Pops’s gaze lingers on the closed door. “She will.”
It sounds like a command.
Like he can will it into existence.
I nod because it’s all I can offer.
Pops squeezes my forearm once before patting me on the shoulder.
“Get some rest, kid,” he says.
Then he disappears into his room, the door clicking shut.
The house goes quiet again.
Not peaceful.
I’m halfway to the living room when I hear it.
Running water. The shower. Nothing out of the ordinary about that, but there’s a weird sound echoing around it.
It takes my brain a second to place it, then my stomach drops.
Sloane.
A quiet sound slips through the hallway—so small it’s almost nothing.
But it’s there.
A muffled sob swallowed by steam and tile.
My chest tightens painfully. She thinks she’s hiding. She thinks the shower covers it.
Maybe it does for everyone else.
Not for me.
Because I’m listening now.
Because Pops asked me not to disappear.
Because I can’t un-know what Cameron just told me.
I don’t move toward the bathroom door. I don’t knock. I don’t corner her.
Instead, I go to the kitchen.
My hands feel clumsy as I pull a clean glass from the cabinet. I fill it with water, watching the stream like it’s the only normal thing in the world.
The ice dispenser clatters too loud, so I don’t use it.
I just fill the glass and stare at it for a second, thinking about how this is all I can do without making it worse.
Then I walk down the hall.
The bathroom door is shut, light spilling from the crack beneath it. The sound of the shower continues, and so do her sobs, steady and relentless.
My throat burns.
