Page 49 of Fight For Me

“It’s not a big deal,” I tell him. “You asked about me and my mom knitting before—it’s something we tried out on the recommendation of my doctor when my insomnia got really bad. He thought it might help me relax at night.”

He stares at me. “You had insomnia?”

I can’t quite read his tone. Is he concerned? Or is that an echo of annoyance? I have no idea why he’d be annoyed about my inability to sleep, but whatever.

“Still do. It started in high school. Got pretty bad for a while—I had to be homeschooled at one point, because there was just no way I could function on a regular class schedule. I’m a little surprised your mom never mentioned it—she helped me a lot.”

“My mom helped you?”

His tone is still weird. “Yeah. My mom was traveling a lot for work so my dad had to oversee my homeschooling. Let’s just say algebra’s not his forte. Your mom tutored me for a while. She’s pretty smart.”

He shakes his head. “I had no idea.”

I shrug, feeling a little self-conscious for some reason. His reaction seems over-the-top somehow. Almost like he’s offended no one told him.

“It’s not a huge deal.” That’s not exactly true—insomnia is more than just occasional trouble falling asleep. Sleep deprivation is used as a torture method for a reason—extended stretches of little to no sleep can be incredibly debilitating. It got so bad in high school I was failing all my classes. I had no social life. It’s a terrible feeling, to not be able to control such a basic, essential life function. I felt hopeless and angry and completely insane sometimes. Did you know hallucinations are a side effect of severe sleep deprivation? Yeah. It was rough.

“Is it better now?”

“It is. I mean, it’s still a problem, sometimes. But I’ve worked really hard on stress management these last few years, and that helps.”

His voice turns sharp. “And the fact that this is the second time I’ve seen you up working after midnight means you’ve got the stress thing under control, right?”

I scowl at him. “Your sarcasm isn’t amusing.”

He releases a breath, running his hands through his hair. “I’m not trying to be amusing. But it seems pretty obvious that you’re not sleeping well.” He shakes his head, anger flashing in his features. “I knew you looked tired,” he mutters.

“Why are you taking this personally?”

“I’m not,” he says quickly, but he still looks angry.

“Well you’re kind of being an asshole.”

He glares at me and I glare right back, refusing to back down. I don’t know how long we would have gone on like that if George hadn’t whimpered at Wyatt’s feet, snapping us both out of the weird stare down.

“Hey buddy,” I say, holding out a hand to him. He nuzzles my palm with his cold nose. I hadn’t even realized that he was under the table, but I’m not surprised. He’s pretty much glued to Wyatt at all times.

“You haven’t gotten any responses about him?” Wyatt had called around to all the local shelters and vet offices and gave them info on George in case his owner came looking. We put up signs and Everly and I posted to a bunch of missing pet groups on social media. As far as I know, nothing has come from any of it.

“Nope,” Wyatt says, reaching down to scratch the dog’s ears. “Guess he’s stuck with us for now.”

If George is upset about being stuck with Wyatt, you can’t tell by looking at him. He looks up at his rescuer with pure love shining in his eyes.

I can only hope I don’t look that pathetically love sick when I look at Wyatt.

The thought has me standing suddenly, gathering up my things. “I should try to sleep.”

Wyatt looks up, surprised, and studies my face. “Do you think you’ll be able to?”

I seriously doubt it, but I don’t tell him that. I paste on a smile. “Hopefully.”

He nods, looking away, and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I was a jerk earlier,” he mutters, not meeting my eyes. “I just…I don’t like to think about you…having a rough time.”

I freeze. “Oh…well.” I have no idea what to say to that. My heart is beating faster all of a sudden and I can feel the flush rising on my cheeks. “Thanks. It’s really…it’s not that big of a deal.”

His forehead scrunches as he finally meets my eyes. I see nothing but sincerity there. “You don’t have to brush it off,” he says, voice soft. “And if you ever find yourself awake and want some company…” he shrugs. “I’ll be around.”

He’s just being polite,I tell myself, trying to quell the sudden flight of a hundred butterflies in my belly.He feels like he needs to keep an eye on the three of us. That’s why he’s here.