I swallow hard. “Planned on it.”
It doesn’t take long for his soft snores to fill the silence. I prop up on an elbow, careful not to disturb him and brush raven strands away from his forehead.
Something vibrates on the nightstand, but my phone is in the kitchen. I groan, rolling back to grab Win’s cell, squinting at the screen. What would his passcode be? I don’t want to risk locking him out, but I don’t want to wake him either.
My stomach grumbles.
I’m not meant to fall asleep, apparently.
I skim my lips across his temple and slip out of bed to scavenge through the fridge, taking his phone along for the ride. Mitz trots behind me, glancing up with a little purr of excitement. “Yeah, yeah, after we snack you can cuddle him too. Just don’t sleep on his face, it’s rude.”
She chirps, weaving between my legs as I rummage through the goodies Win brought. Most of it looks like ingredients for an Italian dish, but the bastard knows me and stocked up on a whole bunch of desserts. I greedily devour a cannoli—
I’m mid-chew when a sound startles me.
Win’s phone again. Ringing.Mom.
She’s probably flipping out since he hasn’t texted her. I swipe to answer.
“Winnie? Honey, where are you? Richard said you left upset and we’re worried. I’ve tried calling you but—”
I clear my throat. “Hey, Marceline, it’s Remy.”
“O-oh. Hi sweetie, is Win with you?”
My cheeks burn. “Yeah, he came over. He fell asleep but he’s ok.”
“Thank god,” she sighs. “He didn’t… take anything, right?”
“No. He’s sober.”
She's quiet for a moment, but the static crackle of her barely contained emotion stings my eyes. “Thank you. For answering and being there for him. He hasn’t had anyone in his corner since you.”
It’s a stab in the chest.
“Yeah,” I croak. “Of course.”
“Goodnight, Remy. Have Winnie call me in the morning, ok?”
“You got it.”
The second she hangs up, I drop the phone like a hot pan and brace my shaking hands on the counter. What does she mean? Has he really been all alone? Never even made another friend? That’s impossible. Surely, he had at least one person in California. I blow out a long breath and pick at the remains of my dessert.
A strangled cry makes me drop the cannoli.
Another. This time, I hear my name.
I sprint back to the bedroom.
Win’s hands are balled into fists, shielding his face. He’s shaking and curled in on himself. “No, please don’t—”He flinches, moving enough to reveal his eyes are squeezed shut.
A nightmare.
I round the bed, unsure whether I should touch him or not.
He thrashes. “No!Stop!”
Fuck it.
