Page 79 of Holding On

“Why is it so dark in here? It’s not morning, is it? No. I mean, it’s not night, right?”

I see him smile in the shadows. “No, it’s actually almost noon. But you were so cranky when the sun started coming in that I put blankets over both windows.”

“I’m sorry. Was I rude? I don’t remember that at all.”

“Feeling better?”

I am. The headache has dulled to a baseline hum, and I don’t feel squeamish anymore. The back of my head is sore to the touch, though, and there’s a scab forming about the size of a quarter.

“It’s Wednesday, right?”

“All day.”

“Okay, Mr. Smarty. I’m just slightly confused and want to make sure I have the day right.”

“Any room in there for me?”

“Let me pee first.”

Travis gently helps me out of bed and hands me a blue terrycloth robe. It must be Claire’s. “You good?”

I am. “Yep, not dizzy. Think I can pee on my own.”

When I return, he’s under the covers on his back, his right arm behind his head, his pec stretched taut, and the white sheet pulled to just below the nipple. I walk over to one of the windows to move a blanket slightly and let some light in so I can see him better, but it’s made of heavy wool, and it drops to the floor.

I turn around to avoid the bright light and see him lying in bed, sound asleep, his face and shoulders bathed in light.

A nagging thought starts to form a truth.

This man stayed awake all night and woke me every hour with a kiss—like I’m some kind of princess—because I have a concussion, and he wants me to be safe.

I can’t ask any more of him. I could never ask him to quit school because of me.

Tears start to sting, and I wipe my eyes.

What am I going to do?

There are voices in the kitchen—Devon and Claire—and I slide out the door, being careful to shut it with a controlled click.

They’re whispering fiercely.

“I didn’t expect her to say yes, and I certainly didn’t expect her to invite herself here.” This is Devon.

“He’s going to be so pissed you did this.”

“I know. He’s already told me to back off.”

“You’re just going to have to tell him.”

“Hi,” I say, and both women look startled. “I’m sorry.” I jut a thumb in the direction of the door. “Should I—”

“No. No. Of course not,” says Claire. “You want some orange juice? I have a gallon of it for some reason.”

“Travis probably bought it,” says Devon.

“Always with the juice, right?” I say.

“Geo is here.” Claire sets out a glass. “He wants to see you as soon as you feel like it.”