Page 16 of Direct Action

“That’s my question. I’ve been here almost an hour.”

“What?”

“Chloe, sweet tart, if you can’t make it today, that’s okay. Your dad is—”

“What time is it?” I asked, but I was already searching out my alarm clock on my nightstand.

Ten!

I blinked, willing the numbers to change, not understanding how it was ten o’clock in the morning. Mental math wasn’t my strong suit, but if my arithmetic was correct, I’d been asleep for six hours.

Six hours!

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I rushed out.

I scrambled to get up, Ryan’s big hulking body sitting on my bed, blocking my exit, necessitating me climbing over him. Once I’d accomplished that task, I stood next to my bed, not knowing what to do next.

“I overslept,” I admitted. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Chloe, you don’t sleep enough. Go back to sleep. We’ll meet—”

“No, Mom. I’ll be there. Twenty minutes.”

With a sigh that only a mother could pull off, she made me feel equal parts guilty for being late and loved, because she’d rather me sleep than rush to meet to her.

“It’s not a good day, Chloe,” she gently told me.

There hadn’t been many good days as of late, and I hated that she was there without me.

“I’ll be there soon.” I tried to inject as much understanding into my tone as possible, knowing there was no way I could ever understand what my mother was going through.

I was losing my dad. She was losing the love of her life.

Same ocean, different boat.

“See you soon.”

My mom disconnected. I turned to face off with a man who shouldn’t have been in my apartment, let alone my bedroom.

“What are you doing here?”

“You fell asleep folded in half, with your head on your knees.”

I went back to last night—Ryan surprising me on the stairs, pushing his way into my apartment, telling me to quit the Vault, frustrating me, then nothing.

But now I was not on my couch, which was the last place I remembered being.

I was in my bedroom, wearing yesterday’s clothes.

“How’d I get into my bed?”

I held my breath, praying he hadn’t witnessed me crawling through my apartment in search of my bed.

“I carried you.”

Oh God. That might’ve been worse than crawling. But only because I hadn’t been conscious. I’d missed out on experiencing being in Ryan’s arms. I wanted to kick my own ass; however, that was short-lived. I had more important issues to resolve.

“Back to why you’re still here.” I took in my unmade bed and changed my mind. “Did you sleep in here?”