She looks at you like she can’t stop…
We’d arrived at my apartment complex. Theo threw the truck in park, and turned to face me. “What do you want to do?”
“What can I do? I don’t have time, and she knows it. I told her about the last biopsy.”
“Well, there you go,” he said, waving his hand. “You told her.”
“Yeah? And?”
“And she’s still here.”
Friday night. I was lying in my bed, reading. Or trying to. My focus kept wandering. Three a.m. is the stillest, quietest part of night, even in a city like Vegas, and the silence amplified the thoughts rattling in my head and heart. They filled the room, demanding to be acknowledged, begging to be answered.
Kacey…
“Knock it off,” I said under my breath.
What is she doing right now?
She would’ve gotten off her shift an hour ago. Been home twenty minutes later if she wasn’t delayed.
“She’s sleeping,” I said. “It’s what you should be doing.”
I tossed the book aside, clicked off the lamp and settled into my bed.
She bought me a bed.
“I’m aware,” I said.
The bed was infinitely more comfortable than the chair but I still couldn’t sleep. I lay on the right side. The left seemed to stretch for miles, like snowy tundra. Cold and barren.
I miss her.
“Shut it, Fletcher. Go to sleep.”
I closed my eyes, knowing it was futile. Then my cellphone on the nightstand buzzed a text.
“Dammit, Theo.”
But it wasn’t Theo. I sat up, the heart in my chest thudding.
Kacey.
Are u awake?
I managed to wait a whole ten seconds before replying. Always. What’s up?
I called my dad.
“Holy shit,” I whispered, knowing what it meant for her. I waited to see if she’d say more. No blinking little dots indicating she was typing. I hesitated, a thousand replies at the ready. Replies that could comfort from a safe distance. How did it go? Are you all right? Tell me about it?
I texted back, I can come over
No punctuation. Neither a question nor a statement. Vague enough she could tell me no.
The rolling dots, and then her reply:
Okay.
I could’ve walked to Kacey’s apartment but I shaved three minutes off by driving. Outside her door, I hesitated.
What are you doing?
“Being a friend.” The stifling night air chewed up the word ‘friend’ and spit it back out at me. “A friend who makes house calls.”
I knocked on the door and heard a muffled, “Come in.”
Kacey’s plant-filled apartment smelled of her perfume and the scented candles she loved. I inhaled deeply, both to catch my breath from the flight of stairs, and to fill myself with her.
She sat curled up on her couch, her legs tucked under her. The coffee table in front of her littered with crumpled tissues. Only the lamp beside the couch was on, glowing yellow over her hunched shoulders. Her gaze flicked to me as I sat in the chair opposite. Even with red-rimmed eyes and a face swollen from crying, she looked incredibly beautiful.
“You want anything?” she asked. “Something to drink or…?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
I cleared my throat, my nerves perched on the edge of their seats, staring. Both the smooth skin of her legs and the way they were folded small into a corner of the couch, woke some primal, male urge in me. I wanted to protect her. To hold her and shield her from whatever hurt her. To put my body between her and the world, and while I was at it, wrap those legs around me and slide inside her…
“I’m sorry, it’s so late,” she said.
“I was awake anyway.” I leaned forward. “Tell me what happened.”
“Would you… Never mind.”
“What? What can I do?” Anything. I’d do anything for you.
Her eyes met mine and her voice was tiny as it asked, “Would you mind sitting next to me? I promise I won’t try to jump your bones or anything.”
“Sure,” I said. I moved from the chair to the couch, leaving a few inches between us, but she closed the distance at once, scooting next to me. Automatically, my arm went around her shoulders.
Because that’s what friends do when a friend is upset.
Except my friend smelled amazing. And I was hyper-aware of my friend’s skin touching mine, and the way I could feel the soft roundness of her breasts against my chest. I expected her to cry. I welcomed a weepfest—it would help bolster my insistence that I was only being a kind, supportive friend. But she snuggled up close and wrapped her arm around my waist, and when she spoke, her voice was watery but calm.
“I didn’t plan on calling my dad,” she said. “I wasn’t even thinking about him today. They accidentally double-booked my shift with another girl, so I got off work early. Around eight. I came home and turned on the TV, surfed around for awhile, and landed on Say Yes to the Dress.” She tilted her head up to look at me. “Have you ever seen it?”