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The question catches me off guard. We haven’t talked about Prescott much. Between the holidays and having to go to the hospital, there just wasn’t time.
“He’s visiting his family.”
At least that’s what he said the last time I saw him in Moore’s, although I have no idea why he would want to do that after everything that’s happened. I tried texting him for Christmas.
Looking back, it was a stupid thing to do. Especially after how things played out that last night and everything that was said, but I was feeling nostalgic, and my fingers were faster than my brain.
It was the first time I felt half-human in days, and I was snuggled in the living room, watching Christmas movies which reminded me of Thanksgiving when we did the very same thing. How is it possible that things have changed so much in a matter of weeks? But he hasn’t said anything back, so I didn’t try to do it again.
“I figured he’d come by now.”
But he won’t.
Not now. Not ever.
Because he left.
And left for good this time.
“Nixon, I…”
I have to tell him. The season was over. It was time. I couldn’t keep this a secret any longer and expect him not to ask questions.
Before I can get the words out, the doorbell rings. Nixon and I just look at each other. We’ve been here for over two weeks now, and the doorbell has rung once this whole time. On Christmas Eve morning when Coach and Yasmin’s mom joined us for the holiday. That’s it. But we knew they were coming.
“You expecting somebody?” I ask, tilting my head back to get a better look at him.
“Not really. I’ll go check who it is. You try and rest.”
Nodding, I let my eyes close as I doze off. I’m not sure how long I’m out, it could have been minutes or months when I feel a hand gently brush my cheek.
It takes me a moment, but I finally blink my eyes open and then squint, unsure if I see correctly.
Because there is no way that Prescott is standing in my living room when he’s supposed to be miles away.
It has to be all in my head.
That’s it.
Just a dream.
Or maybe it’s a nightmare.
No, I’m pretty sure it is a nightmare since I can feel that familiar ache in my chest at the very sight of him.
“Prescott?” I try to get up, but my muscles protest the movement. My whole body aches. Weak, so freaking weak.
“Shh, I’ve gotcha.”
Soon I’m lifted off the couch, and that familiar scent of pine and citrus, and plain Prescott surrounds me.
Even if it’s a nightmare, I don’t want to wake up.
The bed creaks in the background, and I feel my body touch a hard surface before the blankets fall over me, warming me up.
Prescott starts to leave, but I grab his hand. “Don’t go,” I whisper, the desperation clear in my voice. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m here.” Once again, the bed creaks, and I feel a warm body next to mine. The last thing I hear before sleep claims me is Prescott’s soft voice. “I’m sorry, Jade. I’m so fucking sorry.”
