“Oh, was this supposed to be a moral support call?” Denver laughed. “Men don’t operate that way. I’m throwing pants on. Go hide somewhere until I get there, okay? Pick a room and lock yourself inside until I call you and say I’m at the door.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Tears stung the corners of my eyes. I desperately wanted him to come over, but I also didn’t want him to. At all. I didn’t want anyone seeing how badly I was managing my own life.
“Too late. Found my keys. Do you need me to stay on the phone with you?”
“No, I’ll be okay until then.” I ended the call, and then quietly snuck back over to the boxed wall, letting myself inside. I stopped in Clarissa’s doorway. Her room smelled a lot like dirty socks—like, middle school boys locker room level. Plus, it washerroom. Even though she was in mine, I didn’t want to be in hers. I locked myself in the bathroom instead.
I hadn’t expected to fall asleep sitting on the toilet lid with my knees tucked up, but the next thing I remembered was my phone ringing.
“Denver?”
“I’m here. Come let me in.”
I stretched out my poor legs, which were numb and tingly in turns, and then forced myself up and out the door, letting my trusty flashlight lead the way. The hallway was clear, but my bedroom door was now closed. I sighed. What did that mean?
Dashing to the front door, I pulled it open, and stopped short at the sight of Denver. Well, what I could see of him. He was decked out in catcher’s gear—a padded mask, chest protector, legs guards, the whole works. Did he drive over here wearing all that or had he put it on in the parking lot?
I pressed my lips together.Don’t laugh. Don’t. Laugh.
He lifted the catcher’s mask and stuck his hand on his hip. “Really?”
“I’m not laughing.” I nodded, trying to convince myself as much as him. “I’m admiring your… preparedness.” Opening the door wider, I waved him in and then led the way, all my amusement falling away to embarrassment. Clarissa was likely asleep now, and I had no idea what the goal was. I’m sure in Denver’s mind he was just here to prevent my murder, but I needed something more concrete than that.
“What’s that smell?” Denver asked, glancing around the living room. He’d been over enough while dating Lauren to know it wasn’t normal.
He walked over to the wall and flipped on the lights. I guess it didn’t make sense to keep them off. I’d given up on worrying about waking Clarissa.
“Clarissa likes scented candles.” I said, gesturing to the ones on the kitchen counter.
“Are they dirty laundry scented? It smells like flowery B.O. in here.”
I gripped my forehead. “Is it that bad?”
He didn’t answer my question because I’d led him into the hallway and his eyes were on the box wall. “What in the—”
“It’s a box wall,” I said, cutting him off. “Clarissa made it. She said it would limit her sleepwalking to just going into the bathroom.”
“But she’s in your room.”
“Yeah, it’s not like, bullet proof or anything.”
Denver snorted, and then it turned into a full belly laugh, except he couldn’t lean over all the way because of his chest guard.
“Shh!” I tried not to join him, but his laugh was contagious, and then I was laughing and I couldn’t stop.
“We have to check on her,” I finally said, sobering.
Denver nodded.
Together, we walked to my bedroom door. I opened it while he peeked his head in, mask and all.
Clarissa was snoring in my bed, my covers bunched up at her feet. Did I dare wake her? And what would happen if I did?
Denver didn’t have my qualms. He walked over and touched her shoulder. She snorted, but didn’t wake.
“Clarissa,” I called out, in a whisper shout.
Nothing.
