I reach over and click on the lamp. The room goes warm yellow.
He turns.
“On the bed. If you want.”
He looks at me.
“My head’s spinning.” I offer a small smile. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He closes the door behind him and walks slowly toward the bed. He doesn’t sit.
“Okay,” he says, careful. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No, that’s not —”
I push up. The blanket falls to my hips.
I say, “I’ll take the floor. You take your bed back.”
“You’re not taking the floor.”
“It’s your bed.”
“I’m fine on the floor.”
“Blue.”
“Melly.”
“Just take the bed. It’s big enough.” I look at the big bed and widen my arms. “See.”
He looks at me. He looks at the bed. He breathes out through his nose.
“Are you sure?”
I nod and crawl across the mattress to the wall side and pat the spot. “Am I far enough?”
He glares at me. A real glare. The Blue Golding glare. The one that has been deployed at me from across hallways and ice rinks since I was twelve.
“I’m gonna change.”
He takes the wings off and places them on my costume. He reaches down, opens a drawer, grabs shorts, and a clean white tee from the third. He goes out into the hall and shuts the door behind him, and I lie on the wall side of his bed with my heart in my throat and count.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-three.
The door opens. Gray Camden Wolves shorts. Clean tee. No wings. Barefoot.
He looks at the bed and scratches his face. “I don’t think I should take the bed.”
I pat the pillow. “It’s fine.” I pull the blanket to my chin. I’m cold again. Suddenly. I shiver, visibly, and he sees it. “Do you have a hoodie?”
He nods.
He goes to the closet and pulls out a Camden Wolves hoodie.
He hands it to me. He watches me put it on. The inside of the collar is worn, as if he’s worn it a thousand times.
