It gives her a bit more courage. She squares her shoulders. “It’s the face that scares me the most,” she murmurs. “Because it’s like... it’s like you’re not even here.”
I just stare. Expressionless, numb, achy, and so fucking tired.
“Well, I’m definitely here, Kace,” I sigh, picking up the plate, and forcing another fake smile. “Maybe I won’t be after this, though.”
For what feels like the first time in forever, Kacey actually laughs. Not a fake, dramatic sound, but a real, heartfelt laugh. If she’s willing to share that, I decide I’ll let myself feel just a sliver of that joy.
But that joy evaporates when I take a bite.
Is that… salt?
I try not to react, but then Kacey pops a piece into her mouth and chews. Her face is a caricature of everything I just tried to hide.
I at least swallow mine, Kacey just lets hers flop off her tongue, straight back onto the plate.
She stares down at it, whispering, “I think I used salt instead of sugar.”
I press my lips together, holding my laugh in as I nod. She looks at me, lips twitching. I think she’s about to laugh again andfor a second, I get that buzz of adrenaline, the thrill of feeling something more—
There’s a soft hum, a vibration.
It’s Kacey’s phone. A phone that hasn’t rung in ten days.
Why is it ringing now?
She looks at me, concern and confusion mingling in her eyes. When it buzzes again, she jumps up and rushes to the kitchen, grabbing it from the counter.
Whoever it is, whoever’s name she sees, freezes her.
I start to rise from the sofa, as her gaze flicks to me, to the phone, to me again. Back and forth—visibly torn.
“Just answer it, Kace,” I say quietly, reassuringly.
From the way she’s reacting, I know it’s one of them. I just don’t know which.
She taps the screen then places it against her cheek, taking a breath before she says, “Hey.”
I can’t hear the voice on the other end, but somehow I know who it is. And just knowing… it makes the ache throb enough to knock me back against the sofa.
Kacey watches with concern, but her furrowed brows say she’s trying to concentrate.
“I’m fine,” she answers quickly, bluntly. Then there’s a pause, and she glances at me. “Erm… both fine. Thanks.”
Part of me wants to get closer, desperate to hear what he’s saying. It’s not because I want to hear his voice. That’s not it. I just want to know why Kacey suddenly looks so worried.
That’s all.
“I—I don’t know if I can,” she murmurs, wary. “Especially not on my own.”
“What?” I mouth.
But Kacey isn’t good at multitasking. She’s listening too intently, licking her lips nervously, and suddenly, irritation bubbles.
I forgot what irritation felt like. It’s a warm, prickling, sharp sensation that stings.
It wakes me up.
I walk over, pointing to the phone she’s clutching so tightly as she stares at me.
