The fact that he asked me first was enough to have me reaching for my flask, but I’d emptied it before the end of the school day.
Ronan turned his head to me slowly. “If you ever want to bring—”
“No,” I said flatly. “Not going to happen. His baggage plus my baggage exceeds maximum limits.”
Ronan nodded. “If anything changes—”
“It won’t.”
“If it does,” he said, his tone hard, “bring him.”
***
Night’s shadows crept across the floor of the guesthouse. It wasn’t hotenough for a fire, but I had the fireplace going anyway while I sat at my desk, scribbling in my journal. My hand moved across the page in a blur.
River hadn’t been in class for the last two days.
His empty chair conjured all kinds of terrible metaphors. Absence. Solitude. Isolation. In the immortal words of Miss Britney, my loneliness was killing me, but at least seeing River in class once a day—even if nothing could ever happen between us—wassomething. Now there wasn’t even that.
A little after 1:00 a.m., I stretched my fingers as my phone chimed a text from an unfamiliar number.
Hey, it’s River.
Another text came while I panicked like a dope.
Can I call you?
You don’t feel like a stranger anymore.
I jabbed,Yes.
My phone lit up, and I played hard to get—I let it ring twice before answering.
“It’s late,” I said coldly.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
His voice sounded haggard, as if it’d been dragged through the mud, crumbling my defenses instantly.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s my mom. It’s been bad lately. It might… It might be the end. And I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t be calling you. I didn’t know who else… I don’thaveanyone else I can talk to. None of the guys get it. It’s too fucking real.”
My throat suddenly felt thick. “Where are you?”
“In the hospital. She has some kind of infection…spiked a fever. I’m in a hallway somewhere. I didn’t know what else to do. I feel likeI’m losing it.”
River’s words tapered to a whisper, and I could see him in a cold hospital hallway, maybe leaning against the wall, letting it prop him up.
I hated that he was alone.
He came back on the line, his voice breathy and tight.
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” I said softly, and another image came to me, one of River reaching out in the dark, grasping for something—someone—to hold on to. I scoured my collection of therapy sessions for something that would help him. But none of it helped me, because no one asked the one question I’d been begging someone to ask.
“River.”
