I groaned, half-buried in sleep, my mind still tangled in the remnants of yesterday. My body ached with that specific exhaustion that came from too little rest and too many thoughts, chewing at the edges of my skull.
“Jaime,” I murmured, voice thick. “I’m sorry.”
The wordsorryfelt heavy even in my mouth. It pressed out of me before I could stop it, instinctive and clumsy.
“I’m sorry for acting so cold yesterday,” I added, barely awake.
The silence that followed was wrong. Even through the haze of sleep, something snagged. I inwardly cringed.
What kind of apology was that? Half-formed. Conveniently timed and spoken when I wasn’t even fully conscious enough to face it. If Jaime heard that, it would sound like a cop-out.
Like I was trying to soothe my guilt without doing the work. I shifted, my chest tightening.
I remembered him turning over in bed last night, the mattress dipping and rising with restless movement. I’d pretended to be asleep.Coward.
He probably hadn’t slept much either. Neither of us had.
The air between us had been brittle, sharp enough to cut if either of us breathed wrong. Levi’s voice echoed in my head, unwelcome and accurate.Don’t let this turn sour. You’ve got something good.
Instead, I’d made it worse. I swallowed and shifted again, feeling the warm weight still on my chest. Hold on. Why would Jaime be licking my face?
“Jaime?” I pressed, confusion finally breaking through the fog.
My eyelids fluttered open. A wet nose hovered inches from my face. I yelped, startled, jerking upright.
Pampi yipped in surprise, scrambling slightly, and I caught her reflexively before she could tumble off my chest. Her tail thumped against my ribs, ears perked, eyes bright and unapologetic.
“Oh,” I breathed, heart hammering. “You.”
She tilted her head and gave my chin another determined lick, clearly pleased with herself. I snorted despite everything.
“Real romantic wake-up call, huh?” I asked.
She wriggled, letting out a soft whine that curled straight into my chest.
“What’s wrong, girl?” I asked, rubbing behind her ears. “You hungry?”
Her response was immediate. Another whine, higher this time, paired with an expectant stare toward the floor.
“Yeah, okay,” I muttered. “I’m up. I’m up.”
I swung my legs out of bed, the room spinning slightly as I stood. Lack of sleep weighed heavy, my thoughts sluggish, my body a half-second behind my intentions.
I shuffled across the room, bumping lightly into the edge of the dresser before finding my bearings. Dog food. Where did Jaime keep it again? I crouched, rummaging until I found the container.
Pampi sat beside me, posture immaculate, tail sweeping the carpet like she’d rehearsed this moment.
“Don’t rush me,” I told her, even as I scooped the food into her bowl. “You’d think I starved you.”
She didn’t dignify that with a response. The second the bowl hit the floor, she was in it, crunching with focused enthusiasm.
I filled her water too, setting it down next to the food, then leaned back against the bedframe, watching her eat. That’s when it hit me. Something about this was wrong.
The realization crept in slowly, like fog lifting just enough to reveal a cliff edge.
My brain felt thick today, slow to connect dots that usually snapped together without effort. I scrubbed a hand down my face, trying to shake off the lingering haze. What was it?
I watched Pampi eat, ears flicking happily, tail swaying.
