Chloe is lying on the sofa, her eyes shut, her hair pouring around her shoulders. Asleep.
The glow of the dying fire catches her face, and for a moment, I just look.
She is beautiful.
The door finally clicks behind me, and I let out a hiss as she stirs.
“Brody? You’re back.”
“Shhh, it’s okay, go back to sleep.” But it’s too late. She sits up, her hair falling around her shoulders, wearing an oversized T-shirt that says something I can’t read in the dim light.
“I thought maybe you weren’t coming back,” she says softly.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.” My voice sounds wrecked. I clear my throat. “It was my dad. He was…” I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t explain the whole disaster.
“Is he okay?”
“He will be. Eventually.” I hope.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice like velvet in the dark.
No, I’m not. I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I’m all right.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I glance up at her again, my chest aching. “Not really…I just…I’m tired.” Dead tired.
Chloe’s lips part. “Oh, sure. Of course.” She stands hurriedly, wadding up the blanket she’d been using and draping it over the coffee table. “I’ll just?—”
“Would you stay with me?” The words escape from my lungs like a breath.
Chloe stills.
“Just…for a while,” I clarify. “I don’t want to be alone.”
I know how it sounds. Pitiful. Weak. Like a kid afraid of the dark. Like that dragon, hiding in his cave. But I’m too tired to care.
Chloe’s gaze softens, her lips parting in surprise before, “Of course.”
I nod. “Okay. Don’t…don’t go anywhere.” I toss my jacket on the nearest chair, grab my overnight bag, and head to the bathroom to change.
When I come back out, she’s made room for me in the corner seat, just like last night. But this time, the TV is off, the glowing embers the only light in the room. I slide into the space beside her, and Chloe nestles in, resting her head on my shoulder. I breathe in the scent of her, relaxing one muscle at a time.
“Brody?” Her voice is soft in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“What did you want to talk about earlier?”
Everything. Nothing. I love you. I’m terrified. I don’t know what I’m doing.
“Tomorrow,” I say instead. “Let’s talk tomorrow. After the wedding.”
“Okay. Tomorrow.”
Silence again. The fire crackles softly, a log settles and sends up a shower of sparks. Somewhere outside, an owl hoots. And for the first time in what feels like months, sleep washes over me.
CHLOE
