Page 172 of The Storm

“Nicholas.” I parrot his exasperated tone.

“Answer me,” he says.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know how Mom’s doing. I haven’t spoken to her.”

He’s very still for a moment.

“Since when?”

I widen my arms. “What does it matter?”

“Tell me.”

I scowl. “You know it doesn’t work like this. You can say jump in that tone as many times as you want, it doesn’t mean I’ll do it.”

“Since when, Blue?”

I grit my teeth. “Nicholas.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’m exhausted. It’s been a really long few weeks. Can we maybe not do this today?”

He eyes me for a bit before he nods.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

I nod too, before I point my thumb behind me. “I’m gonna go. Thanks for the ride.”

I’ve only walked a few steps when his voice stops me.

“You should stay.”

I don’t think I heard him right. I turn around and keep walking backward.

“What?”

“Stay,” he says. “You’re tired. It makes sense, okay? Exhaustion might bring out your asthma.”

It’s not so much an invitation as a demand, and I want to say I’m strong enough to resist, but I’m not. Even though I know what a terrible idea it is.

I hover, not committing to staying, but not leaving either.

“Blue,” he says. “Let me…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. It almost feels inevitable.

Only that’s a lie.

Me going inside his apartment will be very much deliberate. There won’t be any higher powers pushing me in his direction. I won’t be able to say I don’t know what I’m doing. I know, just like he knows what he’s asking.

I follow him inside without a word. We walk up the three flights of stairs, and I watch him unlock the door. He pushes it open and lets me inside before him, then I follow him through the apartment into the bedroom. He flicks on the bedside lamp and goes to the dresser, where he pulls out a T-shirt and a pair of sweats.

“Shower?” he says. I nod, and he points to the door right across from the bedroom. “Towels are on the rack. There’s a new toothbrush in the drawer.”

I grab the clothes and escape. I don’t need a shower. But I need space, so I’m going to have one. Once in the bathroom, I lean against the door and blow out a slow breath. I leave the tux in a pile on the floor and step under the spray. His shower gel smells like sandalwood.

Once I’m done, I grab my stuff and head back outside. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes on me from the moment I step out the bathroom door.

I stop in the doorway, clutching my clothes to my chest like a goddamn security blanket.

“I’ll take the couch.” I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s all hope and nerves and gravel.