Page 96 of Freefall

It takes all of five minutes for the silence to drown me. I wander into my bedroom, looking for something to do. I could finish editing, or I could finally unpack that box of winter clothes that’s been sitting in my closet for months.

I reach up, lifting the box from the top shelf, and it’s only when it thuds to the floor that I remember why I’ve been avoiding it.

Nate’s sweatpants—the pair I’d given to Jace to wear before he disappeared the other day. I wonder what happened to them. Is he still wearing them? Or did he throw them away? Are they lying in a gutter somewhere, soaked in liquor and urine?

My chest constricts at the thought of Jace himself lying in a gutter—unconscious.

Then, like they always seem to lately, my thoughts drift to Nate. He’d taken charge that day after Jace left and then again at the hospital. The calm certainty in his voice had felt like a balm to my frayed nerves. It felt…safe—like a lighthouse cutting through the fog.

Without thinking too hard, I pull out my phone and shoot off a text.

Apparently my mom thinks I need the night off, so guess who’s having her first sleepover?

The typing bubble appears almost instantly.

Nate

If I remember correctly, you’ve had a sleepover before.

I snort a laugh.

I meant Daisy

Nate

I know.

Nate

So what’s the big plan for your night off?

Oh, I actually have a super hot date

He should be here any minute

Guess I’ll talk to you later

His reply comes so fast it makes me grin.

Nate

You want to come over here and try saying that to my face?

I bite my lip.

I could…

Or you could come here, and we could have our own sleepover

The second I hit send, I want to throw my phone across the room and never look at it again.

That was too much, Harper. Way too much and way too soon.

When no response comes right away, I abandon my phone, which feels like a bomb about to explode. I fight the urge to actually destroy it and retreat into my bedroom to deal with the box of winter clothes. Twenty minutes later, all the jackets and sweaters are hung up, and my dresser drawers are organized by season. I wipe my hands on my jeans before grabbing my phone.

Nothing.

My stomach sinks.