I close my eyes and let the wave crash over me.
“Please,” I beg. “Don’t stop.”
“Never,” Billy says.
“Ours,” Tex growls.
“Forever,” Seth whispers.
And I believe them.
The blackness takes me again, but I’m not afraid. I am exactly where I belong.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Tex
I slaptwo pieces of sourdough onto the cutting board and spread the mustard thick. I layer the ham and cheese, then cut the sandwich diagonally.
It’s a stupid detail, but she used to say diagonal cuts taste better. I don’t know why I remember that, but I remember everything about her.
I grab a bag of chips and a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge. The kitchen is quiet—too quiet.
For the last six days, this house has been a war zone of moans, screams, and the relentless slap of skin. Now, it’s just the buzz of the refrigerator and the tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.
My phone vibrates on the counter, and I glance at the screen: Clara.
“Hey.”
“Tex?” Her voice is frantic. “Please tell me she’s alive. You haven’t texted in twelve hours. I was about to fly back.”
“She’s alive,” I say, putting the phone on speaker so I can finish plating the food. “She’s sleeping.”
“Sleeping? Just sleeping?”
“The fever broke last night,” I say. “Late. Around three in the morning. The scent changed. It’s… settled now.”
Clara exhales, a long, ragged sound. “Oh, thank god. So it’s over?”
“Yeah. The heat is over. She’s out. Billy and Seth are with her. I’m making lunch.”
“Lunch. Right. Food. She needs food. And water. Lots of water.”
“I know, Clara. I got it.”
“She better call me the second she wakes up.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“And Tex?”
“Yeah?”
“Take care of yourself too. You guys sound exhausted.”
“We are,” I admit. “But we’re good.”
I hang up, put the sandwiches on a tray, and add a glass of orange juice before walking down the hallway. The door to the bedroom is cracked open, so I nudge it with my hip.
