The Roommate Pact(68)

“What is it?” he asked, still running his fingers through her soft hair.

“I...” she started.

But instead of finishing her thought, she lurched forward and kissed him.

Unprepared, he fell onto his back and she followed him down, allowing their lips to part only for the barest second. She framed his face with her hands and he gripped her arms as she slid on top of him, kissing him as if she hadn’t seen him in years.

“Hey, what—” he said into her mouth.

She raised her head the tiniest bit.

Something was seriously wrong with him to have stopped whatever she had in mind. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Pressing her forehead to his, she rotated her head back and forth. “Graham, just...be quiet and kiss me.” She paused. “Please.”

Well. He wasn’t gonna say no to that.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The next morning, as Graham leaned his good side against the bathroom counter and stared at himself brushing his teeth, he made a choice.

It was time to put everything out there.

Things with Claire had been a little confusing lately. Sometimes he felt she was experiencing the same thing as him, as in...incredible, terrifying, big emotions that could be described as nothing other than the head-over-heels kind of love. Other times she seemed to withdraw and back off, and he worried he’d gone too far. They’d had an arrangement, after all—and love wasn’t part of the deal.

But over the weekend he’d felt more encouragement about their developing relationship than not.

He’d told her more about his life growing up, introduced her to his family, and walked her around his old high school, touring the place where he’d become such an emotional mess. Being there with her had been a revelation. Like him, she hadn’t fit there at all, and in the best way. She wasn’t like they were, and he realized with a conviction he typically only experienced when climbing that he didn’t have to be afraid of her.

Less important but still to be considered: Reagan was due back this evening. If there was a time to talk about how things had changed and what they were going to do about it, it was now.

Claire had taken the day off just in case they’d ended up staying through Monday, so she was still in bed. He regretted texting his boss last night to say he could come in today, but couldn’t change it now. One of the guys would be by to pick him up any minute, so he quickly grabbed a Post-It note from the kitchen and scribbled out a note, sticking it in the middle of the bathroom mirror.

Check your email, Ms. Sparkles.



23

She had the dream again.

No, not a dream. This was a nightmare.

In the months following her dad’s death, it had been so frequent and visceral she’d had trouble falling asleep. Most nights she’d crept into the living room—careful not to disturb her mom, who’d desperately needed rest—to watch television, hoping to distract her brain until she eventually fell under from sheer exhaustion.

With time and therapy, the realistic imagery came less often, and eventually became almost nonexistent. She’d even had some good dreams about her dad over the years, ones that had her opening her eyes with a smile on her face and a joyful memory on her mind.

Not this one. This particular dream was like a punch to the chest, forcing air from her lungs and sending her heart racing in panic. Her eyes would fly open, the sudden change of scenery disorienting and confusing until she realized she was at home. In bed. Not there, not in the fire. Not staring at her dead father.

Believe it or not, that wasn’t even the worst part. It was always the split second of hope after she woke up and realized the whole thing had been a dream that her brain considered, Oh, was the whole thing a dream? Is my dad okay? He’s not actually gone?

And Claire would come fully awake, lucid, and remember.

While it was just a dream, it was based on real events. Her dad wasn’t okay. He was still gone.

That part was still real.

Everything about it was always awful, and last night was, too—but something had been different.

This time, she dreamed she lost Graham.

Usually she loved waking up next to him, rolling into his warm body. If he was already awake he’d tuck her into his chest, just lying with her for several minutes before one of them finally decided to get up (or make a move...these days it was anyone’s guess). If she roused first, she’d snuggle into his side, breathing in his scent, content to feel his skin slowly move against hers as he inhaled and exhaled.

This morning, though, she was relieved to find herself alone as several tears slipped down her cheeks.

Before now, the subject of her dream had never changed. No matter how many times she’d suffered through it, even if tiny details changed—like the color of her shirt or how old she was when she found him—it was always her dad.

It felt like a betrayal to her dad, but the way she’d felt just a few short hours ago in the all-too-real moments of her subconscious, wrenching open that airplane door to see Graham’s pale, lifeless face had been the worst yet.

It could have been because it was unexpected, or because she’d so recently seen Graham injured. Maybe it was because even though she missed her dad immensely, she’d learned to live without him.

Whatever it was, grief and heartbreak had crashed down so hard she’d nearly collapsed into the grass next to the burning plane. Someone had touched her face, speaking to her, but nothing—no one—could ever fix her now. Not after this.