
He smiles down from his position a foot or so above me. “Just that I’m your favorite person. And I think you’re on track. The word ‘hero’ was used.”
I snort. “Was it? Are you sure it wasn’t zero?”
He leans back against the top half of my elevated bed, folding his arms in front of him. “Yep. I’m fairly positive.”
I shrug. “Well, I’m liberal with praises when I’m on the harder drugs.”
Maybe I’m still on harder drugs—because right then, I lean my head against his arm. Suddenly, I’m feeling sort of sleepy…and more than a little cozy.
I can feel his muscles tense under my cheek, showing me that Landon does not.
“Sorry.” I lift my head. “I’m still kind of funky.”
“I can confirm that,” he says, bumping me gently with his arm.
I swat it. “Turn on the TV.”
He cuts his gray gaze down at me. “You’re bossy.”
“It’s a gift.”
He smiles, and I notice for the first time how white his teeth are.
Landon turns the TV on, and we quickly realize we don’t have a lot of options. Just the Weather Channel and “The Late Show.” Maybe something’s wrong with our TV.
We settle on “The Late Show,” and I lean back against the bed. Then I grab one of the spare pillows and pass it to Landon. “So you don’t hit your head on the rail.”
He takes it, but he’s smirking. “I’m not going to fall asleep.”
“Are you kidding me? You look exhausted.”
“I look great.”
“For a thirty-year-old,” I tease. I press the button on my bed’s rail, causing the bed to lurch, moving slowly and noisily into a more reclined position. When I let go of the button, the bed has crunched itself so our legs are slightly elevated, our butts are kind of in a hole, and our shoulders are reclined.
Landon laughs. “You’re right. Comfortable.”
Tears spring to my eyes as I laugh. Landon notices and frowns at my leg. “Do you need more medicine?” he asks, sounding concerned.
“I don’t think so. I’m just really overtired.” I lean my head back and shut my eyes. “I don’t think I can sleep either. Maybe this whole plan was just a ploy to have you help me sleep.”
His voice comes softly. “I’d do that.”
“I really hate this,” I say in a broken-sounding voice. I curl my good leg up toward me. “I’m already tired of having a broken ankle.”
I hear and feel him exhale. Then I feel his finger on my cheek, beneath one of my damp eyes. “I’m sorry.”
A few more tears drip down my cheek, and Landon wipes them. In my entire life, I’ve never been so still as I am underneath his fingertips. The more tears fall, the more he brushes them away. Shock burrows like a cool weight in my belly.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asks in a low voice.