Page 68 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

Her shoulders are still slightly tight, even in sleep. Like she's braced for something to go wrong.

She deserves someone who notices that and makes her feel safe instead of bracing for the worst.

I'm not sure when I drift off.

I come back to the sound of movement, quiet and careful. The room is still dark.

Riley has opened her eyes.

Just for a second. Half a second. The moment before she gets her bearings, before she remembers what day it is and what happened and why she has to be cautious.

For that half second, she looks at me the way she did at twenty-one. Open. Like my being here isn't a problem. Like she's glad.

Then she remembers, and it’s gone.

“You should sleep,” she says. Her voice is rough at the edges.

I nod.

I don't move.

Chapter twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-Five—Riley

The first thing I notice is the light, slipping in around the curtain edge, pale and undecided.

The second thing I notice is Andrew.

Still here.

My first instinct is that I'm wrong. That it's a shadow, something my brain is building because it wants to. I lie still and wait for him to dissolve.

He doesn't.

He's sitting against the headboard right beside me, head dropped toward one shoulder, eyes closed. Breathing even. Still in yesterday's jeans and t-shirt. One hand resting on his knee.

He stayed the whole night. In my bed.

I watch the slow rise and fall of his chest like it's proof of something I don't trust yet.

People don't stay overnight when things get complicated.

Not when there's a baby involved.

Now he's here.

Still breathing beside me.

Still choosing this.

I don't know what to do with that.

I lie there and look at him. The way you can only look when someone's asleep and can't catch you doing it. He looks younger like this. The guarded version of himself, the one he keeps on during waking hours, is gone. What's left is just a man who sat up against the headboard all night so he could stay close and didn't leave.

And somehow that makes him more handsome than I remember.

He told me about the group home on Adams Street. About growing up learning that good things get taken. So you take them first. You burn them down yourself. You don't give anyone the chance to do it to you.