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idn’t wait for him to answer. But forty minutes later he knocked on her door.
“Go away, Tom.”
“I didn’t hear that. Be decent. I’m coming in.” He pushed the door open, a tray in his hands, a steaming plate of mac and cheese. “Oh shit, what’s wrong? It’s not a headache.”
She’d only managed to struggle into a sitting position before he came in. She used the words he’d used when his promotion went south. “I had a bad day.”
“It’s more than that.”
Her breathing was uneven. Her bottom lip had a life of its own and she couldn’t hold it still.
“Your family?”
“I don’t want to—” couldn’t “—talk about it and I don’t think I can eat.”
Tom backed out, and came in again without the tray. He stood by the door. He’d changed out of his suit into sweats and a T-shirt. “I’m going to be here with you, because you’re scaring me. You look like you’ve had a shock.”
A horrific gulp of sadness and desperate loss and loneliness erupted from her and she pitched forward to hide her face in her hands. He was beside her in seconds, arms around her.
“I’ve got you. I won’t let you go. You let it out, Flick. Scream if you have to, I don’t care what you need to do, I’m with you.”
It was enough to pull her back around. Tom wasn’t her someone. He didn’t need to see her breakdown and he didn’t deserve to be freaked out by her grief.
“Drew has cancer. He’s dying. We said goodbye today.” Saying it brought on a wave of nausea.
Tom swore, shifted closer and held her tighter. He was a great wall made of strength and softness folded around her, keeping her from falling apart.
“I’ll be all right.” She’d promised. She didn’t break her promises.
“You’ll be whatever you need to be. And I’ll be here.”
“You don’t have to.” Not her someone, but a good man, a worthy man. She needed to find a man like Tom.
“Yeah,” he said. “My roommate got some bad news, so I do.”
He climbed in behind her, pulled the covers over them, shuffled her close. His steady breathing was a current, his arm around her a necessary anchor, but she didn’t sleep. Too many memories. Too many mistakes. It was a mistake to leave the state while Drew was sick. Somewhere around four she started crying and couldn’t stop, and Tom rolled her onto his chest and did everything he could to soothe her, to help her gather her grief and sob for its pain, until it exhausted her.
When she woke, he was still there, spooned behind her, his thighs tucked up under hers. The clock said eight. It was late; they’d both be stuck in commuter hell.
“Tom.” She wriggled against him and he stirred. “It’s late.”
“Hmm.” Sleep-crackly voice, deep and warm, a heavy arm dropping over her waist. “Not for you. You’re taking a day of bereavement leave. And heck, nothing will fall over because I’m late one morning. Did you sleep at all?”
“A little. Thank you for staying with me.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed the back of it, and then her stomach gurgled.
“Could you eat?” he said.
He was right about taking a day, and food might stop the sick feeling in her gut. She’d never expected him to stay the whole night, to make it easy to want him there.
He gathered her close again, his chin knocking on her shoulder. “You had a rough night. Are you going to be okay today?”
“You had a rough night too. This is not what you expected.”
“I didn’t lose someone.”
“I keep thinking I should go to him. That maybe he wouldn’t hate it. I don’t think I can take the job. I should stay in the state until—” Her voice broke.
“Flick, you can stay with me as long as you need, another month, as many months as you need.”
