Page 109 of Play Along

“And you’re not going anywhere?” he continues. “Yes, I know it’s the middle of the night, Kai, but you’re not leaving your room, right?”

Kai.

An embarrassing amount of relief floods me.

“And Max and Miller? I don’t know what the weather is like in Chicago right now.” He pauses, listening. “Okay, and Monty, he’s passed out, right? Not driving anywhere either.” Nodding, he stops pacing, listening to his brother talk on the other end. “Yeah, Kennedy is here. She’s asleep. I’ll be all right. I still need to check in on Travis and Cody. Okay. Can you text me after you talk to them? Yeah. Yeah, I know. Logically, I know that, Kai, but I’m not thinking rationally at the moment.” Another pause. “Thanks, man. I love you too. See you in the morning.”

He hangs up at the same time he hangs his head, breaths coming a bit more even now.

What the hell is going on?

Isaiah turns in my direction, and I’m quick to close my eyes before he catches me staring. Moments later, the floor creaks and the bed dips. I cautiously peek an eye open to find him sitting on the edge of the mattress, elbows to his knees and back to me.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he mutters under his breath.

I watch his back, the way his muscles strain with tension. He runs a palm over his head, pushing his hair away from his face before dropping back down to lean on his elbows. He stays like that for a while. Not moving. Just sitting.

I wish he’d crawl back here, maybe realize I’m awake and tell me what’s going on. But there’s a bigger part of me that hopes he doesn’t, because what am I going to do to help? I’ve never been someone’s comfort. I’m cold, that’s what Connor always said. I have no idea how to be what Isaiah needs.

I don’t want to be cold with him. I just don’t know how to be anything else. He makes me feel vulnerable, like he can see all of me when no one else has even tried to look.

Isaiah’s phone dings with a text. He reads it, lets out another sigh of relief, then tosses it to the ground where his makeshift bed is.

Once again, he turns to look back at me, but this time he’s not looking for my face. He finds my leg that’s untucked from the covers, reaching over and settling his palm over my ankle, gently rubbing his thumb over the bone.

He seems a bit more settled and when another boom of thunder rattles the room, this time, Isaiah doesn’t flinch.

Ironic, in a way. I tend to recoil from physical contact, but it’s what keeps him from doing the same.

He stays there, holding my leg for a moment before giving it a gentle squeeze and leaving the mattress, dropping himself back to his bed on the floor.

I don’t want him to go. I think I want him to stay. I want him to be okay. I want to be the one to make sure he’s okay. Yeah, that seems like something that someone in a relationship would do. It’d be a good learning lesson if I felt the need to spin it to myself that way.

But the truth is, I don’t care about learning how to comfort anyone else. I just want to comfort him.

Another boom of thunder rattles the room, and the subsequent sound is the ruffle of blankets—Isaiah adjusting on the floor.

I’m off the bed before I can think twice about it.

I find him with his arms folded tightly over his chest, back flush to the bed frame.

“Kenny,” he whispers when he finds me, as if there’s someone in this room who is actually sleeping, and he needs to remain quiet. “Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He quickly sits up, as I stand by his feet. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?”

His concern melts away, his voice even softer as his attention drops. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What’s going on?”

He shakes his head before falling back to lay on the single pillow positioned on the floor. “It’s late, Kennedy. Get some sleep. Please.” Turning his back to the bed frame again, he faces the wall.

I can do this. My instincts are screaming to lay down there next to him.

Do what feels good.

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