Page 117 of Puck Me Back to Life

A faint crease appears between his eyebrows, like he's trying to stay awake. Trying to apologize again.

I gently run my fingers through his hair. “Go back to sleep.”

“But—”

“I've got you.” His breathing slows.

Within seconds, he's asleep again. I stay there for another minute, listening to him breathe. Only when I'm certain he's really sleeping do I stand.

The bedroom is almost as messy as the living room. Laundry spills from a basket. Books are stacked haphazardly on the floor. Water glasses sit forgotten on the nightstand.

Quietly, I begin picking things up. Not because the apartment bothers me.

Because I know what it feels like when the world gets so heavy that even washing a dish feels impossible.

An hour later, I'm wiping down the kitchen counter when I hear the patio door slide open.

Angela peeks her head inside. “Everything okay?”

I glance toward the bedroom. “Kai's asleep.”

Relief washes across her face. “Oh, thank God. What's wrong?”

“He's sick.” Not physically. I don't know how else to explain it.

She nods anyway. “I figured.”

“If he wakes up while I'm here, I'll let you know.”

“Thanks.” She smiles sadly. “I'm glad he has someone today.”

The words linger long after she disappears back onto her own patio. I look toward Kai's bedroom.

Then back at the half-clean kitchen. I'm not going anywhere. Not today.

I don't realize I've fallen asleep until something shifts in the hallway. Not a loud noise, but the faint creak of old hardwood beneath careful footsteps.

My eyes open automatically.

The Raiders game is still playing on the television, though I couldn't tell you what's happened during the last quarter. At some point, Cleveland decided my chest made an acceptable bed, and the oversized orange cat is currently snoring loud enough to rival the commentators.

I look toward the hallway. Kai is standing there. For one awful second, he looks completely lost.

His blond hair sticks up in every direction from sleep. My T-shirt hangs almost to his thighs, swallowing his lean frame. His eyes are still swollen from crying, and there are deep purple shadows beneath them that no amount of sleep could erase.

He looks like he spent the afternoon trying to survive instead of resting.

The sight twists something painful inside my chest. “Kai.”

His eyes finally find mine. The uncertainty on his face disappears almost immediately. Not because he suddenly feels better because he found what he was looking for.

Cleveland grumbles as I carefully lift him off my chest. “You've officially been replaced, buddy.”

The cat blinks at me once, deeply offended, before curling into the warm spot I'd left behind.

I barely notice. I'm already crossing the room.

Kai doesn't move. The second I reach him, my hands settle carefully against his hips. I gently pull him closer. He comes without hesitation.