"You needed the couch, and I wanted to stay close." He pushed the knitting project aside. "You were making noises. Bad dream noises. Figured you'd want to know I was here when you woke up."
I sat up slowly, blankets falling away. My phone was on the coffee table—I didn't remember putting it there. The screen showed two messages.
Sloane:He's still holding on. Breathing's gotten more labored but stable. Get some rest.
The second was from Katie Morrison, whose kid I coached. I realized I'd missed practice with the kids—the first time in three years.
KatieM:Heard about your dad. The team understands. Take all the time you need. We'll be here when you're ready.
A third message sat below it, sent twenty minutes ago:
Jake:Hog told us. You need anything, you text. We've got you. Also Evan says to tell you he's meal-prepping extra this week because apparently that's how he shows feelings.
I stared at both messages, trying to process how people knew and how words had spread that fast in a town this size. Then I remembered it was Thunder Bay. Everyone knew everything before you finished living it.
I typed back to Katie:
Rhett:Tell them I'll be back soon.
Then I answered Sloane:
Rhett:Thanks. I'm okay. Staying with Hog.
I set the phone down and looked at Hog, still sitting on the floor with his half-finished dinosaur-turtle, blanket, and a bucketful of patience.
"What time is it?" I asked.
"Little after three."
"You've been on the floor for—"
"Couple of hours." He shrugged. "Made progress on Jeremy's turtle before I fell asleep. Kid's gonna love it."
"Hog, I'm—"
"Don't." His voice was gentle but firm. "Don't apologize. Don't tell me I should've woken you up or gone to bed or any of that. You needed to sleep. I wanted to stay close. That's it."
"I'm not okay yet," I said quietly.
"I know."
He stood—joints popping, blanket falling away—and held out his hand. I took it and let him pull me up from the couch, blankets tangling around my legs.
"Bed," he said. "Real bed. I'll take the couch."
"Or—" I stopped. Started again. "Or you could come with me."
He looked at me in the dim lamplight, searching my face for something.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
We stumbled down the short hallway to his bedroom—still a disaster, clothes everywhere, raccoon back on the dresser watching us with its judgy beady eyes. Hog pulled back the covers, and I climbed in, fully dressed except for my boots. He followed, wrapping around me from behind like he had two nights ago, breath warm against my neck.
"Thank you," I said into the darkness.
"For what?"
