I’ve never felt so unsure of new people in my life.
Dogs, though—the dog, I trust.
“I like this house,” I tell Jessica. “But I think you’re the biggest reason I was supposed to be here. What do you think? Should we go see my parents? Will you be my emotional support while I tell them?”
She growls softly.
“They have a big yard and other dogs you can play with.”
That’s a stink eye if I’ve ever seen one.
“You like other dogs. I’ve seen you at the dog park.”
She barks and wags her tail.
My phone lights up with a message.
From Holt.
I don’t like the way his name on my screen makes my heart beat faster.
Holt:Stopping by to grab my meds.
That’s all it says. Normal housemate stuff. Like he was going to text menew phone, who dis?
He’s not the type.
But he’s apparently the type to make my pulse take off at a gallop because that’s exactly what happens when I hear the door open downstairs.
Unfortunately, that’s all it takes to make my stomach turn over the wrong way too.
I lunge for the toilet again.
Dammit.
Dammit dammitdammit.
And I don’t have anything left to give, which means I’m stuck here until I get out of the cycle of angry stomach battling with empty stomach.
I’m hovering over the toilet, breathing hard, when I hear theclomp…clomp…clompof crutches that suggests Holt’s on his way up.
Jessica whines.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe through the roiling in my stomach that gets worse with everyclompof the crutches.
Who gave him a ride?
Why aren’t they coming up to get his suitcase?
Wait.
How did his suitcase get upstairs?
It didn’t.
The answer is thatit didn’t.
I can clearly picture it just inside the door downstairs in the living room.
