I bend and reach, then jump in place. I extend one arm across my chest in a cross-body stretch. I attempt to work out all my nervous energy before tapping on the bathroom door to see if Stella’s finished. I plan to brush my teeth, take a melatonin, and forget Lucca’s nonsense.
I tap quietly on the door, and when silence answers back, I creak the thing open, giving Stella ample time to yell at me if she’s still inside.
Steam filters through the crack I’ve made, with no sounds inside. I open the door wider, letting more of Stella’s shower steam seep into my bedroom. The bathroom is empty, and the door to Stella’s bedroom is shut tight. With the palm of my hand, I swipe the fogged-over mirror to better see myself, then slather toothpaste onto my toothbrush, when …
I pause my already quiet movement and listen.
There it is again—muffled, but something.
Barefoot, I creep to the door leading to Stella’s room and listen. I hear it again—a choked whimper.
She’s whimpering?
I flick off the bathroom light so as not to disturb Stell—in case I have officially lost my mind. Then, I push the door to her room until it’s just slightly ajar.
Another stifled sob.
Stella. She’s crying.
Peeking inside, I see her already in her queen-sized bed, curled in the middle of it. The room is dark, but I make out her form, and it shakes with the next onset of grief.
Stepping inside, I tiptoe over to the left side of her bed. “Stell?”
She gasps, her head whipping over to where I stand. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I make out her red face, her tear-streaked cheeks, and her damp pillow. My heart plummets.
Instinct kicks in as I slip onto the bed, lying on top of her comforter and resting one arm over her side, which only starts a new bout of sobbing. “Hey,” I coo. “What’s wrong?”
She sniffs, her head down, her shoulders shaking. “Istillstink,” she cries.
“No,” I lie, scooting closer to her.
“I do.” Stella hiccups, her chest reverberating with the spasm.
“I can hardly smell it.” And while the Dawn has helped tremendously, she definitely still smells of skunk.Crap. We just promised not to lie to each other again. I lock my arm around her back and pull her close to my chest, her head resting in the crook of my arm. “It’s not that bad,” I say into her pungent hair.
I hold her like that until the crying stops. Until her breaths are even. Until Stella is fast asleep. I hold her until I’m not a liar and I can’t smell a thing.
Thirty
It’swarm in my room. Roman must have the heat turned up to eighty degrees. I slept better than I have in weeks. Like a rock. Like the dead. Like a person just out of surgery and all doped up on anesthetics. Though it’s never been quite this warm in the cabin.
Or this …sturdy.
I stretch my body by centimeters because I’m not quite ready to end the best sleep of my twenty-four years, when a certain manly-shaped blockade jogs my memory …
Roman heard me crying last night.
He climbed onto my bed and wrapped me up in a little blubbering cocoon. He held me tight, and eventually I fell asleep.
And then he went to his own bed … in his own room … Or at least, that’s what I assumed the man would do.
But this obstruction?—
My hand stretches in a very calculated, cautious, strategic stretch, and?—
Yep.Abs.
Holy hard rock abs.
