Page 21

A tear slid from the corner of my eye. “I am not going to lie in this bed and cry,” I said aloud into the darkness.

I cried for a minute anyway, because sometimes you just need to do that.

The tears were hot, but cooled quickly on my cheeks. I wiped them with the edge of the sheet before kicking the covers off and rolling out of bed. The hardwood floor was chilly under my bare feet as I hurried over to the dresser, pulling on my fluffy socks. I splashed water on my face in the bathroom and belted my robe around my waist over my faded t-shirt and boy shorts. This was my walk-around-the-resort-at-night outfit. I was just going to get something to drink and snack in the kitchen, anything to give me a little comfort.

I made my way down the quiet hallway. I loved the sense of comfort I felt here at the resort. Although my dad and I had eventually been in one place for a few years, I’d never quite had that feeling of home. It still surprised me that I felt it here in Alaska. I felt like I belonged here, and I savored that feeling.

There was always a light left on in the kitchen over the stove, and I loved how the dim glow felt welcoming. I made myself a mug of cocoa and leaned against the counter, looking out into the starry darkness. In a minute, I would look at pictures of cute animals, my go-to self-care activity when I felt weepy.

Except my phone vibrated in my robe pocket again.

I knew what I was going to see, and the tears splashed onto my cheeks again. My heart hurt, my throat hurt, and I hated that I couldn’t undo what happened. I had just not been enough, apparently.

“Chloe.”

A voice, low and threaded with concern. Lincoln. The last person I wanted to see right now, not because any of this was his fault, but because I didn’t want to humiliate myself in front of him. I couldn’t quite bring it together though. I cleared my throat, blinking furiously.

I felt him approaching from behind, before one of his hands landed between my shoulder blades. “Are you okay?”

I tried to reel my emotions back in, but somehow Lincoln’s presence pushed through my defenses, affecting my ability to tidy everything up and tuck it away neatly. “I’m fine,” I managed. My voice was sniffly.

Lincoln’s palm moved in a slow, soothing circle between my shoulder blades, and I just wanted to sink into it. “You don’t sound fine,” he said, his tone careful.

I shrugged. “I wasn’t, but I am now.”

“It’s okay to cry, you know.”

I choked out a laugh. “I know.”

“My therapist told me that a lot,” he offered.

“You had a therapist?” I asked, my eyes dropping from the stars in the sky into the stainless steel sink.

“I did. I worked through some things with therapy.” A beat of quiet. “So you probably have too.”

I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Yeah.”

Uncurling my hands from the edge of the counter, I took a slow breath as I turned around to face him. I hadn’t calculated just how close he was standing, and all of a sudden he was right there, one hand resting on the counter beside my hip. Part of me wanted him to not be so close. Another part of me wanted to curl forward and rest my cheek on his chest. He didn’t know anything about why I was so sad and why my heart was so broken. I didn’t want to explain it, and yet, I wanted the warmth of him anyway.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Another wave of pain hit. The first cuts to my heart had been sharp, clean, and deep, and they had sort of healed. But they festered sometimes, like tonight.

My phone vibrated in my robe pocket again, on the side where Lincoln stood. His brows arched up. “Do you need to look at that?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s my shitty excuse for a friend.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I dragged my terrycloth sleeve across my eyes. “No.”

“Okay.” His eyes flicked to the mug of cocoa sitting beside the sink. “More cocoa?”

“It makes me feel better.”

My phone vibrated again.

“Should we block that number?” he asked.