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At night, he couldn’t sleep. Clouds carrying dark dreams crept in, showing Kenna and Reid in a dimly lit dorm that reeked of cheap beer and manipulation. He’d shoot upright, bleary eyes stretched wide, drenched in cold sweat.
Though, presently, the possibility of sleep was hours away, he had already accepted the reality that it would not come. He’d just gone for a run and hadn’t bothered to remove his muddied tennis shoes before sprawling out on the couch with his laptop. Slouching down, he scrunched up his legs, earth-dampened and mud-caked soles meeting waxy brown leather. No sooner than he pulled up his university email account, his heartbeat slowed, petering out to a weak rhythm.
Kenna’s name rested atop his inbox like an unvoiced prayer. She was inquiring about the possibility of recording his thoughts as part of a cumulative project on acute trauma, the deadline for which was fast approaching. He found it curious that she hadn’t yet completed the assignment.
He couldn’t even respond to her email, this inanimate representation of her. The end of the chase was in sight yet he was second-guessing everything.
Perhaps it was time to retire the experimental form of treatment. Maybe he had been cured. The names and memories he’d collected over the last six years were rendered meaningless. And then, with a begrudging reluctance, it clicked into place. Kenna was more than a notch on his bedpost.
She was the fucking frame.
The idea resurrected something within Dayton that had eroded long ago. Hope.
In spite of her reservations toward him, she had been so caring when he’d been stuck in Owens-Adair, so attentive. Even if that ray of affection was only the result of the adrenaline and uncertainty that followed in the wake of his collapse, he wanted to believe it shone beyond. His mind stretched that beam, drawing it out until it illuminated a lifetime of possibility. Having someone to come home to in the evenings, someone to accompany him to his cardiology appointments, someone to love.
And what was that like? To love, to be loved?
His cell phone rang and his whole body flinched as it pierced the stillness of the evening. It was Kenna.
A sign from God to go forth and claim what was his.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. Are you busy?”
Dayton glanced around at the empty quiet of the house, those four walls of inactivity, and restrained a laugh. “Not at all.”
“I don’t want to sound selfish, but I need a favor.”
Anything for you, he wanted to say, but he stuck to his no-nonsense persona. “Go on.”
“My hours track sheet was due yesterday, but I told my professor you’d been out for a few days. Luckily, he gave me an extension on the condition that it’s in his box first thing Monday morning.” She paused, her light breathing like white noise. Every follicle on Dayton’s body rose in reverence to that sound. So gentle and unsure. “Could you, um, come over and sign off on it, or would it be easier if I went to your place?”
Bumbling filler words were not a typical part of Kenna’s vocabulary though he welcomed her uncharacteristic anxiety. It was an indication, however small, that she was just as frightened by their interactions as he was.
Perhaps she felt something, too. Not with the same depth and fantasticism that Dayton guarded close to his heart, but he would settle for a fraction of interest.
“I’ll be over in 20.”
Dr. Merino was drenched in sweat when he turned up on her doorstep. His damp hair was tucked behind his ears, with several rogue strands hanging in front of his glistening face. He smelled of pine and rust, a pairing that was at once sweet and repulsive.
He stepped past her into the apartment and she shut the door. “When you said 20 minutes, I assumed you were driving.”
“I wouldn’t pass up a run in this weather, and I live on Fairbrook. It’s not that far.”
His sneakers stayed on his feet, a silent but certain proclamation that he didn’t plan to stay longer than was necessary. His tone was oddly casual. Laid-back, even. Kenna brushed off the observation. Dissecting his behavior was pointless when he was one signature away from terminating their professional relationship.
“Do you want some water?” It didn’t matter if Dr. Merino refused. Her mind insisted that she do something, anything to get herself away from the spot where she’d stood anchored in place, staring at him until that stomach plunging into feet feeling that only he could elicit took hold. “Not to sound like a stalker, but I love the houses on Fairbrook. The different architectural styles, all of the colors.”
He accepted the water with a half nod of thanks before draining most of it in one go. “Oh, it’s unique. Quiet, safe. Good place to raise a family.”
An imaginary red flag billowed between them. No, Kenna had just put her infernal need to dissect to rest. She pushed aside the desire to compare his comment about raising a family to his history of relief over a miscarriage. She was reading into it too much and she knew it. He’d said it was a good place to raise a family; that didn’t meanheintended to raise one.
She was doing it again. Moreover, Dr. Merino’s intention to have a family or lack thereof was none of her concern.
“Did you get my email?”
“I did. I can set aside an hour to be your lab rat, just give me a day and time.” She thought his pupils dilated but she couldn’t tell, like a small pool of water overflowing into a larger one. Black mixing into black. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Where’s this life or death paper I need to sign?”
