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“Again, Noah. Let’s do it again.”
We sit on the side of the road and breathe together until my breathing steadies and my vision starts to clear. My heart can’t decide between racing or feeling so claustrophobically tight it might as well explode to make extra room in my chest. Satisfied I can make the remaining miles to her home without passing out, Iz buckles me back in.
It’s not late at night, but I can’t face any more of the world today. I beg my best friend to text Logan and make sure Rainey’s okay. She squeezes me into a tight hug, promising she’ll do what I asked. I fall asleep on Iz’s couch while we’re waiting for Logan to reply.
At 5 a.m. in the morning, I’m wide awake, covered by two thin blankets Iz must have placed over me. I wish I didn’t remember how I ended up on Izabeth’s couch, but it’s the first thought I have when I open my eyes. I wonder if my brother’s still on the loose after breaking into my home. Then, I worry I fell asleep without hearing about Rainey, but realize Iz would have woken me if she hadn’t reached Logan, or if he’d said I needed to go get her.
Logan.I bury my head under a couch pillow. The otherworldly spark between us is probably over. He asked me not to bring Dunbar into our home, but I did. He made it clear he didn’t want Maggie around any of my brother’s choices. But I pulled both of them down with me, and now the home they’ve called their own is trashed.
When I muster the courage to throw my covers off and search for caffeine, I retrieve my phone from the kitchen counter. No calls. No texts. I need to pick Rainey up from Claire and Rufus’ to get her to school this morning, but I don’t know what time Logan’s family wakes up. Logan’s an early riser, but after last night he may still be asleep himself.
Noah: Can you let me know when you’re awake? I need to pick Rainey up.
The phone, still in my hand, rings.
It’s Logan. “Hello?” I answer, terrified he’s calling to request I never contact him again. Except he’s not that man, I remind myself, stopping a worst-case scenario spiral in its tracks.
“Good morning,” he grumbles.
“What time do your folks wake up? I need to pick Rae up for school. I’ll take Maggie, too.”
“I talked to Claire before I fell asleep. She’d like to keep Maggie and Rainey home today. Give them a break and let them rest. But only if you’re okay with it—it was her suggestion.”
I move back to Iz’s couch, pulling her covers around me. They’re my only comfort. “It’s fine.” I don’t know if it’sreallyfine, but Claire told me once she was a teacher before she retired. She probably knows more about kids than I ever will.
“Can we . . . meet? We, um—we need to talk.” Logan’s voice cracks.
Dread washes over my body, replacing any comfort the blankets ever hoped to provide. Logan wants to meet. A sentence I’ve never known to end well for anyone in a relationship. Followed by a phrase he’s specifically triggered by. I’ve exercised caution about how I approach more serious conversations with him because of it, not wanting to falsely set off warning bells.
“Sure,” I say, unable to fake any optimism.
“My lunch break at the cafe? Does that work for you?” he asks. “Or, if you’ll be in Cincinnati, we can meet after work—whatever’s best for you. I don’t have any vacation days yet, so I can’t take off work today.”
Waiting until lunch to see him and hear what he has to say will be excruciating, but what choice do I have?
“I’ll meet you at the cafe. Noon?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you then. Have a good morning, Noah.”
Over-analyzing the last sentence, I hang all possibility of hope on the fact he didn’t just say goodbye and end the call. He told me to have a good morning.
I sit in silence in Izabeth’s living room, occasionally allowing myself a sip of the black coffee I poured before my call with Logan. The darkness of the apartment brightens as the sun signals the long night is over, though it feels like mine is just rolling into another day.
Izabeth’s bedroom door squeaks as she opens it. From the couch, I can see her taking me in, probably assessing if she needs to call someone for me to talk to. The intrusive thought stomps through my mind. It’s the most helpful, self-deprecating thought I’ve had; maybe I should talk to someone.
She drops her body onto the couch next to mine, removing the empty coffee cup from my hands. When she leans her body into mine, resting her head on my shoulder, I instinctively relax. Last night, after helping me inside her apartment, she didn’t ask a single question. She doesn’t know about my last two days of hell.
“Dunbar.” I offer an explanation before she can ask. I know not prying is killing Izabeth, but it’s the kindest thing she could have done for me.
Her eyes soften and she nuzzles into me closer, letting me know she understands.
“I don’t know where to start.” A tear I don’t expect, because surely at some point you run out of them, trickles down my face.
She untangles herself from me. “Want another cup of coffee?”
“That’d be great.”
Her exit allows me a few minutes to wrangle my frantic thoughts. Despite being obnoxiously overbearing, Izabeth shows her deep love and respect for me in her actions.
