The streets are quiet in a stuffy way as I make my way home. It’s fully dark out now, something that’s got my hackles up so badly that when my phone buzzes in my pocket, I nearly jump out of my skin.
Pulling it out, the name on the screen brings me relief.
Alex.
I slide to answer and stick my phone to my ear. “Hi.”
“When does your shift end?”
“It already did. I’m on my way home.” I glance up and down the street again to make sure I’m still alone.
“I’m on my way,” his voice is clipped. “Keep your mace spray in your hand.”
The line clicks.
Cool, like that doesn’t make me even more nervous.
I’m already on my block with my building in sight when I hear the rumble of his bike approaching. I shiver at the thoughtof that thing. I’ve responded to too many crashes and seen what happens. How did I fall for a guy that rides one?
He pulls up next to me as we meet in front of my building. He kills the engine, pulls off his helmet, and I finally get a look at him again. His eyes are fiercer since I saw them last at the hospital.
We trudge up the stairs and down the hall in silence.
Pushing my door open, I find my apartment is quiet. Too quiet. Pip is nowhere in sight.
I zip off further into the space, leaving Alex at the door, and find my sweet little boy sound asleep in the middle of my bed. Too comfortable to have woken to greet me.
Oh well.
Back out in the living room, Alex pushes the door shut with a soft click that feels louder than it should knowing Pip is sound asleep.
For a second, neither of us moves. We just watch each other from opposite sides of the couch, the air thick. I drag my hand through my hair, exhaling slowly, trying to shake it loose. It doesn’t go.
“You don’t have to stay.” The words come out before I decide to say them.
He doesn’t move from the doorway. “Yeah, I do.”
I cross the room, stopping a foot in front of him and looking up at him.
His eyes are locked on me like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded right now.
“That’s not a good enough reason,” I say.
He sets his helmet down on the floor beside the door, next to the shoes, like he’s being mindful of where things go in my space.
“It is tonight.” The way he says it so quietly, so certainly, that it lands deep inside me.
Silence stretches, not an empty one but something so full that I step away to lean against the wall for support. And for a moment to breathe. I tug off my shoes with the opposite foot and nudge them into their spot.
“You’re still carrying it,” I nod.
His brow furrows slightly. “So are you.”
“Yeah,” I admit.
A moment of silence stretches between us.
“You were good in there,” he encourages.
