Silence stretched.
He didn’t say anything else, and she didn’t know what to add, to bridge this tense gap between them.
Finally he jerked his head towards his bedroom. “Go to bed. Please.”
* * *
Josh’s dreamswere weird fragments.
It started with Monica offering to help him restore Betsy.
“How long will it take?” she asked, not looking at him. “To turn Betsy into what you want her to be?”
“How long can you stay?”
And then she disappeared, right in front of him, and he was alone in his garage.
A flash of sunlight blinded him, and then he was in a Tuscan olive grove, looking for her. She wasn’t anywhere to be found, but he kept catching the scent of her hair. He knew if he kept looking, he’d find her.
But when he did, he was suddenly in California, watching her flirt with a driver. Their hands tangling together, her leading him out of the room like Josh wasn’t even there. And then the door slammed shut.
His eyes flicked open.
It was dark, and the apartment was quiet.
Chest heaving, he sat up and quietly padded to the kitchen for a glass of water. He didn’t bother to turn the lights on. He knew where everything was.
But he wasn’t alone, being awake in the middle of the night.
In the shadows of his kitchen, he could make out a pair of legs.
“Just having a drink,” Monica said quietly. She shifted sideways, propping her hip against the counter.
And then she held out her mason jar.
He glanced past her to the cupboard. Then he slid his gaze back to her extended hand. He couldn’t see her face. That was in shadows. But she was offering him a drink, which is why he’d come in here, and if his chest tightened as he took it from her hand.
They’d had an extra twenty-four hours together, and only a handful had been good. The Josh of three years ago would be disgusted with the temper tantrums today.
The Josh of three years ago would take the glass from his wife, set it on the counter, and drink directly from her lips.
All he could manage tonight was taking the glass, not grunting when his fingers slid against hers, and then gripping it like his life depended on never letting it go.
She shifted again, sliding down the counter. Moving more into the corner, deeper into the shadows. He took a big gulp of water, then swallowed it slowly, his eyes adjusting to the dark. Searching for her.
And his grip on the glass eased.
Because he found her, and her eyes were huge. Searching right back.
He took another sip, and handed it back.
She gave him a small smile and turned it around, then lifted it to her mouth. Paused for a beat, her lips pressed where his had just been, and then she took a long, slow drink. She drained the glass, then twisted and set it down on the counter. Her hair tumbled around her face, and that tight feeling in his chest jolted. Hard.
Is this what it would feel like to watch her leave in the morning.
No, that will be a million times worse.
She lifted her head, and the vice grip around his heart eased.
